Double Sixes
The chatter of voices and the sharp clatter of dominoes on the worn wooden table filled the day room at Dixon Correctional Institute. Kevon Lafitte sat at the center of it all, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he studied the pieces in his hand. Around him, the air buzzed with a mix of casual banter and anticipation. Dominoes wasn’t just a game here—it was a ritual, a fleeting escape that brought a taste of the outside world into these gray walls.
Kevon’s opponent, Pops, leaned back in his chair, his grizzled face split with a sly grin. The older man had a reputation as the day room champ, and he played every game like it was his last.
“You thinking, or you stalling, young blood?” Pops drawled, his voice gravelly from decades of cigarettes and time behind bars. “Either way, you about to lose.”
Kevon didn’t response, his focus unbroken as he scanned the dominoes lined up before him. A few other inmates crowded around, jostling for position.
“I got a pack of noodles on Slick,” one of them said.
“Two soups on Pops.”
The laughter and ribbing grew louder, but Kevon stayed silent. His thick fingers hovered over the dominoes, finally selecting one. With a sharp click, he placed it down, matching the four on Pops’ last play.
The old inmate leaned forward, squinting at the board. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “You might be working with something here.”
“Yo, Slick,” a voice called from the back of the room, cutting through the din of voices. The inmate stood near the corner, pointing at the small, wall-mounted television. The flickering screen had been playing the lunchtime news on low volume, but now the anchor’s voice was distinct.
“Preparations for the upcoming college football season are underway,” she said, her tone crisp and professional. The screen showed footage of players running drills under the sweltering Louisiana sun, their gold helmets gleaming as they collided in bursts of controlled chaos. LSU’s logo filled the corner of the screen.
The room’s energy shifted, curiosity replacing competitiveness. “Turn that shit up,” someone called, and an inmate near the TV obliged, using a broom to adjust the volume.
Onscreen, a linebacker sprinted into view, his steps deliberate and powerful. The camera zoomed in, revealing the name “Lafitte” taped haphazardly across the back of his helmet. It lingered there for a moment, the announcer commenting on the team’s defense and the new season’s expectations.
“Slick, that your boy?” a younger inmate asked, elbowing his way through the crowd, eyes flicking between the screen and Kevon.
He didn’t answer right away. His hand moved with deliberate precision as he picked up another domino from his dwindling supply. Double sixes. He slapped it on the table with a sharp snap, completing his play.
“Domino, old nigga,” Kevon said simply.
The inmate who’d won his bet gave a bit of a cheer at the though of getting two free soups.
Pops threw his hands up in the air. “You young motherfuckers always get lucky once or twice. If this was back in the day, I’d have to get one of my bottom bitches to come cut your ass.” His grin betrayed any actual malice, having developed a reputation for ribbing the younger men on the tier.
Only then did Kevon glance at the screen. His dark eyes locked onto the image of the linebacker for a fleeting moment. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady and low, but carrying weight. “That’s my boy.”
He leaned back in the chair, his expression unreadable, and began gathering the dominoes. The men around him didn’t press for more, Kevon’s reputation on the tier—and the fact he was serving a life sentence--being well known. They turned back to their own conversations.
Kevon’s face betrayed no emotion, but the way his hands moved—careful and deliberate—spoke volumes. The faintest edge of pride glimmered in his eyes, unspoken but undeniable.
Kevon stacked the dominoes with methodical precision, his thoughts elsewhere. Somewhere beyond those walls, under the sun, one of his sons was carving out a legacy. And while he was there, surrounded by concrete and steel, he couldn’t help but feel like part of him was out there, too.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce walked into his on-campus apartment, the dull thud of him closing the door echoing in the quiet space. He walked into his room, a Spartan one with a few knick-knacks that he’d put on the shelves just to make it seem more like his own. It wasn’t a massive room—or apartment for that matter—but he felt like he’d lucked out with not getting stuck in a dorm and ending up so close to the stadium.
The fact that he had his own bathroom was reason enough alone to be happy for the digs.
He sat on the bed, swapping out his “outside” slides for the pair he typically wore while he was in the apartment, not wanting to track dirt all through the apartment despite his two roommates not having anything close to the same decorum.
Every muscle in his body protested the movements, the dull ache in his legs matching the pounding in his head. Practice had been tough, as all of them were, a relentless onslaught of drills, condition and position meetings. The jump from high school ball to LSU was proving to be massive and Royce sometimes wondered if he’d survive.
He walked out to the living room where his roommates, Dewon Little and J.J. Simmons were locked into a game against one another on the new College Football 25. Both of them were also freshmen, experiencing the rigors of college football for the first time albeit as receivers.
Dewon looked up at Royce as he sat in a chair off to the side of the room. “You alright, bruh? You look like you got hit by a car getting over here.” Dewon’ voice carried that unmistakable Baton Rouge accent, walking on at LSU after a glittering career at Southern Lab.
