Romeo how that chopper feel? Wanna ask his bitch ass that, but that nigga dead for real!
Dying to Live
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Soapy
- Posts: 16542
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
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Agent
- Posts: 11802
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 22:54
Dying to Live
Royce bout to take himself out 
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16806
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Reality
Royce sat in the sterile, white-walled room, the antiseptic smell of the doctor’s office making his stomach churn. His hand, encased in the bulky cast for what felt like an eternity, rested on the arm of the chair. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant chatter of the medical staff outside.
The door creaked open, and Dr. Richards, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a calm, reassuring demeanor, stepped in, holding a clipboard. His eyes crinkled into a small smile as he approached Royce.
“How’s it going, Royce?” Dr. Richards asked, holding out his fist for Royce to bump.
He did, but he didn’t answer the question. Despite the man taking over his care once he’d moved to Baton Rouge, the two hadn’t shared too many words.
It didn’t phase the old doctor.
“Good to hear,” Dr. Richards said as he sat down on a stool and rolled to Royce’s side. He gently lifted Royce’s hand, inspecting the cast. “Ready to get rid of this old thing?”
Royce nodded, holding his hand up as the doctor began to cut away the cast. As it came off, his hand felt strange, lighter but weak. The skin was pale and the muscles atrophied from disuse. Dr. Richards flexed Royce’s fingers gently, nodding in approval.
“The surgery to reconstruct your hand went well,” he said, his tone reassuring. “You’ve healed nicely. With some physical therapy, you should regain a good bit of the function you had before. By the end of the year, you’ll be throwing mean left hook.”
The doctor did some shadow boxing as he spun around in the chair to the lightbox on the wall. Royce stared at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. The movement felt stiff, and his muscles ached with each movement.
Dr. Richards flipped the switch, illuminating Royce’s most recent X-rays. He scrutinized them, his expression thoughtful.
“Your leg is making progress as well. We’ll be able to get you into a soft cast by the end of the month if everything keeps coming together like this,” the doctor continued, his eyes on the X-rays. “You’ll need to take it easy though. It’s a step in the right direction, but we don’t want to push too hard and have you reinjure yourself.”
Royce nodded slowly. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Will it heal enough to play football again?”
The doctor turned around to face Royce, his expression softening with a touch of sympathy. He paused to choose his words carefully, knowing how much the answer meant to his patient given the fact he’d asked the question at all.
“Son, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You suffered some pretty severe injuries and underwent some pretty extensive surgeries. Think of it like tearing an ACL. It’s never the same after that first one. You have a lot to contend with beyond that.”
“Yeah,” Royce said.
“You’re young so your body is resilient, but will you be able to run and put your body under the stresses that you did before? I can’t say. Your leg, for example, will never have the bone strength that it had before. I can only speak from the medical perspective, but I think you should be prepared for the possibility that football might not be in your future.”
Royce nodded, staring at the floor. His eyes burned, feeling the sense of loss all over again.
Dr. Richards placed a hand on Royce’s shoulder, offering a squeeze of reassurance. “I’m sorry, Royce. I know that isn’t easy to hear, but you’ve got a lot of life ahead of you. And your recovery journey is only just beginning. We’ll get you into physical therapy here in a couple weeks and getting back into a workout routine might help you.”
Royce nodded again, the words barely registering.
“See you next time?” the doctor asked, holding out his fist again.
Royce weakly bumped his fist against the doctor’s before standing up from the chair.
~~~~~~~~~~
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over Rana’s backyard. The smell of seasoned crawfish, corn, potatoes and all the fixings filled the air as Tyrell and his fraternity brothers laughed and joked around the boiling pot. Their wives and girlfriends mingled nearby, sipping on drinks and sharing stories.
The atmosphere was lively, a stark contrast to the quiet despair that clung to Royce as he sat alone on the edge of the desk.
His leg throbbed dully as he rested it on the railing in front of him. He stared at his freshly revealed hand, flexing his fingers and tuning out the sound of the others’ booming laughter, the music and the rolling of the boiling water.
He had only come outside because Rana had insisted, practically dragging him out of the guest room to join the gathering. But now that he’d made a sufficient attempt to show his face, all he wanted to do was go back inside and go to sleep.
Rana glanced over at Royce from where she was chatting with her and Tyrell’s friends. Excusing herself from the conversation, she walked over to him, her smile fading when she saw the distant look in his eyes.
“Royce,” she said softly, crouching down beside him. “You gotta start interacting with people again. You can’t live the rest of your life closed up in this shell. Come on. Melanie’s got a little sister she could hook you up with so you can get back to chasing them fast ass lil’ girls.”
