𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒔 // 𝙰𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚣𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗

Chapter 24 - Running

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔
... 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔.
... 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇.
... 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒕.

~ Author's Note ~

I hope you're enjoying this fan fiction, and thank you for reading thus far. Enjoy this chapter. I think it is going to be a good one.

I think I am going to get myself Antoine Griezmann's autobiography. Maybe... If I feel like using money on that. Either way, it is completely true to say I really want it.

Another comment, I think I'm going to change the title of this book. At first, I thought it was going to be a little different from what it has become. I like where I have gone with this, but I just think another name might suit this story better. I'll also make an announcement about this to my followers, too. Same story, just changing the name, is all.

Antoine's Perspective

It is homecoming this Friday, and for once, I am not excited for it. I would rather die. I have to go, though, because I play on the team, obviously. And it would look stupid and pathetic not to stay for the dance.

But all my teammates hate me. All my friends. I have no girls that would like to go out with me. Girls that are pretty enough, at least. I am seen as the trash dump that I am.

Every night, I can't sleep. I breathe too much. My head hurts. The dark room swirls and shakes around me, because my greatest fear has recently come true. My greatest fear of people disliking me. No one liking me. It scares me. I don't like the way they look at me. Going to school is so hard. I feel like with every look or snarky comment or anything, I am just going to fall apart.

The way I have always got through everything is to know that least when I got to school, everyone would like me. No one would see the real me. It would be all good.

Now that they know who I really am, they hate me

Of course they do. Because my true self is just awful. My true self is worthless.

Homecoming comes, and I know how fake it all is. I get another pep talk from the coach. It is the same message as last time, but he talks longer, pats my shoulder more, and talks softer. I hate it. I hate it because he knows how close I am to shattering.

Then we go out on the pitch, and I listen to him. I get excited. The pitch does its magic. And somehow, things don't seem too bad when I score a hat-trick anymore, right? I love hat-tricks. 

I don't feel as much praise, cheers, and glory I should for literally making the score 3-1, all by myself, with my skills. With my hat-trick.

Well, their lack of approval can't change me being proud of myself, at least when it comes to football. Because I know it is good.

I know there have been more rumors spread about me, that were believed, off of the video of me on the call with f***ing Brooke. I know. It's not just the video that is making everyone hate me.

She f***ing edited it to make me sound worse than I do.

I still said some f***ing bad stuff in it, though. I know.

People hate me so much. People from my own fricking school look annoyed at I grin, cheering for my own three scores. Of course my teammates celebrate with me, but there is less heart and relation as there usually is. It's like they are cheering for the score, and not the guy who actually made that score happen.

They usually don't do that.

I miss their praise.

I miss everyone's approval.

I'm drowning in all the disapproval. Now it isn't just my parents. It's everyone.

That really hurt, God damn-it!

I go the dance after the game, but I know I shouldn't. I know I should just go home. But it is a Friday night. And Papa literally warned me and Louis not to come home tonight. That he was going to be doing stuff in the house that he doesn't want us to know about.

I don't have any money for a hotel. I lost my job, because all my free time is spent at the soup kitchen or cleaning up a stupid beach. I guess I'll stay here as long as I can, before I have to spend the rest of the night outside.  I mean, it's not like I can go to a friend's house, like I usually would in this situation. I don't have any friends anymore.

I stand in the corner, drinking fruit punch from a paper cup, out of the blinking lights and crowd of high schoolers laughing and having fun and having not a care in the world. Enjoying each other.

I wish.

I wish so bad that could be me.

But I guess I'm just too messed up to hang onto anything like that for very long.

I stand there, all alone, trying not to have a freaking anxiety attack right there. Trying to convince myself it is alright. Trying to convince myself to breathe.

Why is breathing so hard? Doesn't that come naturally to humans?

I'm starting to doubt I'm even human. I mean, it's not like I fit in with any humans. Maybe I fit in more with some sort of beast. That makes more sense to me.

Then a group of kids strut up, as soon as it is getting bad.

And they hound me.

Insult me. Call me stuck-up. Obnoxious. Say I put others down to put myself higher. I'm an idiot. Unwanted. That's what I am to them.

That is what I am to everyone.

I am shaking, and they can see. They laugh at me. They call me a scared coward. They call me worthless. I'm all those things. They have every right to laugh. They say people like me never make it far. They say I think I'm so good, just because I'm spoiled with talent. I'm not really that good, they say. They say no matter how good I am at freaking football, I'll never make it far in life if I keep this up.

These are Reese Mallory's words.

I'm sweating, and I can't breath, but I can't let anyone see my loose it. And I'm getting close. Too close.

So I run.

And run.

And I don't stop running.