“Y’all niggas must’ve ran over here, huh?” Royce asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Nah, Kyren gave us a ride,” J.J. said as he threw an interception on the screen. He grabbed a protein bar from the table, tearing into it like it was his last meal, crumbs fell on his lap that he brushed onto the floor.
“Hoping in a nigga car when he probably on his way to get some pussy when you can just walk your ass over here is crazy work,” Royce said.
Dewon sucked his teeth. “It’s crazy when you say it like that. Big bro just was coming this way and gave us a lift.”
“What I’m hearing is that y’all were trying to be seen in some fly shit in case they had some hoes walking around out here when y’all got here.”
“Ain’t no hoes out here to be doing all that for. If I could get some tickets to go to Vegas, I might be about to swing me some fine shit,” J.J. said.
“We ain’t going nowhere near Vegas,” Dewon said as his players on the screen scored a touchdown. He gave a little fist pump to which J.J. flipped him off. Dewon gestured to Royce. “Except that nigga anyway.”
Royce shook his head, sucking his teeth as he thought about the run he was getting in practice because he was that high on the depth chart. With another two months to go before the first game of the season, he might die of exhaustion before getting on a plane to Las Vegas. “Just hope that all forty of them fucking receivers in front of y’all get COVID or something so they gotta bring y’all, too,” he said.
“If they get COVID, we probably gonna get COVID, too. They gonna have your slow ass at receiver,” J.J. said.
“I’m straight Mossing every-fucking-thing,” Royce laughed, reaching his hands up as he pretended to catch a pass and run with it. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, looked at a message and typed out a quick response.
Dewon laughed. “Gonna be the first receiver ever to get Moss’d, you mean.”
J.J. slumped back against the couch as the game clock on the TV hit all zeroes, resigning him to yet another defeat on the game. “Man, y’all trying to get some food? That shit they be having at Matherne’s be hitting.”
“Yeah, I’m down,” Dewon said, tossing the controller onto the coffee table. He glanced at Royce. “You coming with us?”
Royce didn’t answer, only standing up and walking to the door just as a knocking came from the other side. He groaned as he walked, every movement feeling like a monumental effort. He opened the door, revealing Alix on the other side.
She walked in without invitation, her gaze sweeping over the room. “It always smells like fucking ass in here.”
“The fuck you expect it to smell like?” Royce asked, shaking his head. “You can come in here and clean whenever you want.”
“Be so fucking for real,” she said, rolling her eyes. She briefly glanced over at Dewon and J.J., throwing them a quick wave. “Hey, y’all,” she all but threw over her shoulder before locking eyes with Royce. “We gonna stand here or…?”
Royce didn’t answer, just nodded toward his room. Alix didn’t need any further encouragement as she turned and headed in that direction.
J.J. looked at Dewon after Royce’s door clicked shut behind them. “Ain’t you from here, too? You ain’t got no bitches here?”
Dewon snorted as he pushed himself up from the couch. “Kentwood ain’t but a couple hours away. You ain’t got no excuse either.”
As they headed out the door, laughter filled the hallway, leaving the apartment quiet once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over Houma. The streets were busy with people making the last preparations for the coming school year, an annual tradition the world over. Inside Raising Cane’s, the air-conditioning offered a welcome reprieve from Louisiana’s summer heat while the scent of fried chicken and buttery toast hung up in the air.
Mike-Mike leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. A half-empty basket of chicken fingers sat in front of him, the grease staining the crumbled paper lining.
“Bro, coach on some other shit with all that running he trying to have us do. It ain’t our fault that his ass about to get fired,” Darren, one of Mike-Mike’s teammates, said with a loud laugh. The table burst into laughter, mostly at Darren’s laugh as was usually the case.
“It is your fault he about to get fired though. Ain’t nobody forgot about all them damn passes your ass dropped last year. You should’ve just been giving it to the other motherfuckers with all that shit,” Keith, another teammate, said, grinning.
Mike-Mike chuckled along with them, but his attention drifted to the door as it opened. He glanced up—and froze.
Laila walked in, the girl he’d been crushing on for months. Her laughter was light and carefree as she chatted with her friends, her presence immediately lighting up the room. He had to look away, liking the way her shirt sat on her chest a little too much and not wanting to be caught staring.
“Yo, Mike,” Darren said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “Ain’t that ol’ girl you afraid to talk to?”
“I ain’t afraid to talk to her,” Mike-Mike muttered under his breath, but his eyes betrayed him. They flicked between her and the table as she scanned the restaurant, spotting him and heading in his direction.
She approached their table. “Hey, Mike,” she said, her voice sweet and just loud enough to be heard over the chatter in the restaurant.
“Uh, hey Laila,” he managed, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat, cursing himself internally.
“You going to Tre’s Saturday?” she asked, her smile warm and inviting.
“Uh…” Mike hesitated, feeling the weight of his teammates’ stares boring into him. All of his partying had been alongside his sister or his cousins. With all of them off at college—except for Romeo—he was on his own. “You going?”
“Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should come.”
Mike nodded quickly, almost too quickly. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Cool,” she said, her smile widening before she turned to rejoin her friends. “See you then.”
