Not So Bad After All (BWWM)(EDITING)

Chapter Three

Not So Bad After All
Book One
Chapter Three
Jayden's POV

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The sting of Coach's criticism lingered, a bitter taste in my mouth. He'd been on me all practice, his voice a relentless barrage. As quarterback, I was expected to be the leader, to elevate those around me. But tonight, I'd faltered. My throws were off, my decisions hesitant. The pressure is too much sometimes, the weight of expectations crushing.

Entering my house, I found my father ensconced in his armchair, the familiar rustle of pages the only sound. "You're filthy again," he remarked, his gaze fixed on the book.

"That's what happens when you play a sport," I mumbled, trying to brush past him.

"You're never going to make it as a pro, you know," he scoffed, his voice laced with a dismissive amusement. "Waste of time. Get a real job."

The familiar sting of his criticism hit, sharper than any of Coach's. I didn't bother arguing. What was the point? He wouldn't understand.

"Where's Mom?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Where she always is," he mumbled, his eyes finally flicking up to meet mine, a fleeting, almost pitying glance.

Drunk. Passed out. Another night, another empty bottle. The familiar despair washed over me, a cold, heavy weight settling in my chest.

The shower offered a temporary escape, the hot water a fleeting balm against the growing tension. But even the warmth of the shower couldn't wash away the tension in my shoulders and the ache in my chest.

Later, I found her where I expected – a fragile figure draped over the couch, the scent of wine heavy in the air. Gently, I lifted her, carrying her to her bed.

She stirred, a weak smile gracing her lips. "My boy. The only one who loves me."

The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the brokenness that permeated our lives. I didn't respond, the lump in my throat too large to speak.

Watching her like this just makes my resentment for my dad grow stronger. I see a woman who gave up her own life, dreams, and aspirations to be an amazing mom and wife. She poured her heart and soul into creating a nurturing home, sacrificing her own ambitions and desires for the sake of her family. Every meal she cooked, every late-night homework session she facilitated, and every moment she spent comforting us was a testament to her unwavering dedication. Yet, beneath that facade of strength and devotion, I can see the quiet desperation that has lingered in her eyes for years.

I switched off the light and shut the door behind me and whispered a quiet prayer for my mom. I just hope there's some higher power out there who gives a damn to hear it...

This is a routine at this point, and I hated every second of it. But what the hell can I do...? I'm only eighteen. She's supposed to be my parent, and yet, I often find myself caring for her more than she does for me.

Truth is, I want to help her, but I don't know how to help someone who doesn't want to help themselves. Then there's my father... He's a narcissist through and through.

Back in the day, he manipulated the fuck out of her whenever she tried to leave him. He controlled the money, us kids, everything... Eventually, there was no more fight left in her and she just... stopped trying...

Back in my room, the silence was deafening. I turned on the music, anything to drown out the negative thoughts running rampant in my head – my father's dismissive words, my mother's drunken despair, the crushing weight of my own unfulfilled potential. But the music... it didn't really bring much comfort.