In jail* And see update regarding Jeremi's condition*
Dying to Live
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16880
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
boy ain't bout no growth
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16880
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
No Match
Royce leaned his head against the cool glass of the school bus window, watching as the mud turned from brown to red as quickly as Louisiana’s Florida Parishes gave way to Mississippi’s border counties.
The bus hummed with the energy of the team, the rhythm of their laughter and the occasional burst of music from someone’s phone blending into a backdrop of focus and anticipation. He yawned, choosing not to engage in the banter between the players, the rigor of the season beginning to catch up to him. The grind of the games and his recruitment seemed to never end.
Even his current environment, on a bus going to play a random school in Mississippi, was an example of the differences between the structure, or lack thereof, of Terrebonne’s football program and UHigh’s. He could feel the difference, see it in the way it seemed he was twice as strong as he was a year ago.
He also didn’t feel the sense of dread that he was used to suiting up for the Tigers, knowing that there was a better than usual chance that they would lose. In a way, the talent gaps between the Cubs and their opponents made the game fun again.
Like it was when he and Romeo were playing peewee ball, scoring 70 points against anyone unlucky enough to be on the opposite side of the field from them.
…
The Lawrence County quarterback clapped his hands trying to draw the Cubs’ defenders offside before shouting out adjustments to his teammates. Royce scanned for the formation, watching as the running back shifted subtly, aligning a step closer to the quarterback. A receiver motioned across the formation, his hands fidgeting until he got set in the slot.
Royce stepped up into the defensive line, calling out adjustments, pointing to his right and at the receiver. He jogged back, shifting over to his right.
The ball was snapped, and the quarterback planted his foot, the running back running back him. The back darted to the left, twisting his body to catch the toss.
Royce was already moving, exploding toward the backfield. He shoved a pulling guard’s hands away from him. The receiver tried to turn around to pick him, but he was too slow in reacting.
The back didn’t even have a chance to turn upfield before Royce met him in the backfield, wrapping up and driving him back a few yards before whipping him to the turf for a big loss.
Despite the score, the sideline erupted in cheers. Royce popped up, slamming his helmet against his nearest teammate’s in celebration.
“Read that shit like a book!” Coach Vaughn shouted from the sidelines, pointing at Royce.
Royce grinned, jogging back to the huddle.
…
“And that’s all from Monticello. University Laboratory School beats Lawrence County, 48-26.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“I could take that picture of you, edit it up a bit and throw it up on social media next week. You have to really keep putting out there that all these schools are paying attention to you,” Jonah said, gesturing to a picture of Royce from their win over Lawrence County that he was looking at on his phone.
Royce shook his head as he picked up the sandwich from a tray in front of him. He, Jonah, Malik and Alix sat at a table in the cafeteria for lunch as Jonah and Malik gave Royce advice on how to promote himself. “I don’t think none of that shit matter. You think these schools looking at fucking Twitter trying to figure out where we leaning?”
“That’s exactly what they be doing,” Malik said, quickly tapping out a text on his phone. “That’s why niggas be lying about it. Talking about they getting scholarship offers from every SEC schools and they can’t even get a phone call from the SWAC.”
“That shit don’t do nothing.”
“I be forgetting that you basically a rookie with this. They got mad dudes got a scholarship from somewhere from lying about who looking at them. You wouldn’t even be lying. You are going to Tuscaloosa.”
“What does he need to sell if he’s already getting attention from all these big schools?” Alix asked, interjecting into the conversation.
Malik sucked his teeth. “This man business. Why you even getting in it?”
Alix opened her mouth to respond, but it was Royce that stopped the brewing argument.
“Chill out, bruh. Y’all ain’t gotta be at each other neck all the time,” Royce took a bite of the sandwich. “I’m with her anyway. I don’t know why I gotta do more than I’m already doing. I don’t need every school reaching out. I just need the right ones.”
“Thank you,” Alix said, looking at Malik before rolling her eyes.