As she walked away, Darren and Keith erupted. Laughter, jeers and mock applause filled the space as his teammates took the opportunity to pile on.
“Dawg, don’t go over there embarrassing yourself like that,” Darren said, shaking his head. “She’s out your league, man.”
Keith nodded in agreement. “That can’t be your first body. You gotta go fuck a fat bitch or two first.”
“Y’all acting like y’all get pussy. But I ain’t no fucking virgin anyway,” Mike-Mike snapped.
“Get more pussy than your ass,” Darren said laughing.
Mike-Mike didn’t respond. He picked at the corner of the basket of chicken, his appetite gone. His eyes drifted back to where she sat with her friends, her laughter drifting through the restaurant like a melody he couldn’t ignore.
He pulled out his phone, tapping out a quick text to Royce to ask him for advice on how to navigate his situation with Laila.
As he waited for a response, he was glad that his silence had prompted Darren and Keith to move on to a new conversation.
Dying to Live
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7951
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Dying to Live
Glad we seem to be onto the new chapter with Royce at LSU now. Going to be interesting what direction this freshman season goes in.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16766
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Dying to Live
sucka nigga brought sand to the beach
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The JZA
- Posts: 9412
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16946
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Embrace the Suck
The whistle pierced the air, commanding the players into position. The coaches voiced followed, sharp and demanding, a cacophony of orders to various position groups, twerking and adjusting.
“You have to react to motion faster than that!”
“Be patient behind the line!”
Royce jogged onto the field as the twos were brought in for reps, a growing ache in his leg flaring with every step as his body struggled to catch up to the grueling jump from high school ball to an elite college football program. He grimaced as he settled into his stance, trying his bed to ignore the pain.
…
When practice finally came to an end, Royce felt the weight of exhaustion settling in. The Louisiana humidity clung to him like a second skin, every muscle in his body screaming for relief. He could feel the throbbing in his leg and his side, reminders of the injuries that would never full go away, just as the doctors said.
Royce lagged behind as the players jogged off the field, the adrenaline wearing off only to be replaced by his body shutting down on him, begging to find its way to the stiff cot that served as a bed in his room.
His legs felt like lead, and his jersey was soaked through with sweat. But he didn’t care. He’d keep pushing through it. As long as he continued to get serious reps, he’d ignore the pain and deal with the consequences later.
Each day was an opportunity to prove himself, and he wasn’t going to pass up on any chances to get out on the field as a freshman.
Coach Houston caught his eye and gave him a nod as he jogged past. “Good work out there, today, five.”
Royce nodded in return, the praise from the coaching staff enough to get him through another day. It was enough for him to embrace the suck and keep going until he’d reached his goals and days like that were worth it.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat at his desk, doing the one thing he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do—reading the posts on the infamous forum TigerDroppings. Everyone in Baton Rouge knew TigerDroppings was the cesspool of the internet long before Twitter had turned into X, albeit hyper local. But curiosity had gotten the better of him.
Fortunately, he’d flown under the radar for the trolls and miscreants that spent their days on the forum critiquing local weather and traffic reporters for their figures instead of the accuracy of their reporting on traffic incidents on I-10. The talk about other players on the team told him that wouldn’t remain the case if he played and played well.
But that was a trade-off he was willing to make.
His phone dinged with a text just as a knock came at the door. Royce looked over his shoulder, expecting either Dewon or J.J. to go get the door but it didn’t sound like either of them were making a move to leave their rooms.
Sighing, he pushed away from the desk, his body, already heavy with the grueling day, protested as he stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it and turned back to his room, knowing who was there.
“Pretty fucking rude to not even greet me,” Alix said as she followed him after closing the door behind her.
Royce looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “At this point, you should just start paying some of the rent because you’re here damn near every day. I’m starting to think you’re trying to cock block me.”
“How can I cockblock you when we have sex?” She dropped her bag onto the desk chair as Royce sunk onto the bed with a groan. She surveyed the room with mock scrutiny. “But I’m not going to lie to you, Royce, your room is getting nastier every time I come in here. Clothes everywhere, water bottles. “
Royce stretched his arms out over his head, sighing as his muscles seemed to snap tout. “You go to practice every fucking day and then come back to me about being clean.”
Alix lay down next to him on the bed, the two of them barely fitting on it but having figured out how to make it work. “You act like you weren’t just doing this shit six months ago. You already getting the whiny college football player thing down and you might not even play.”
“Might not play? Ain’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“I am,” she laughed, hitting him on the shoulder. He winced as his muscles protested any sudden movements. She sighed and stood up off the bed. “Alright, sit up.”
“For what?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“I’m trying to help you. Now, sit up,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He did as she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She circled around him, kneeling behind him. The first press of her thumbs into his shoulders made him wince and then relax all at once.
“I accept all forms of payment, including IOUs for when you get the big bucks,” Alix teased, her tone light but her fingers deliberate at they worked out the knots in his shoulders and upper back.
