❝𝙎𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙄 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙞𝙨𝙩.❞ I finally snap, this whole time I thought it was in my head but I was wrong. Everyone was right about him.
"You're not listening to me Brylan." He begs but I don't care for it. I d...
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Stabbing my fork into my rice I wouldn't exactly say I'm hungry. Uncomfortable is the word that I would use. Most people don't exactly feel this way around their parents but it comes hand in hand with the fact that they expect so much from me. Lately I haven't been exceeding those expectations.
Making eye contact my mother, this is her cue to ask about school. 'How's school Brylan. Are your grades good?' Of course.
My little sister isn't here to make one of her sarcastic remarks that she'll always get away with so I'm left with actually having to answer the question. She's at a friends house so I'm left with both my parents for dinner. We don't have dinner as a family so this is a very once in a month type situation.
'It's okay.' I sugarcoat it. They've been suffering. But there's nothing you can do to save a failing grade when you where raped a few weeks before the exam. Any regular person wouldn't have done so well after that.
Maybe I shouldn't use the word suffering or failing. I'm doing quite well, even above average but that's never enough for my parents. I have to be better than everyone else or I'm worth nothing.
'I won one of my volleyball games.' I clear my throat before going to grab my glass of water. 'They gave my team a first place medal...it was an important game,'
'That's good.' The two words that come from my fathers lips relieve a good chunk of the sorrow I've been feeling recently. It's not often I get any form of praise from them even if it's minor.
'Thank you,' I smile before standing up. My food is basically untouched. 'I'm done, thank you for the food ma,'
Before she can scold me for not eating enough I place my dishes next to the sink before rushing to my bedroom. Gently shutting my door I'm quick to grab my journal from under my pillow. Under the pillow is such a weak spot to hide anything but I can't fit anything in my dresser properly anymore.
Grabbing a pen from my bedside table I sit against my wall as I stare at it. I have so much to write about but I don't know where to start. The last time I wrote in it was three months ago. Six whole pages detail what I could remember and I know that's a bit much but given the context I think it's appropriate.
Sometimes I blame myself. If I had listened to Damon when he tried to warn me that it was dangerous then maybe it wouldn't have happened. Then maybe they wouldn't have taken me out of frustration. When I woke up on a bed I didn't recognize they made it clear that this was my punishment. Apparently the other guys where people on the soccer team that where also fucked over because of what Damon did.
When he broke Jordan's leg it reflected onto them because they had to change their whole field plan. From game plans to drills, they shifted their offense and defense teams because Jordan was a valuable player. It's when I learned that Jordan lost a UCLA scholarship he has been banking on because of the injury. It healed perfectly fine but UCLA didn't want to bank on that chance when he was still hurt. If it didn't heal properly they didn't want a bad player so they retracted the offer and gave it to someone else. Finding out that Damon got into that very exact school through social media only grew his resentment.