Royce didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on his hand. He traced the bones in his hand, feeling the divots and grooves where the doctors had to fuse parts of the hand together to get it back into working shape.
Rana sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. “You’re not the only one hurting. You realize that right? I get it. I do, but you’re sulking, Royce. You can’t keep shutting everyone out. It’s been months. You’re just going to give up at 17?”
Royce looked up at her and shook his head, not in an answer to the question but instead to show he didn’t intend to answer it all, before looking back down at his hand.
“You’re not making shit easy for Roni,” she said, her voice firm. “You weren’t the one that had to tell her and make her understand what was going on. She’s only twelve, just a kid. She needs her big brother to be there for her.”
Sucking his teeth, Royce’s jaw tightened. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Y’all ran up here to Baton Rouge long before any of this shit. And my fucking bad I was too busy getting sewn back together to explain shit to Roni. Y’all can keep living the lives y’all was living. That shit over there ain’t what I’m trying to do.”
“You talk like we abandoned you. You’re family. You’re a part of this as much as anyone else out here.”
“You weren’t fucking there!” Royce shouted, sitting up abruptly. “None of you motherfuckers were! Family? You think this a fucking family? The only fucking reason I’m up here is because Ma said both her fucking sons died that night. Go on and tell me how much of a fucking family we are, Rana!”
Rana’s face paled, her eyes widening in shock. The laughter and chatter around them had quieted, everyone’s attention now on the siblings. Tyrell took a step away from the pot, concern etched on his face, but he hesitated, unsure of how to intervene.
“Royce,” she whispered. “That’s not fair. She was hurting just like we all are. But beyond that, I didn’t say that shit. You can’t blame me for that.”
But Royce was already pushing himself up from the chair, his movements stiff and awkward as he struggled with his crutches, trying not to use his left hand too much out of habit despite the cast being gone.
Rana reached out to help him, but he recoiled from her touch.
“Fuck off, man,” he said, anger in his voice.
He turned and began to hobble toward the house, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The entire backyard was silent, all eyes on him as he made his way to the door.
“Royce,” Rana called after him, but Tyrell put his arm around her shoulders and shook his head.
Royce didn’t respond, didn’t even look back, as he shoved the door open with his shoulder and disappeared into the house.
Royce sat in the sterile, white-walled room, the antiseptic smell of the doctor’s office making his stomach churn. His hand, encased in the bulky cast for what felt like an eternity, rested on the arm of the chair. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant chatter of the medical staff outside.
The door creaked open, and Dr. Richards, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a calm, reassuring demeanor, stepped in, holding a clipboard. His eyes crinkled into a small smile as he approached Royce.
“How’s it going, Royce?” Dr. Richards asked, holding out his fist for Royce to bump.
He did, but he didn’t answer the question. Despite the man taking over his care once he’d moved to Baton Rouge, the two hadn’t shared too many words.
It didn’t phase the old doctor.
“Good to hear,” Dr. Richards said as he sat down on a stool and rolled to Royce’s side. He gently lifted Royce’s hand, inspecting the cast. “Ready to get rid of this old thing?”
Royce nodded, holding his hand up as the doctor began to cut away the cast. As it came off, his hand felt strange, lighter but weak. The skin was pale and the muscles atrophied from disuse. Dr. Richards flexed Royce’s fingers gently, nodding in approval.
“The surgery to reconstruct your hand went well,” he said, his tone reassuring. “You’ve healed nicely. With some physical therapy, you should regain a good bit of the function you had before. By the end of the year, you’ll be throwing mean left hook.”
The doctor did some shadow boxing as he spun around in the chair to the lightbox on the wall. Royce stared at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. The movement felt stiff, and his muscles ached with each movement.
Dr. Richards flipped the switch, illuminating Royce’s most recent X-rays. He scrutinized them, his expression thoughtful.
“Your leg is making progress as well. We’ll be able to get you into a soft cast by the end of the month if everything keeps coming together like this,” the doctor continued, his eyes on the X-rays. “You’ll need to take it easy though. It’s a step in the right direction, but we don’t want to push too hard and have you reinjure yourself.”
Royce nodded slowly. He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Will it heal enough to play football again?”
The doctor turned around to face Royce, his expression softening with a touch of sympathy. He paused to choose his words carefully, knowing how much the answer meant to his patient given the fact he’d asked the question at all.
“Son, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You suffered some pretty severe injuries and underwent some pretty extensive surgeries. Think of it like tearing an ACL. It’s never the same after that first one. You have a lot to contend with beyond that.”