“Didn’t know you were a gold digger, Alix,” he laughed.
“It’s only gold digging if you’re not providing a service, sir,” she said, leaning into her work. “Especially when I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart.”
For a while, the silence between them felt natural, her touch easing away the tension from practice, his body finally starting to feel human again. Royce closed his eyes, the weight of the day melting away under her hands. She was meticulous, her fingers finding every knot and pressing with just enough pressure to hurt but not overwhelm.
“You’re going to run yourself into the ground if you’re not careful,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now. “You know your body probably still isn’t at 100% after… everything.”
“Ain’t no quitting if I want to play,” he murmured. “I got this though. Just gotta get through a few months and I’ll be good.”
“I know you do,” she said. There was no sarcasm in her voice, just simple certainty.
“What’s really going to be the death of me is dealing with all these chicks chasing behind me when the semester start,” Royce said, a sly grin playing at the edges of his lips. “Post one time on IG with that practice jersey on and they coming out from all over trying to get flew out.”
Her hands paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing, the hesitation so subtle he almost didn’t catch it. “Oh yeah?” she said, her tone even, but Royce caught the faint shift in her energy.
“You know how that shit is. They trying to get in on the ground floor. Probably trying to trap a nigga with a baby and all,” he continued.
Alix didn’t reply right away, her hands slowing as if she was considering her response. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. “Must be nice.”
The change in her tone registered now, and Royce looked back over his shoulder at her, frowning. “You good?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly, her hands retreating from his shoulders as she shuffled back on the bed. “Just make sure you wrap it up. Last thing the world needs is a whole bunch of mini-Royces running around.”
The air between them shifted, the playful ease replaced with something more complicated. Royce stood, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Alix, why you tripping? This the set-up you got us in.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, standing up and brushing her hands down her sides as if to smooth out the tension. She forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I should head out. I need to take Darius to get some new uniforms.”
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, Royce following behind her.
“C’mon, Alix. We were fine two minutes ago. You ain’t gotta leave,” Royce said. There was an edge of hesitation in his tone, confusion by her actions clouding how he approached the situation he found himself in.
She lingered near the door, her hand resting on the knob. “I’m good, Royce. I just have to go do this before the sales end. My mom and dad are going to kill me if I don’t. I’ll see you later,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She gave him one last glance, something unspoken flickering in her eyes, and then she was gone.
Royce stood there for a moment, running his hand over his hair as he went back to his room. He sat on the bed, staring at the wall for a moment.
“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself.
He sighed, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes, too exhausted from practice to think about the lines between them—the boundaries they’d set in high school—beginning to blur.
And whether that was a good or bad thing.
The whistle pierced the air, commanding the players into position. The coaches voiced followed, sharp and demanding, a cacophony of orders to various position groups, twerking and adjusting.
“You have to react to motion faster than that!”
“Be patient behind the line!”
Royce jogged onto the field as the twos were brought in for reps, a growing ache in his leg flaring with every step as his body struggled to catch up to the grueling jump from high school ball to an elite college football program. He grimaced as he settled into his stance, trying his bed to ignore the pain.
…
When practice finally came to an end, Royce felt the weight of exhaustion settling in. The Louisiana humidity clung to him like a second skin, every muscle in his body screaming for relief. He could feel the throbbing in his leg and his side, reminders of the injuries that would never full go away, just as the doctors said.
Royce lagged behind as the players jogged off the field, the adrenaline wearing off only to be replaced by his body shutting down on him, begging to find its way to the stiff cot that served as a bed in his room.
His legs felt like lead, and his jersey was soaked through with sweat. But he didn’t care. He’d keep pushing through it. As long as he continued to get serious reps, he’d ignore the pain and deal with the consequences later.
Each day was an opportunity to prove himself, and he wasn’t going to pass up on any chances to get out on the field as a freshman.
Coach Houston caught his eye and gave him a nod as he jogged past. “Good work out there, today, five.”
Royce nodded in return, the praise from the coaching staff enough to get him through another day. It was enough for him to embrace the suck and keep going until he’d reached his goals and days like that were worth it.
~~~~~~~~~~
Royce sat at his desk, doing the one thing he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do—reading the posts on the infamous forum TigerDroppings. Everyone in Baton Rouge knew TigerDroppings was the cesspool of the internet long before Twitter had turned into X, albeit hyper local. But curiosity had gotten the better of him.
Fortunately, he’d flown under the radar for the trolls and miscreants that spent their days on the forum critiquing local weather and traffic reporters for their figures instead of the accuracy of their reporting on traffic incidents on I-10. The talk about other players on the team told him that wouldn’t remain the case if he played and played well.
But that was a trade-off he was willing to make.
His phone dinged with a text just as a knock came at the door. Royce looked over his shoulder, expecting either Dewon or J.J. to go get the door but it didn’t sound like either of them were making a move to leave their rooms.
Sighing, he pushed away from the desk, his body, already heavy with the grueling day, protested as he stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it and turned back to his room, knowing who was there.