“Because of NIL,” Jonah said, having gained some knowledge of the process from being around so many athletes in the Capital Area. “You want to be able to say that one school is offering you this and another that so that you get the most money you can.”
“Exactly,” Malik slapped the table and pointed at Jonah. “You told me the same shit when I went to Baylor. You can’t argue for shit if they know that it’s between them and some FCS schools offering you and all-you-can-eat gift card to Applebees.”
“Is it even that much of a difference?” Alix asked, making a point to direct the question to Jonah and Royce.
Royce shrugged. “It could be, but I mean, Alabama flying me out. There ain’t gonna be too many schools with more money in the bank than Alabama.”
“Yeah, but is you gonna start day one at Alabama?” Malik questioned, tapping the table to punctuate his words. “They not giving redshirted freshmen linebackers no money. Personally, I think you should just gone on and call up Baylor and tell them they need to close the deal on me so they can get you to Waco, too.”
“That could get the bag,” Jonah nodded.
“That could get the bag,” Alix repeated, her tone mocking.
Royce finished his sandwich and brushed his hands off on his pants. “You call Baylor and tell them I want a hundred-fifty and I’ll be there next week. All these other schools might be in the middle of fucking nowhere, but at least they ain’t known for some crazy shit.”
Malik shook his head before standing up, tapping Jonah on his shoulder. “Man, c’mon so we can throw some shit together to talk some sense into this nigga.”
Alix put her hand on Royce’s thigh, stopping him from getting up as Malik and Jonah disappeared into the hall.
“Reaching for my dick in the cafeteria? You want it that bad?” Royce laughed.
She moved her hand and swatted him in the chest. “Calm your horny ass down. Are you really thinking about going to Alabama?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fucking Alabama though. If they want me there then that’s hard to turn.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t even be entertaining them. You know it’s basically treason for someone from Louisiana to go to Alabama.”
“Devonta Smith won a whole ass Heisman there,” Royce laughed.
“I’m just saying. I’d be telling them to go fuck themselves,” Alix said, holding her hands up.
“You, of all people, shouldn’t be trying to tell anyone where to go to school since you broke Malik’s heart with that shit so bad he ain’t never gonna let it go.”
Alix scoffed and stood up. “Fuck you, Royce. I was just giving my opinion.”
“Man, don’t be like that,” he said, trying to apologize, but she was already halfway across the cafeteria.
~~~~~~~~~~
Madison Prep lined up with four receivers split out wide, the quarterback stood in the shotgun, nervously licking his fingers as he went through his cadence. Royce shifted to his left, his eyes shifting between the quarterback and the slot receiver to the short side of the field.
The quarterback called for the snap, taking a half of step back and setting his feet to throw, his eyes locking onto the slot receiver who was breaking inside.
Royce didn’t hesitate, planting his foot and driving toward the passing lane just as the quarterback released the ball.
The receiver reached for it, but Royce was already there. He snatched the ball out of the air, his hands enveloping it with a satisfying thud. Without breaking stride, he tucked the ball and turned upfield, turf stretching out in front of him.
The quarterback dove at Royce’s legs in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he sidestepped the attempt effortlessly. A roar of cheers and a smattering of groans in the crowd swelled as he sprinted down the sideline, only getting tackled near midfield by the hustling running back.
Royce shoved himself up to his feet, spiking the ball into the turf and roaring into the night sky as his teammates mobbed him on the sideline.
…
“Gautreaux takes a knee and that’s going to be all she wrote from here in Baton Rouge where the UHigh Cubs have run through the Madison Prep Chargers, 43-7.”
…
As Royce walked toward the buses, ready to head back to campus and then home, he noticed a trio of familiar faces waiting near them.
“Oh, that boy good, huh?” Tyrell said, dapping up Royce. “They might need to put you back at safety with how you reading them quarterbacks.”
“Nah, that’s all Malik and them. I ain’t trying to ever run with no receivers,” Royce said, gesturing to the rest of the team filing out of the visitors’ locker rooms.
He shared hugs with Rana and Roni as they congratulated him, too.
