Page 9 of Play Dirty
Chapter Four
Nico
Junior
Age Twenty-One
Summer came and went, and the truth slipped further from reach—like everything else lately. I’m deeper in shit now than I was when I got here. Villalargos didn’t save me. It swallowed me.
I am trying to keep the only piece of me this shithole hasn’t taken. My drive to win. To play.
This is my sanctuary, this green wet turf is where I bleed out my pain.
I run down the field, dribbling the ball between my feet. Doing the only thing that feels right and avoiding the only thing in my life that’s good besides my family. My girlfriend, June. It’s not that I don't want to be around her; I just can't.
Truthfully, we should never have gotten together, and one day, I will find the balls to end it. Put us both out of our misery. At first, I felt like we could work. She’s everything any man could want. Kind, beautiful, talented, and intelligent.
But my heart has been struggling to catch up to my mind.
Guilt wraps tight around me. Suffocating me.
Almost a year later, and I’m still stuck on that night when she asked me to be hers. I choked up when I saw the look on her face, how her big brown eyes pleaded with me to accept her love. And how she has settled for my lack of love…
She’s a woman with needs, and as much as I try, I just can’t seem to get out of my head long enough to allow her to touch me or to fuck her like she so desperately wants. I thought this summer, I could finally give her the night she deserved, but I froze the moment I stepped into the dorm she shares with Shiloh.
The smell alone was enough to drag me back to that night…
To my weakness— the night I showed that, like everyone else in this shit hole, I’m corrupted. The recognition didn’t stop me. It only made me hungrier as I took.
A secret I buried inside me.
It didn’t matter how much she tried. Begging with her touch, all I managed to do was eat her out, but she wants more, and what can I say—nothing. Because I understand, we’ve been together long enough to be able to fuck like normal people my age. And the fucking muscle inside my chest has made me a prisoner for someone else…
Besides, nothing about my life is normal; it doesn't help that I have gotten nowhere close to finding out what happened to her. Or the man who hurt her.
Not June, but someone of even greater value to me. She’s the reason I learned to play, why I’m able to play at some fancy school, and I’ve done nothing but become a bitch to my donors, or — literally and figuratively. I kick the ball towards the goal post, slicing through the grass and scoring the goal.
At least I’m still good at soccer. At least on the field, I can control my body. The ball.
It’s easy, like second nature.
My breaths come in hard and fast, as the cold air scrapes down my throat. It’s no longer something I do for enjoyment but therapy. I play to forget, to outrun the memories that keep me prisoner to my mind and soul.
Running towards the goal, I kick the ball to the other side of the field. My thighs burn from the intensity of my exertion, but I welcome it. The burn. The sting that comes from playing and doing the only thing I can control.
Sweat runs down my back when I see June's small figure appear by the bleachers. Her small hand covers her eyes, trying to shield them from the sun, her skin golden from her family beach vacation. Unlike the others, I remain in Villalargos. I don’t care about exploring or extravagant getaways; I only care about one thing: making him pay.
Making all this worth everything I’ve lost.
Without success, this is all for nothing.
“Hi, you.” She whispers as she wraps her arms around my waist. I freeze. I still hate the way it feels when someone touches me. My body rejects the weight of others. My skin burns from the contact, but slowly I’ve been learning to accept her small gesture of affection; it’s the least I can do.
God knows I can’t even fuck her.
“Hey, how was your flight?” I ask, trying to pry her off me without hurting her feelings. Thankfully, she pulls away without a fight, noticing my discomfort. That’s what made me stay and continue to try. She never imposes herself— she doesn’t understand, but she respects my space.
Sometimes I wish I could feel the same. But no amount of time can drown the persistent need inside me festering with maggots– the wound open and still bleeding for someone else.