“Pretty fucking rude to not even greet me,” Alix said as she followed him after closing the door behind her.
Royce looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “At this point, you should just start paying some of the rent because you’re here damn near every day. I’m starting to think you’re trying to cock block me.”
“How can I cockblock you when we have sex?” She dropped her bag onto the desk chair as Royce sunk onto the bed with a groan. She surveyed the room with mock scrutiny. “But I’m not going to lie to you, Royce, your room is getting nastier every time I come in here. Clothes everywhere, water bottles. “
Royce stretched his arms out over his head, sighing as his muscles seemed to snap tout. “You go to practice every fucking day and then come back to me about being clean.”
Alix lay down next to him on the bed, the two of them barely fitting on it but having figured out how to make it work. “You act like you weren’t just doing this shit six months ago. You already getting the whiny college football player thing down and you might not even play.”
“Might not play? Ain’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“I am,” she laughed, hitting him on the shoulder. He winced as his muscles protested any sudden movements. She sighed and stood up off the bed. “Alright, sit up.”
“For what?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“I’m trying to help you. Now, sit up,” she said, rolling her eyes.
He did as she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She circled around him, kneeling behind him. The first press of her thumbs into his shoulders made him wince and then relax all at once.
“I accept all forms of payment, including IOUs for when you get the big bucks,” Alix teased, her tone light but her fingers deliberate at they worked out the knots in his shoulders and upper back.
“Didn’t know you were a gold digger, Alix,” he laughed.
“It’s only gold digging if you’re not providing a service, sir,” she said, leaning into her work. “Especially when I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart.”
For a while, the silence between them felt natural, her touch easing away the tension from practice, his body finally starting to feel human again. Royce closed his eyes, the weight of the day melting away under her hands. She was meticulous, her fingers finding every knot and pressing with just enough pressure to hurt but not overwhelm.
“You’re going to run yourself into the ground if you’re not careful,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now. “You know your body probably still isn’t at 100% after… everything.”
“Ain’t no quitting if I want to play,” he murmured. “I got this though. Just gotta get through a few months and I’ll be good.”
“I know you do,” she said. There was no sarcasm in her voice, just simple certainty.
“What’s really going to be the death of me is dealing with all these chicks chasing behind me when the semester start,” Royce said, a sly grin playing at the edges of his lips. “Post one time on IG with that practice jersey on and they coming out from all over trying to get flew out.”
Her hands paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing, the hesitation so subtle he almost didn’t catch it. “Oh yeah?” she said, her tone even, but Royce caught the faint shift in her energy.
“You know how that shit is. They trying to get in on the ground floor. Probably trying to trap a nigga with a baby and all,” he continued.
Alix didn’t reply right away, her hands slowing as if she was considering her response. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter. “Must be nice.”
The change in her tone registered now, and Royce looked back over his shoulder at her, frowning. “You good?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly, her hands retreating from his shoulders as she shuffled back on the bed. “Just make sure you wrap it up. Last thing the world needs is a whole bunch of mini-Royces running around.”
The air between them shifted, the playful ease replaced with something more complicated. Royce stood, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Alix, why you tripping? This the set-up you got us in.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, standing up and brushing her hands down her sides as if to smooth out the tension. She forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I should head out. I need to take Darius to get some new uniforms.”
She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, Royce following behind her.
“C’mon, Alix. We were fine two minutes ago. You ain’t gotta leave,” Royce said. There was an edge of hesitation in his tone, confusion by her actions clouding how he approached the situation he found himself in.
She lingered near the door, her hand resting on the knob. “I’m good, Royce. I just have to go do this before the sales end. My mom and dad are going to kill me if I don’t. I’ll see you later,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She gave him one last glance, something unspoken flickering in her eyes, and then she was gone.
Royce stood there for a moment, running his hand over his hair as he went back to his room. He sat on the bed, staring at the wall for a moment.
“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself.
He sighed, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes, too exhausted from practice to think about the lines between them—the boundaries they’d set in high school—beginning to blur.
And whether that was a good or bad thing.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16766
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
shit or get off the pot, young man.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16946
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16946
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Freshman Orientation
The lecture hall was alive with chatter as Royce leaned back in his seat, his knees bumping against the folding desk. The room smelled faintly of new books and old carpet, and the air buzzed with the dull hum of an overworked air conditioner.
A few orientation guides stood at the front at the front of the room, their matching polos tucked neatly into khakis as they took turns rattling off information about campus resources, student IDs and safety protocols.
Royce tapped his pen against the flimsy orientation booklet, his mind drifting far from the PowerPoint slides projected on the wall. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about learning the ropes of college life—it was more that the guides’ and the other speakers’ overly rehearsed enthusiasm grated on him.
“As student-athletes, you have a unique schedule and additional resources,” someone with the athletic department said, her tone ominous but her smile unwavering. “But don’t forget—you’re here to get an education, too.”
