Mas.
Sweat coats every inch of my achy, sore body. I can barely walk to my car, my feet hurt so badly. The minute my butt hits the seat, I let out a moan of relief. Every single one of my muscles cramp up from the sudden satisfaction of being able to sit down.
Somebody please remind me as to why I'm still doing this?
After a few minutes of meditation, I start my car up, waving to a few of my teammates as I pull out of the school's parking lot.
The brief moment of relaxation passes as I mentally go through all the things I still need to accomplish tonight. I've got a thousand in each of my classes. Of course, it's basketball season, so why wouldn't all my teachers load me up with pointless busy work?
I don't need to sleep or eat or anything...
I'm sure normal kids are going out and having fun on a Friday night, but not me. My dad doesn't let me even turn on the television before all of my homework is done, and even then, he'll tell me to go out and practice my free throws. Tonight's not going to be any different. It'd be ignorant for me to even wish for some normality in my life.
I take my time driving home, delaying the inevitable. There's some nights that I want to just park my car on the side of the road and just sit there... As a kid, I've always wished, if I could have one super power, for the ability to be invisible. Most other kids were asking for super-strength, or to be able to fly. I just wanted to disappear.
My car slowly pulls into the garage, taking my spot beside my dad's sleek sports car. Of course he's not going out for drinks with his colleagues, or going out on a date like a normal adult would be on a Friday night. How would he be able to breathe down my neck all night if he did that?
Taking a deep breath, I grab my duffel bag and backpack from my back seat and shuffle into the house. As I shut the door behind me, I hear the TV turn off.
"Mason, you're home late," Dad comments, entering the kitchen before I can even take my shoes off.
I know better than to even roll my eyes towards him. That'll just earn me an added lecture on the end of my typical ones.
"Coach had us running extra laps after practice today," I explain, throwing my keys down on the counter, the jangling of them being the only sound in this empty house.
Dad gives me a suspicious look, his mind probably reeling with all the possible lies I'm telling. Does he think I've actually got the energy to get myself into trouble? I can barely get up in the morning as it is. I wish I had the time to go out and have fun for once.
Trying not to show the soreness of my muscles as I shuffle past him - because he'll only lecture me for not properly warming up and disobeying my coaches - I pray that tonight he'll lay off of me.
"So I ran into your trainer today at the grocery store and we got to talking," Dad follows me up the stairs to my perfectly neat bedroom.
A dirty bedroom is the first step towards failure, that's what Dad always says. I want nothing more than to just strip out of my clothes and leave them on my floor as I hop into a nice, hot shower, but that might give dad a heart attack. He'd give me a drug test right then and there.
"I told him how I thought you were starting to lag behind, speed wise. It seems like you're not getting any faster, you're just treading water, staying in the same place," He goes off, taking a seat at my desk, making himself comfortable.
Knowing he'll yell at me for being disrespectful, I take a seat at the edge of my desk, staring at the wall in front of me as his words dance through the air and into my ears. I pick at my nails as I avoid eyecontact, listening as he lists off all the things I'm awful at.