It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time anyone in his family had come to see one of his games since Romeo’s death.
As he parted ways with them and got on the bus, it felt like things were finally trending in the right direction for him.
Royce leaned his head against the cool glass of the school bus window, watching as the mud turned from brown to red as quickly as Louisiana’s Florida Parishes gave way to Mississippi’s border counties.
The bus hummed with the energy of the team, the rhythm of their laughter and the occasional burst of music from someone’s phone blending into a backdrop of focus and anticipation. He yawned, choosing not to engage in the banter between the players, the rigor of the season beginning to catch up to him. The grind of the games and his recruitment seemed to never end.
Even his current environment, on a bus going to play a random school in Mississippi, was an example of the differences between the structure, or lack thereof, of Terrebonne’s football program and UHigh’s. He could feel the difference, see it in the way it seemed he was twice as strong as he was a year ago.
He also didn’t feel the sense of dread that he was used to suiting up for the Tigers, knowing that there was a better than usual chance that they would lose. In a way, the talent gaps between the Cubs and their opponents made the game fun again.
Like it was when he and Romeo were playing peewee ball, scoring 70 points against anyone unlucky enough to be on the opposite side of the field from them.
…
The Lawrence County quarterback clapped his hands trying to draw the Cubs’ defenders offside before shouting out adjustments to his teammates. Royce scanned for the formation, watching as the running back shifted subtly, aligning a step closer to the quarterback. A receiver motioned across the formation, his hands fidgeting until he got set in the slot.
Royce stepped up into the defensive line, calling out adjustments, pointing to his right and at the receiver. He jogged back, shifting over to his right.
The ball was snapped, and the quarterback planted his foot, the running back running back him. The back darted to the left, twisting his body to catch the toss.
Royce was already moving, exploding toward the backfield. He shoved a pulling guard’s hands away from him. The receiver tried to turn around to pick him, but he was too slow in reacting.
The back didn’t even have a chance to turn upfield before Royce met him in the backfield, wrapping up and driving him back a few yards before whipping him to the turf for a big loss.
Despite the score, the sideline erupted in cheers. Royce popped up, slamming his helmet against his nearest teammate’s in celebration.
“Read that shit like a book!” Coach Vaughn shouted from the sidelines, pointing at Royce.
Royce grinned, jogging back to the huddle.
…
“And that’s all from Monticello. University Laboratory School beats Lawrence County, 48-26.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“I could take that picture of you, edit it up a bit and throw it up on social media next week. You have to really keep putting out there that all these schools are paying attention to you,” Jonah said, gesturing to a picture of Royce from their win over Lawrence County that he was looking at on his phone.
Royce shook his head as he picked up the sandwich from a tray in front of him. He, Jonah, Malik and Alix sat at a table in the cafeteria for lunch as Jonah and Malik gave Royce advice on how to promote himself. “I don’t think none of that shit matter. You think these schools looking at fucking Twitter trying to figure out where we leaning?”
“That’s exactly what they be doing,” Malik said, quickly tapping out a text on his phone. “That’s why niggas be lying about it. Talking about they getting scholarship offers from every SEC schools and they can’t even get a phone call from the SWAC.”
“That shit don’t do nothing.”
“I be forgetting that you basically a rookie with this. They got mad dudes got a scholarship from somewhere from lying about who looking at them. You wouldn’t even be lying. You are going to Tuscaloosa.”
“What does he need to sell if he’s already getting attention from all these big schools?” Alix asked, interjecting into the conversation.
Malik sucked his teeth. “This man business. Why you even getting in it?”
Alix opened her mouth to respond, but it was Royce that stopped the brewing argument.
“Chill out, bruh. Y’all ain’t gotta be at each other neck all the time,” Royce took a bite of the sandwich. “I’m with her anyway. I don’t know why I gotta do more than I’m already doing. I don’t need every school reaching out. I just need the right ones.”
“Thank you,” Alix said, looking at Malik before rolling her eyes.