Royce shook his head. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Long before he’d arrived on LSU’s campus, everyone seemed more concerned about what he could do on the field than what he could learn in a classroom. Each day, he could better sense the gulf between himself and the other freshmen soon to be moving onto campus for the first time. They would fight for classes, try to plan out the next four years of their lives to ensure they graduated on time.
Royce would just be told when and where to show up and his books would be handed to him, his schedule determined by advisors in the athletic department.
Even during orientation, the vibe was clear: he wasn’t just a freshman. He was a freshman football player—and football came before everything at Louisiana State University.
As the session ended and a new group walked into the lecture hall, Royce noticed someone familiar standing at the bottom of the seats. Bree leaned over, whispering something to the girl next to her, and her laugh floated back to him.
He grabbed his bag and followed the others down the steps to get to the door. He caught up to Bree just as she sat down in one of the front rows, her phone in her hand.
Royce sat down next to her, leaning over. “I ain’t expect to see you here,” he said.
She turned to him, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “I didn’t expect to see you here either. I figured they didn’t make y’all sit through things like this.”
“That’s because you don’t be hearing them talk about us being students all the damn time,” he said, laughing. “You staying on campus?”
“Fuck yeah,” Bree said casually, glancing over her shoulder as more students filtered into and out of the lecture hall. “Why would I stay a home and have to deal with my parents when I could just live on campus?”
“Facts.”
“You?”
Royce nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I had a choice. They got me in West Campus. Just told me to have my ass there and that’s where I be. It’s cool. Got the Matherne’s over there so at least I ain’t gotta go far for food.”
“Are you telling me that because you want me to come over or are you just making conversation?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes.
“My number ain’t change,” he said, holding up his phone.
Bree smiled, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between them. After a beat, she leaned closer to him. “Do you think you’ll be able to get me tickets to games? I heard it’s hard for freshmen because the upperclassmen buy them all.”
“You paying for those tickets? I can see what I can do if I got a little money riding on it.”
“Money?” she asked. She moved her head so she could whisper in his ear. “You’ll have something else riding on ‘it’ if you get me those tickets. And you already know that’s better than money.”
“Bet,” Royce stood up as his phone began to vibrate with notifications that he had somewhere else to be on campus in 10 minutes—another part of learning the ropes being a highly regimented schedule. “I gotta go but hit me up sometime.”
“Oh, I will,” she smiled.
He walked out of the lecture hall to find Dewon standing in the breezeway outside of the building.
Dewon stepped away from the wall and fell into step with Royce as the two of them headed to their next meeting for orientation.
“Damn, dawg. How many bitches you came here with?” Dewon asked, nodding over his shoulder toward the lecture hall.
Royce shook his head. “Too damn many of them with the headache they be giving me.”
“Shit, pass them over here then,” Dewon laughed.
“We ain’t close like that, my nigga,” Royce said. “They about to have mad bitches on this campus in a couple weeks. You can find pussy on your own. Just tell them you play ball. That shit probably work better than it did in high school.”
“That’s fucked up, man.”
“It be like that,” Royce said, shrugging.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Don’t be a bitch now, rookie. Take that shit to the head,” Khalil, a sophomore linebacker who’d walked on at LSU, said. He took a long chug from a bottle of Hennessey in his hand, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Royce took one of three shots of Hennessey in front of him, grimacing as the liquor burned his throat. With encouragement from Khalil, Dewon, J.J., and Marcus, another low-man-on-the-totem-pole player at defensive back, Royce downed the other two.
The group had gone to a party at a house just off campus, a squat two-story with a yard full of students spilled onto the street. Music blasted from the open windows, loud enough to rattle the shutters. The smell of cheap beer mixed with sweat, humidity and the promise of bad decisions.
Royce cleared his throat and shook his head as if trying to rattle the taste of the Hennessy out of his mouth. He drank from a beer in his left hand.
“Damn, bruh. I know this ain’t your first time drinking,” Marcus said, laughing as he threw an arm around Royce’s shoulders. He was the elder statesman of the group, heading into his fourth year of college football—as much as one could call being a permanent scout teamer playing college football.
It didn’t take long for Royce to figure out that Marcus’ desire to play football had long ago disappeared, replaced by that of just living the life of a college student with the vague aura of LSU football enhancing it.
“Fuck no. I just love myself, so I don’t be drinking no funny Henny,” Royce shot back, still tasting the lingering flavor of the liquor despite his best efforts.
Khalil smacked him on the back. “That shit gonna put some hair on your chest. Make your fucking nuts drop, get you off the porch.”
A guy with a neatly trimmed goatee and dreads walked over to the group, holding a bottle of Casamigos in one hand and a solo cup in the other. He dapped up Khalil and Marcus and nodded to the freshmen.
“Yo, Ju. I been trying to get a hold of your ass for a week now. I need to be fresh for the first game of the season,” Marcus said, tugging at the small afro on his head. “I ain’t trying to pay no motherfucker $120 for a taper and a line up.”
“Man, my baby mama smashed my phone up because she found out I’ve been hiding money from them people on the child support.” He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a quick text. “Forgot to shoot y’all the new number.”