“Yeah,” Royce said.
“You’re young so your body is resilient, but will you be able to run and put your body under the stresses that you did before? I can’t say. Your leg, for example, will never have the bone strength that it had before. I can only speak from the medical perspective, but I think you should be prepared for the possibility that football might not be in your future.”
Royce nodded, staring at the floor. His eyes burned, feeling the sense of loss all over again.
Dr. Richards placed a hand on Royce’s shoulder, offering a squeeze of reassurance. “I’m sorry, Royce. I know that isn’t easy to hear, but you’ve got a lot of life ahead of you. And your recovery journey is only just beginning. We’ll get you into physical therapy here in a couple weeks and getting back into a workout routine might help you.”
Royce nodded again, the words barely registering.
“See you next time?” the doctor asked, holding out his fist again.
Royce weakly bumped his fist against the doctor’s before standing up from the chair.
~~~~~~~~~~
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over Rana’s backyard. The smell of seasoned crawfish, corn, potatoes and all the fixings filled the air as Tyrell and his fraternity brothers laughed and joked around the boiling pot. Their wives and girlfriends mingled nearby, sipping on drinks and sharing stories.
The atmosphere was lively, a stark contrast to the quiet despair that clung to Royce as he sat alone on the edge of the desk.
His leg throbbed dully as he rested it on the railing in front of him. He stared at his freshly revealed hand, flexing his fingers and tuning out the sound of the others’ booming laughter, the music and the rolling of the boiling water.
He had only come outside because Rana had insisted, practically dragging him out of the guest room to join the gathering. But now that he’d made a sufficient attempt to show his face, all he wanted to do was go back inside and go to sleep.
Rana glanced over at Royce from where she was chatting with her and Tyrell’s friends. Excusing herself from the conversation, she walked over to him, her smile fading when she saw the distant look in his eyes.
“Royce,” she said softly, crouching down beside him. “You gotta start interacting with people again. You can’t live the rest of your life closed up in this shell. Come on. Melanie’s got a little sister she could hook you up with so you can get back to chasing them fast ass lil’ girls.”
Royce didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on his hand. He traced the bones in his hand, feeling the divots and grooves where the doctors had to fuse parts of the hand together to get it back into working shape.
Rana sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. “You’re not the only one hurting. You realize that right? I get it. I do, but you’re sulking, Royce. You can’t keep shutting everyone out. It’s been months. You’re just going to give up at 17?”
Royce looked up at her and shook his head, not in an answer to the question but instead to show he didn’t intend to answer it all, before looking back down at his hand.
“You’re not making shit easy for Roni,” she said, her voice firm. “You weren’t the one that had to tell her and make her understand what was going on. She’s only twelve, just a kid. She needs her big brother to be there for her.”
Sucking his teeth, Royce’s jaw tightened. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Y’all ran up here to Baton Rouge long before any of this shit. And my fucking bad I was too busy getting sewn back together to explain shit to Roni. Y’all can keep living the lives y’all was living. That shit over there ain’t what I’m trying to do.”
“You talk like we abandoned you. You’re family. You’re a part of this as much as anyone else out here.”
“You weren’t fucking there!” Royce shouted, sitting up abruptly. “None of you motherfuckers were! Family? You think this a fucking family? The only fucking reason I’m up here is because Ma said both her fucking sons died that night. Go on and tell me how much of a fucking family we are, Rana!”
Rana’s face paled, her eyes widening in shock. The laughter and chatter around them had quieted, everyone’s attention now on the siblings. Tyrell took a step away from the pot, concern etched on his face, but he hesitated, unsure of how to intervene.
“Royce,” she whispered. “That’s not fair. She was hurting just like we all are. But beyond that, I didn’t say that shit. You can’t blame me for that.”
But Royce was already pushing himself up from the chair, his movements stiff and awkward as he struggled with his crutches, trying not to use his left hand too much out of habit despite the cast being gone.
Rana reached out to help him, but he recoiled from her touch.
“Fuck off, man,” he said, anger in his voice.
He turned and began to hobble toward the house, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The entire backyard was silent, all eyes on him as he made his way to the door.
“Royce,” Rana called after him, but Tyrell put his arm around her shoulders and shook his head.
Royce didn’t respond, didn’t even look back, as he shoved the door open with his shoulder and disappeared into the house.
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djp73
- Posts: 13183
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Waiting for you to introduce the actual main character that's going to play CFB25...