“Because of NIL,” Jonah said, having gained some knowledge of the process from being around so many athletes in the Capital Area. “You want to be able to say that one school is offering you this and another that so that you get the most money you can.”
“Exactly,” Malik slapped the table and pointed at Jonah. “You told me the same shit when I went to Baylor. You can’t argue for shit if they know that it’s between them and some FCS schools offering you and all-you-can-eat gift card to Applebees.”
“Is it even that much of a difference?” Alix asked, making a point to direct the question to Jonah and Royce.
Royce shrugged. “It could be, but I mean, Alabama flying me out. There ain’t gonna be too many schools with more money in the bank than Alabama.”
“Yeah, but is you gonna start day one at Alabama?” Malik questioned, tapping the table to punctuate his words. “They not giving redshirted freshmen linebackers no money. Personally, I think you should just gone on and call up Baylor and tell them they need to close the deal on me so they can get you to Waco, too.”
“That could get the bag,” Jonah nodded.
“That could get the bag,” Alix repeated, her tone mocking.
Royce finished his sandwich and brushed his hands off on his pants. “You call Baylor and tell them I want a hundred-fifty and I’ll be there next week. All these other schools might be in the middle of fucking nowhere, but at least they ain’t known for some crazy shit.”
Malik shook his head before standing up, tapping Jonah on his shoulder. “Man, c’mon so we can throw some shit together to talk some sense into this nigga.”
Alix put her hand on Royce’s thigh, stopping him from getting up as Malik and Jonah disappeared into the hall.
“Reaching for my dick in the cafeteria? You want it that bad?” Royce laughed.
She moved her hand and swatted him in the chest. “Calm your horny ass down. Are you really thinking about going to Alabama?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s fucking Alabama though. If they want me there then that’s hard to turn.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t even be entertaining them. You know it’s basically treason for someone from Louisiana to go to Alabama.”
“Devonta Smith won a whole ass Heisman there,” Royce laughed.
“I’m just saying. I’d be telling them to go fuck themselves,” Alix said, holding her hands up.
“You, of all people, shouldn’t be trying to tell anyone where to go to school since you broke Malik’s heart with that shit so bad he ain’t never gonna let it go.”
Alix scoffed and stood up. “Fuck you, Royce. I was just giving my opinion.”
“Man, don’t be like that,” he said, trying to apologize, but she was already halfway across the cafeteria.
~~~~~~~~~~
Madison Prep lined up with four receivers split out wide, the quarterback stood in the shotgun, nervously licking his fingers as he went through his cadence. Royce shifted to his left, his eyes shifting between the quarterback and the slot receiver to the short side of the field.
The quarterback called for the snap, taking a half of step back and setting his feet to throw, his eyes locking onto the slot receiver who was breaking inside.
Royce didn’t hesitate, planting his foot and driving toward the passing lane just as the quarterback released the ball.
The receiver reached for it, but Royce was already there. He snatched the ball out of the air, his hands enveloping it with a satisfying thud. Without breaking stride, he tucked the ball and turned upfield, turf stretching out in front of him.
The quarterback dove at Royce’s legs in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he sidestepped the attempt effortlessly. A roar of cheers and a smattering of groans in the crowd swelled as he sprinted down the sideline, only getting tackled near midfield by the hustling running back.
Royce shoved himself up to his feet, spiking the ball into the turf and roaring into the night sky as his teammates mobbed him on the sideline.
…
“Gautreaux takes a knee and that’s going to be all she wrote from here in Baton Rouge where the UHigh Cubs have run through the Madison Prep Chargers, 43-7.”
…
As Royce walked toward the buses, ready to head back to campus and then home, he noticed a trio of familiar faces waiting near them.
“Oh, that boy good, huh?” Tyrell said, dapping up Royce. “They might need to put you back at safety with how you reading them quarterbacks.”
“Nah, that’s all Malik and them. I ain’t trying to ever run with no receivers,” Royce said, gesturing to the rest of the team filing out of the visitors’ locker rooms.