“Y’all need to get his number, too,” Khalil said, motioning between Julian, J.J., Dewon and Royce. “Whenever you need a cut, just hit Julian up. He’ll answer, whenever he ain’t in class or running from Keisha.”
J.J. raised an eyebrow. “You got a baby mama and still in college, bro?”
Julian shrugged. “I love women. I get a little money from the athletes on campus because they know I’m gonna get them right and then use that money to take them to the Blue Store and get some pussy after.”
“I ain’t gonna lie to you, big homie,” Royce said, taking a sip from his beer. “If a bitch spreading her legs behind some Blue Store chicken, then she exactly the kind of bitch that would be smashing your shit because you didn’t pay child support.”
“You ain’t wrong.” Julian laughed. He glanced over at the bottle of Hennessy Marcus was holding and held up the bottle of Casamigos. “Y’all trying to drink the good shit or y’all gonna keep drinking that trash?”
Royce shoved over the shot glasses he’d drank from. “I’ll drink anything that ain’t Hennesey.”
“My nigga,” Julian said, starting to pour shots.
…
Later, Royce stumbled out of an Uber along with J.J. and Dewon. The two of them helped steady him as he tried to walk back to their apartment, the effects of copious rounds of tequila having an effect on him.
“Yo, dawg. You fucking heavy as a motherfucker. You gonna have to walk on your own or something,” J.J. said as he tossed Royce’s arm off his shoulder.
Royce stumbled but maintained his footing. He stopped, holding his hand out as if balancing on an invisible rail. “I got it. Just make sure I don’t trip over nothing.”
“Your ass gonna be sleeping out here if you do,” Dewon said.
The walk back to the apartment was a blue of streetlights and muffled laughter. When they finally reached the door, Royce stumbled into his room and collapsed onto the bed, his head pounding and stomach churning. He could hear J.J. and Dewon disappearing into their own rooms.
As Royce drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but feel that was only the first of many such nights in college.
The lecture hall was alive with chatter as Royce leaned back in his seat, his knees bumping against the folding desk. The room smelled faintly of new books and old carpet, and the air buzzed with the dull hum of an overworked air conditioner.
A few orientation guides stood at the front at the front of the room, their matching polos tucked neatly into khakis as they took turns rattling off information about campus resources, student IDs and safety protocols.
Royce tapped his pen against the flimsy orientation booklet, his mind drifting far from the PowerPoint slides projected on the wall. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about learning the ropes of college life—it was more that the guides’ and the other speakers’ overly rehearsed enthusiasm grated on him.
“As student-athletes, you have a unique schedule and additional resources,” someone with the athletic department said, her tone ominous but her smile unwavering. “But don’t forget—you’re here to get an education, too.”
Royce shook his head. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Long before he’d arrived on LSU’s campus, everyone seemed more concerned about what he could do on the field than what he could learn in a classroom. Each day, he could better sense the gulf between himself and the other freshmen soon to be moving onto campus for the first time. They would fight for classes, try to plan out the next four years of their lives to ensure they graduated on time.
Royce would just be told when and where to show up and his books would be handed to him, his schedule determined by advisors in the athletic department.
Even during orientation, the vibe was clear: he wasn’t just a freshman. He was a freshman football player—and football came before everything at Louisiana State University.
As the session ended and a new group walked into the lecture hall, Royce noticed someone familiar standing at the bottom of the seats. Bree leaned over, whispering something to the girl next to her, and her laugh floated back to him.
He grabbed his bag and followed the others down the steps to get to the door. He caught up to Bree just as she sat down in one of the front rows, her phone in her hand.
Royce sat down next to her, leaning over. “I ain’t expect to see you here,” he said.
She turned to him, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “I didn’t expect to see you here either. I figured they didn’t make y’all sit through things like this.”
“That’s because you don’t be hearing them talk about us being students all the damn time,” he said, laughing. “You staying on campus?”
“Fuck yeah,” Bree said casually, glancing over her shoulder as more students filtered into and out of the lecture hall. “Why would I stay a home and have to deal with my parents when I could just live on campus?”
“Facts.”
“You?”
Royce nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think I had a choice. They got me in West Campus. Just told me to have my ass there and that’s where I be. It’s cool. Got the Matherne’s over there so at least I ain’t gotta go far for food.”
“Are you telling me that because you want me to come over or are you just making conversation?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes.
“My number ain’t change,” he said, holding up his phone.
Bree smiled, an unspoken acknowledgement passing between them. After a beat, she leaned closer to him. “Do you think you’ll be able to get me tickets to games? I heard it’s hard for freshmen because the upperclassmen buy them all.”
“You paying for those tickets? I can see what I can do if I got a little money riding on it.”
“Money?” she asked. She moved her head so she could whisper in his ear. “You’ll have something else riding on ‘it’ if you get me those tickets. And you already know that’s better than money.”
“Bet,” Royce stood up as his phone began to vibrate with notifications that he had somewhere else to be on campus in 10 minutes—another part of learning the ropes being a highly regimented schedule. “I gotta go but hit me up sometime.”
