Page 3 of My Revenant
two
Jonah - Present
PINK SWEATERS AND DYING DREAMS.
I always knew I’d spend my life running; I just never thought it would be like this.
Until three years ago, my life was centered around a very different type of running—the normal type, I guess. Days filled with counting miles and calories, nothing much to worry about but putting one foot in front of the other. I was good too. I started running in middle school, mostly just to burn off energy, and because it felt good. It also got me out of the house, away from Mom, her new husband Richard, who I could tell never wanted me there, and his son Liam, who also wanted nothing to do with me.
When I was running, none of that bothered me. It was just the wind in my face, feet pounding against the pavement, my heart soaring and my blood pumping. It was an escape. Freedom.
I never planned for it to go further than that. Becoming an actual athlete hadn’t even crossed my mind until Mr. Stevens, the school gym teacher, started paying attention to me. He took an interest, gave me his time, and set me up with new targets and challenges, distances and times. It was fun, thrilling even. Mr. Stevens said I had potential. No one had ever said anything like that about me before.
He pushed me harder, probably harder than any gym teacher was supposed to push a ten-year-old, but I didn’t mind. I enjoyed having someone’s attention, and I enjoyed running,so it worked out. He would train me after school, and after a while he started training me in the mornings before school too. Mom didn’t seem to mind, and Richard was probably pleased that I was around less. I was certainly happy to get away from him.
Then I started winning races. Small ones at first… school events, local competitions. Mr. Stevens took me to the races further from home, and Mom signed her approval with little thought to it, but when I started winning bigger races, she started to pay attention. Once I started winning medals, trophies, prize money—attracting attention from people with names that meant something—shereallystarted to pay attention. So did Richard.
Suddenly he was all too happy to have me around, calling me “son” like we had that kind of relationship. I wish I’d rejected him more back then. But what can I say? I was desperate for attention and approval, and I was finally getting both. I soaked that shit up like a sponge.
Once I hit high school, I had a coach, like a real actual coach, not just Mr. Stevens with his whistle and a stopwatch, but someone who knew shit about actual potential. Someone who had credentials and gotpaidto focus her attention on me. Richard had decided I was worth the expense. When Coach Barnes started training me, I honestly thought she was trying to kill me. I missed Mr. Stevens, but under Coach Barnes that potential he’d seen actually became something more.
Barnes showed me a path that extended beyond where I was putting my next step. She sprawled out dreams and opportunities—talking about things like sponsorships, scholarships, qualifiers—and she would say that was just the beginning if I was willing to work for it.
Fuckdid I work for it. Waking up every morning before the sun, running silent streets with the early-morning breeze whipping over my heated skin while the rest of the world slept.Afternoons were spent with Coach Barnes on the track, and she’d push me harder every day. I loved the way my heart would pump and my legs would burn and I couldfeelmyself improving.
Those solo morning runs were always my favorite, though. When I was alone and I could run because I wanted to, because I loved it, without a finish line to race toward or a time to beat. Just me and the pavement.
My first big break came during regionals. The competition was fierce, with runners from all over the state. All of them were hungry for the win, but I was fucking starving for it. The starter pistol rang out, and everything faded away when my feet hit the track. I ran as if my life depended on it. I crossed the finish line first, obviously, but my time also broke a seven-year record.
My life was running full speed ahead after that, and I was just trying to keep up with it. In a blur, the years passed. Junior nationals, state championships, national qualifiers, international meets, endorsements… there were doors opening that I hadn’t even known existed. Everyone wanted a piece of Jonah Hargreaves, and I fucking lived for it.
I let myself dream bigger, set my sights right for the top. I was on a track that I thought was taking me right to the Olympics. Really thought I’d get there. I thought I was fucking invincible.
But that's how it always goes. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it fucking burned in one.
All it took was a single instant for it all to come crashing down. Should have known better, really. I was reaching too high, standing too tall, and the universe decided to sit me the fuck back down.
I don’t remember all that much about the accident. One minute I was running like I always did, and the next… headlights and screeching tires. Then my vision was blurring as fluorescent lights raced overhead, and I was being wheeled somewhere. People were inscrubs on either side of me. The smell of antiseptic and something metallic clogged my senses.
Crazy how much faster it was to lose it all. I got whiplash from how quickly my life changed… how quickly everyone around me changed. It wasn’t my fucking fault, but when they looked at me—when Mom and Richard looked at me—it was like I was the death oftheirdreams. Like they were the ones who had to live with metal pins in their leg for the rest of their lives. Even Coach Barnes, my biggest supporter for so many years, didn’t fight for me. There was no talk of recovery, of making a comeback. It was justover,and she was gone.
Of course I wasn’t going to take it well. Of course I was going to be mean. For the second time in my life, I’d losteverything. Because I had. Both times. But this pain was entirely different from losing my sister.
I was hurting in ways the surgeries and physical therapy couldn’t ever fix. Deeper than the agony constantly in my leg after the accident. I was wounded, and I lashed out like a bad dog at anyone who got too close. I didn’t want their false sympathy, their judgment. I couldn’t bear to see the pity in their eyes all over again, this time due to my own failures.
It was a blessing and a curse when Mom and Richard finally sent me away, back to my father in Port Skelton. Just like that, I was back in the hellhole I’d been born into before Mom upgraded with Richard and moved us to the city. It was rock bottom, but at least there I could lick my wounds in peace.
I thought I was fucking done, that I would never run again. Turns out, running was still my destiny. Only now, instead of chasing a dream, I was fleeing a nightmare.
These days, however, “running” mostly consisted of driving. Years after the accident, I still couldn’t do much actual running. The pain that tightened my chest when I thought about those dayshurt worse than the pain that would come and go in my leg. But on nights like this when it got real cold, the chill triggered a dull throb that made my limp a little more prominent if I wasn’t focused on hiding it.
With more effort than it should have taken, I pushed back up off the too-soft mattress again, still too wound up to sleep, and limped over to the window. Dust coated the glass, making the view of the motel parking lot a little cloudy. But in the light of the flickering neon sign, I could still make out my Ford and the suspicious Audi beside it. Just the sight of it made my palms sweaty.
It’s fine, I told myself.A car like that is far too nice to be somethinghewould drive. I’d actually never seen him drive a car at all, just his precious BMW R51 motorcycle.
I cracked the window open slightly and lit a cigarette. Not sure why I bothered really, the room already stunk of old tobacco, and I could literally see the empty battery slot in the smoke detector. I stared outside for the time it took me to finish it and then another.
It was so quiet out there, nothing but the breeze rushing down the empty street and the faint buzzing of the too-bright vacancy sign.