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7830
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Goddamn... this dude is just pure trauma.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16542
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
Got two functioning arms now, go get it back in blood, pussy
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16806
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Season’s Change
The sun cast a warm glow over U-High’s courtyard, where students gathered in small clusters during lunch. Royce sat alone on one of the stone benches near the edge of the courtyard, his leg now in a soft cast, propped up on the seat beside him.
The crutches were gone, replaced by the awkward stiffness of walking on his own again. He stared out at the other students, their laughter and chatter a distant hum in the background as he tried to get used to the strange sensation of freedom, even if it was only a partial one.
The past few weeks had been a blur as he settled into a routine. Sleep, school, physical therapy, hours spent alone in his room. The pain had begun to dull, but the emptiness remained, a constant ache that weighed him down. He was tired of Rana’s worried glances, of Roni’s cautious questions, of Tyrell’s awkward attempts at small talk.
He braced himself for more of the same as he saw Alix and Malik approaching him in the courtyard.
“Hey, buddy,” Alix said brightly. She tapped the bottom of his foot to get him to move his leg before she plopped down on the bench beside him. “Mind if we join you?”
Royce didn’t answer as he swung his leg to the ground, giving a small shrug as he continued to stare at nothing in particular. He was beginning to get used to their presence as they attempted to get him involved in their conversations. It had been a constant over the past few weeks, but outside of letting them be near him, he didn’t do much speaking.
As much as he appreciated the break from the isolation, he couldn’t bring himself to engage.
Malik leaned against a nearby pole, carefully opening a Hot Pocket package that he’d pulled from the pocket of his hoodie. “’Bout to start getting hot. We got a warm front coming through next week, so they say.”
“You’re always trying to sound like you know some shit. It’s 10 degrees. Warm front my fucking ass,” Alix said, huddling up in her jacket to stave off a gust of wind.
“You always on some dumb shit. I can go on Facebook and see what my boy Jay Grymes got to say about the weather just like everyone else.”
“You could watch it, but I’m not sure you’d know what you’re looking at.”
The relationship between Alix and Malik had only gotten more confusing to Royce the longer they’d hung around him. As he understood it, they’d once dated but that didn’t work out. Now, they bickered like an old married couple, but spent more time together alone than they spent with Jonah around.
Royce suspected they still had a thing going on.
“If I had any advice for you, bro,” Malik said, slapping Royce on his shoulder with the back of his hand. “It’d be to not mess with none of these women at this bitch. They all crazy and gonna have you wanting to jump off the bridge after a week.”
“Please do,” Alix said, rolling her eyes.
Malik sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted. Weather’s about to change. That means we getting close to football season. A nigga can’t wait to get back on the field. I need to make something shake on them scholarships.”
Royce’s eyes briefly flickered in Malik’s direction, but he quickly looked away, feeling the tension in his chest.
“Coach been talking about another state title for weeks,” he continued. “One of them put up or shut up type of seasons.”
“What’s that one guy’s name? The guy who transferred from Southern Lab and plays football? He looks like he’s headed to the NFL,” Alix said.
Malik shook his head. “You not slick. You don’t know nothing about football. We all know what you trying to do.”
She only shrugged, a slight smile on her lips.
“You should come out for the team, bro,” Malik said to Royce. “Still don’t know if you ever stepped on the field, but now that you ain’t all up in casts, it looks like you used to at least workout at some point.”
Royce’s body stiffened, his gaze dropping to the ground. Alix shot Malik a glare.
Realizing he’d hit a nerve, he hesitated, unsure of how to backtrack. “I mean, it’s cool if you don’t. I just figured you might wanna get in—”
“Nah, I don’t play,” Royce said, his voice rough.
The curt response lingered for a moment, shutting down any further conversation. Royce looked back up to stare at the wall on the building on the opposite side of the courtyard.
Alix shifted uncomfortably, searching for something to say that might ease the tension. “Well, you know,” she began. “There are some pretty fun things to do on the weekends and you’re welcome to hang out with us. No pressure or anything.”
Royce didn’t respond, the silence thick and heavy. They’d made the same offer to him multiple times, worded differently every so often. He figured the fact that he’d opened his mouth to say anything to them at all made Alix a little bolder in asking again.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“Good enough for me,” she said, shrugging. She then turned back to Malik. “Really, though. What’s that guy’s name? It’s like Nick or something.”
Malik stood up. “I’m not telling you no nigga’s name so you can go get fucked by him. That’s some diabolical behavior, Alix.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do!”
“My ass.”
Reaching down to scratch his ankle under his cast, Royce tuned out their conversation, wondering how he’d spend the spring and fall if it wasn’t going to be on a football field.