“Oh, I will,” she smiled.
He walked out of the lecture hall to find Dewon standing in the breezeway outside of the building.
Dewon stepped away from the wall and fell into step with Royce as the two of them headed to their next meeting for orientation.
“Damn, dawg. How many bitches you came here with?” Dewon asked, nodding over his shoulder toward the lecture hall.
Royce shook his head. “Too damn many of them with the headache they be giving me.”
“Shit, pass them over here then,” Dewon laughed.
“We ain’t close like that, my nigga,” Royce said. “They about to have mad bitches on this campus in a couple weeks. You can find pussy on your own. Just tell them you play ball. That shit probably work better than it did in high school.”
“That’s fucked up, man.”
“It be like that,” Royce said, shrugging.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Don’t be a bitch now, rookie. Take that shit to the head,” Khalil, a sophomore linebacker who’d walked on at LSU, said. He took a long chug from a bottle of Hennessey in his hand, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Royce took one of three shots of Hennessey in front of him, grimacing as the liquor burned his throat. With encouragement from Khalil, Dewon, J.J., and Marcus, another low-man-on-the-totem-pole player at defensive back, Royce downed the other two.
The group had gone to a party at a house just off campus, a squat two-story with a yard full of students spilled onto the street. Music blasted from the open windows, loud enough to rattle the shutters. The smell of cheap beer mixed with sweat, humidity and the promise of bad decisions.
Royce cleared his throat and shook his head as if trying to rattle the taste of the Hennessy out of his mouth. He drank from a beer in his left hand.
“Damn, bruh. I know this ain’t your first time drinking,” Marcus said, laughing as he threw an arm around Royce’s shoulders. He was the elder statesman of the group, heading into his fourth year of college football—as much as one could call being a permanent scout teamer playing college football.
It didn’t take long for Royce to figure out that Marcus’ desire to play football had long ago disappeared, replaced by that of just living the life of a college student with the vague aura of LSU football enhancing it.
“Fuck no. I just love myself, so I don’t be drinking no funny Henny,” Royce shot back, still tasting the lingering flavor of the liquor despite his best efforts.
Khalil smacked him on the back. “That shit gonna put some hair on your chest. Make your fucking nuts drop, get you off the porch.”
A guy with a neatly trimmed goatee and dreads walked over to the group, holding a bottle of Casamigos in one hand and a solo cup in the other. He dapped up Khalil and Marcus and nodded to the freshmen.
“Yo, Ju. I been trying to get a hold of your ass for a week now. I need to be fresh for the first game of the season,” Marcus said, tugging at the small afro on his head. “I ain’t trying to pay no motherfucker $120 for a taper and a line up.”
“Man, my baby mama smashed my phone up because she found out I’ve been hiding money from them people on the child support.” He took his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a quick text. “Forgot to shoot y’all the new number.”
“Y’all need to get his number, too,” Khalil said, motioning between Julian, J.J., Dewon and Royce. “Whenever you need a cut, just hit Julian up. He’ll answer, whenever he ain’t in class or running from Keisha.”
J.J. raised an eyebrow. “You got a baby mama and still in college, bro?”
Julian shrugged. “I love women. I get a little money from the athletes on campus because they know I’m gonna get them right and then use that money to take them to the Blue Store and get some pussy after.”
“I ain’t gonna lie to you, big homie,” Royce said, taking a sip from his beer. “If a bitch spreading her legs behind some Blue Store chicken, then she exactly the kind of bitch that would be smashing your shit because you didn’t pay child support.”
“You ain’t wrong.” Julian laughed. He glanced over at the bottle of Hennessy Marcus was holding and held up the bottle of Casamigos. “Y’all trying to drink the good shit or y’all gonna keep drinking that trash?”
Royce shoved over the shot glasses he’d drank from. “I’ll drink anything that ain’t Hennesey.”
“My nigga,” Julian said, starting to pour shots.
…
Later, Royce stumbled out of an Uber along with J.J. and Dewon. The two of them helped steady him as he tried to walk back to their apartment, the effects of copious rounds of tequila having an effect on him.
“Yo, dawg. You fucking heavy as a motherfucker. You gonna have to walk on your own or something,” J.J. said as he tossed Royce’s arm off his shoulder.
Royce stumbled but maintained his footing. He stopped, holding his hand out as if balancing on an invisible rail. “I got it. Just make sure I don’t trip over nothing.”
“Your ass gonna be sleeping out here if you do,” Dewon said.
The walk back to the apartment was a blue of streetlights and muffled laughter. When they finally reached the door, Royce stumbled into his room and collapsed onto the bed, his head pounding and stomach churning. He could hear J.J. and Dewon disappearing into their own rooms.
As Royce drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but feel that was only the first of many such nights in college.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16766
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
the context of the relationship is sucker shit (that's his friend's ex) but a situationship is something we can all relate to. at some point, you gonna have to move on though so she can move
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7951
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Inching closer and closer to that first game