He shared hugs with Rana and Roni as they congratulated him, too.
It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time anyone in his family had come to see one of his games since Romeo’s death.
As he parted ways with them and got on the bus, it felt like things were finally trending in the right direction for him.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 7883
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Where that anvil at? 
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16880
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Sweet Home
A muffled voice crackled over the intercom, pulling Royce from a restless sleep. The pilot’s announcement—something about preparing for descent—barely registered as he rubbed his eyes and glanced out the tiny airplane window. Miles below, patches of farmland and clusters of buildings emerged through a quilt of low-hanging clouds. Birmingham.
Royce exhaled, trying to steady the nerves rattling in his chest. It was his first time on a plane, and being introduced to flight with red eye wouldn’t be something that he’d wish on his worst enemy. Every bump and jolt had him gripping the armrest tighter. It was only by the grace of God that no one was sitting next to him to be disturbed by his panic.
A part of him couldn’t believe where he was, heading to the University of Alabama, with the school trying to tie him to a scholarship. If life had been fair, had turned out like it should’ve, it would’ve been Romeo on this trip instead of him.
The plane touched down with a jarring thud. Royce stood up and grabbed his bag from the overhead, following the slow-moving line of weary-eyed passengers through the jet bridge. As soon as he entered the terminal, a tall man in a crimson polo and khakis approached him, a polished smile on his face.
“Royce Lafitte?”
Royce nodded, fighting the urge to yawn as he adjusted the strap of his backpack.
“Good. Hope the flight wasn’t too bad. I’m Bob Welton, director of player personnel. Welcome to Alabama. Typically a coach would’ve come to pick you up, but as you know, we have an 11 a.m. kickoff today. Homecoming. Anyway, ready to experience the greatest university on this planet?”
Royce nodded again, unsure what else to say. The man ushered Royce through the airport. Before Royce knew it, he was in the passenger seat of a sleek black SUV, watching the city of Birmingham roll by as they drove toward Tuscaloosa.
…
Alabama’s campus unfolded before him, something that he’d only seen on TV. Even during his time in Baton Rouge, he’d mostly steered clear of LSU’s campus on Saturday’s after hearing enough horror stories about trying to find your way off the campus once games were over. Now, he was faced with thousands upon thousands of people tailgating around the campus.
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet and he could already smell the scent of alcohol and food in the air.
Every building seemed designed to impress—brick facades with gleaming white columns, statues and banners hanging from lampposts. Students and fans alike moved around the campus, decked out in crimson gear, the energy palpable in the entire town.
“I know you’re from Baton Rouge, but welcome to a real SEC town,” Welton said with a grin, turning to Royce as they pulled up to a sleek facility with glass doors and Alabama’s signature logo etched onto the entrance.
Inside, the air buzzed with purpose, Royce felt dwarfed by the enormous trophy case, which displayed championship hardware, framed jerseys and game balls from iconic victories. It was clear that Alabama was just on a different level than other programs.
Welton led him to a sprawling lounge where other recruits were already gathered, telling Royce that they’d all meet with the coaching staff the next day before they flew back home. The room was modern and luxurious, with oversized leather chairs, flat-screen TVs playing Alabama highlight reels and tables lined with catered food.
Royce noticed a familiar face almost instantly. Near the buffet, wearing his signature jewelry, was Poochie talking with another couple of recruits.
“Alright, you were the last one we were waiting for,” Welton said, looking at his phone where a list of names sat on the screen. He stepped into the middle of the room. “Alright, fellas. We’ve got a long day and not a lot of time. Let’s get started.”
Royce glanced at the smorgasbord of food, feeling the urge to run over and fill his backpack before they walked away.
The recruits followed Welton through the facility as he gave them a tour, one that featured loops around areas seemingly designed to get them in and out of them as quickly as possible to not disrupt the ever-meticulous Nick Saban’s gameday prep.
They stopped in different areas – the weight room, the locker rooms, film rooms. Each stop was a reminder of Alabama’s prestige and greatness. Royce found himself in awe at the sheer scale of it all.