The sun cast a warm glow over U-High’s courtyard, where students gathered in small clusters during lunch. Royce sat alone on one of the stone benches near the edge of the courtyard, his leg now in a soft cast, propped up on the seat beside him.
The crutches were gone, replaced by the awkward stiffness of walking on his own again. He stared out at the other students, their laughter and chatter a distant hum in the background as he tried to get used to the strange sensation of freedom, even if it was only a partial one.
The past few weeks had been a blur as he settled into a routine. Sleep, school, physical therapy, hours spent alone in his room. The pain had begun to dull, but the emptiness remained, a constant ache that weighed him down. He was tired of Rana’s worried glances, of Roni’s cautious questions, of Tyrell’s awkward attempts at small talk.
He braced himself for more of the same as he saw Alix and Malik approaching him in the courtyard.
“Hey, buddy,” Alix said brightly. She tapped the bottom of his foot to get him to move his leg before she plopped down on the bench beside him. “Mind if we join you?”
Royce didn’t answer as he swung his leg to the ground, giving a small shrug as he continued to stare at nothing in particular. He was beginning to get used to their presence as they attempted to get him involved in their conversations. It had been a constant over the past few weeks, but outside of letting them be near him, he didn’t do much speaking.
As much as he appreciated the break from the isolation, he couldn’t bring himself to engage.
Malik leaned against a nearby pole, carefully opening a Hot Pocket package that he’d pulled from the pocket of his hoodie. “’Bout to start getting hot. We got a warm front coming through next week, so they say.”
“You’re always trying to sound like you know some shit. It’s 10 degrees. Warm front my fucking ass,” Alix said, huddling up in her jacket to stave off a gust of wind.
“You always on some dumb shit. I can go on Facebook and see what my boy Jay Grymes got to say about the weather just like everyone else.”
“You could watch it, but I’m not sure you’d know what you’re looking at.”
The relationship between Alix and Malik had only gotten more confusing to Royce the longer they’d hung around him. As he understood it, they’d once dated but that didn’t work out. Now, they bickered like an old married couple, but spent more time together alone than they spent with Jonah around.
Royce suspected they still had a thing going on.
“If I had any advice for you, bro,” Malik said, slapping Royce on his shoulder with the back of his hand. “It’d be to not mess with none of these women at this bitch. They all crazy and gonna have you wanting to jump off the bridge after a week.”
“Please do,” Alix said, rolling her eyes.
Malik sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted. Weather’s about to change. That means we getting close to football season. A nigga can’t wait to get back on the field. I need to make something shake on them scholarships.”
Royce’s eyes briefly flickered in Malik’s direction, but he quickly looked away, feeling the tension in his chest.
“Coach been talking about another state title for weeks,” he continued. “One of them put up or shut up type of seasons.”
“What’s that one guy’s name? The guy who transferred from Southern Lab and plays football? He looks like he’s headed to the NFL,” Alix said.
Malik shook his head. “You not slick. You don’t know nothing about football. We all know what you trying to do.”
She only shrugged, a slight smile on her lips.
“You should come out for the team, bro,” Malik said to Royce. “Still don’t know if you ever stepped on the field, but now that you ain’t all up in casts, it looks like you used to at least workout at some point.”
Royce’s body stiffened, his gaze dropping to the ground. Alix shot Malik a glare.
Realizing he’d hit a nerve, he hesitated, unsure of how to backtrack. “I mean, it’s cool if you don’t. I just figured you might wanna get in—”
“Nah, I don’t play,” Royce said, his voice rough.
The curt response lingered for a moment, shutting down any further conversation. Royce looked back up to stare at the wall on the building on the opposite side of the courtyard.
Alix shifted uncomfortably, searching for something to say that might ease the tension. “Well, you know,” she began. “There are some pretty fun things to do on the weekends and you’re welcome to hang out with us. No pressure or anything.”
Royce didn’t respond, the silence thick and heavy. They’d made the same offer to him multiple times, worded differently every so often. He figured the fact that he’d opened his mouth to say anything to them at all made Alix a little bolder in asking again.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“Good enough for me,” she said, shrugging. She then turned back to Malik. “Really, though. What’s that guy’s name? It’s like Nick or something.”
Malik stood up. “I’m not telling you no nigga’s name so you can go get fucked by him. That’s some diabolical behavior, Alix.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do!”
“My ass.”
Reaching down to scratch his ankle under his cast, Royce tuned out their conversation, wondering how he’d spend the spring and fall if it wasn’t going to be on a football field.
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Soapy
- Posts: 16542
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Dying to Live
get on the fries, hoe
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djp73
- Posts: 13183
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Ready to see Royce back on the field.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16806
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47