When they reached the locker room, Royce stopped in his tracks. Hanging inside one of the lockers was a jersey with his name on the back, stitched in bold white letters on the iconic crimson of the Tide.
“Alabama A&M wear the same color so you can get used to it,” Poochie said, walking behind him.
Royce reached out and grabbed the bottom of the jersey. “Nigga, don’t think I won’t beat your ass up in these people locker room.”
“You and Malik must be on some sus shit if you ready to catch a one with someone you don’t even know all the damn time.”
“That’s my nigga. I don’t need to know why he got beef with you. He got beef with you and that’s all that matter.”
“Just know I ain’t the one in the wrong on the situation but if you want to take it there and embarrass both us here, we can do that.”
Royce glanced over at Poochie, pausing for a moment. “You ain’t worth it.”
A tall blonde girl walked over, interrupting their conversation.
“How y’all doing,” she greeted, her accent almost so stereotypically Alabamian than Royce thought it had to be fake. “My name’s Carmen. I’m going to be help show you boys around this weekend.” She turned to Poochie. “You must be Eric.”
He nodded before correcting. “Poochie.”
“Honey, I’m gonna call you what your mama named you if that’s alright. And you’re Royce,” she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “Looking forward to showing y’all a good time.”
Royce took her hand, giving her a quick once over. She was pretty in that former beauty pageant queen way. “Yeah, I think we’ll be in good hands,” he said.
Her eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary before she smiled. “You’re gonna love it here. I’ll sure you get the full Alabama experience.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
…
Standing on the sideline of Bryant-Denny Stadium as the Crimson Tide went head-to-head with the Razorbacks in a game that proving to be an exciting one was surreal. The roar of the more than 100,000 people in the stadium drowned out the announcers, only the band being able to cut through the din of the crowd.
Despite having no allegiance to Alabama – yet anyway – Royce felt himself being swept up in the game. Rooting for the Tide, shouting at the refs for every missed called, dapping up the other recruits on visits when a big play happened, a natural bond forming between them as they took in the sights and sounds that they could be experiencing firsthand by this time next year.
Even through thoughts of Romeo, missing out on experiences like this, Royce couldn’t help but think this is where he belonged. On the field of an elite college football program, playing in front of hundreds of thousands of people.
He was so caught up in it all, he even found himself joking around with Poochie as Arkansas came close to ruining Alabama’s day and beating them on Homecoming.
It was at that moment that he realized this could be his life.
…
Carmen’s apartment was on the edge of campus, perched in a sleek complex that overlooked a row of oak trees. The place was spotless, the kind of modern and tastefully decorated space Royce had only seen in movies.
Plush rugs covered hardwood floors, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a showroom – clean lines, soft fabrics and just enough color to make the space feel inviting. A framed picture of Carmen wearing a crown and a sash that read Miss Teen Alabama between two women who looked like aged up versions of her sat on a side table, next to a flickering vanilla-scented candle.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, kicking off her shoes as she walked toward the kitchen. She’d taken him to a couple of parties after the game but predicted when he’d want to leave better than he had himself, the flight beginning to catch up to him.
He bent down to untie his shoes, setting them by the door before walking into the living room, sitting on the couch. He picked up a picture of Carmen and a young man from an end table and inspected it.
She returned with two glasses filled with something cold and fizzy, condensation sliding down the sides. She set on glass down on the coffee table and took the picture from him, tossing it onto another chair without a word.
“You thirsty?” she asked, holding out the glass to him.
He took it from her, her fingers brushing against his.
“Now that you’re off the clock, you can relax,” she said, her voice low and coaxing as she sat down next to him, tucking her legs under her. She leaned closer, her perfume wrapping around him – a mix of floral and something warm, like vanilla or amber.
“I ain’t realize I wasn’t relaxed,” he said, taking a sip from the glass. He could immediately tell it was something too expensive for his palette to recognize.
She laughed softy, her hand grazing along his arm, fingertips tracing the curve of his bicep. “You’d fit in here. You have that quiet confidence, the talent… the looks.”
“I gotta have the looks to play football at Alabama? I ain’t no quarterback, love.”
“Look at you trying to be all suave. Well, my grandmama, Lord rest her soul, thinks I should’ve been a nun, but that’s a little bit of a selfish thing on my part. I just like seeing y’all looking good in those pants. Some girls like baseball players but give me a man on the football field any day of the week.”
He leaned forward and put the glass down on the coffee table before turning toward her, putting his hand on her knee. “Do you only like a man if he on the field here or any field work?”
She smiled, taking her phone out of her pocket and putting on some music. “You’re going to come here so it’s a matter of semantics.”
…
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the blinds, warming Royce’s face. He stirred, disoriented, for a moment as he felt the unusually soft sheets wrapped around his waist. That was until he remembered he was in Tuscaloosa – and that he was in Carmen’s apartment.
“Well, good morning to you. I guess I had you all tuckered out,” Carmen said. She sat on an ottoman next to the bed wearing a silk robe while putting on her legs. She gestured to Royce’s phone on the nightstand. “Your girlfriend texted you.”
“Girlfriend?” Royce asked, confusion on his face.
Carmen raised an eyebrow. “I reckon so. Honey, I wouldn’t be texting any man before the roosters are up unless we’re together. But don’t worry, I didn’t read it because that’s not any of my business. I just noticed the notification.”
He reached over and snatched the phone up. An unread text from Alix sat on the screen.
’Hey, just wanted to apologize for being a cunt the other day. I hope Tuscaloosa isn’t too bad. You deserve this, though, even if I think Alabama is a shithole.’
Royce felt a bit of guilt creeping in as he looked over his phone at Carmen, despite the strange parameters of his and Alix’s “relationship.” Sighing, he put the phone back on the nightstand without answering.
He dropped his head back to the pillow, sinking into what may have been the most comfortable pillows he’d ever felt.
“Don’t you go back to sleep now. They said I got to make sure that you’re back at the facilities by 9, and you’re not fixing to make a liar out of me,” Carmen said, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom.
He glanced up at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was a quarter after seven. “We got like two hours. What about a second round?”
The only answer he got was her laughing from the bathroom.
A muffled voice crackled over the intercom, pulling Royce from a restless sleep. The pilot’s announcement—something about preparing for descent—barely registered as he rubbed his eyes and glanced out the tiny airplane window. Miles below, patches of farmland and clusters of buildings emerged through a quilt of low-hanging clouds. Birmingham.
Royce exhaled, trying to steady the nerves rattling in his chest. It was his first time on a plane, and being introduced to flight with red eye wouldn’t be something that he’d wish on his worst enemy. Every bump and jolt had him gripping the armrest tighter. It was only by the grace of God that no one was sitting next to him to be disturbed by his panic.
A part of him couldn’t believe where he was, heading to the University of Alabama, with the school trying to tie him to a scholarship. If life had been fair, had turned out like it should’ve, it would’ve been Romeo on this trip instead of him.
The plane touched down with a jarring thud. Royce stood up and grabbed his bag from the overhead, following the slow-moving line of weary-eyed passengers through the jet bridge. As soon as he entered the terminal, a tall man in a crimson polo and khakis approached him, a polished smile on his face.
“Royce Lafitte?”
Royce nodded, fighting the urge to yawn as he adjusted the strap of his backpack.
“Good. Hope the flight wasn’t too bad. I’m Bob Welton, director of player personnel. Welcome to Alabama. Typically a coach would’ve come to pick you up, but as you know, we have an 11 a.m. kickoff today. Homecoming. Anyway, ready to experience the greatest university on this planet?”
Royce nodded again, unsure what else to say. The man ushered Royce through the airport. Before Royce knew it, he was in the passenger seat of a sleek black SUV, watching the city of Birmingham roll by as they drove toward Tuscaloosa.
…
Alabama’s campus unfolded before him, something that he’d only seen on TV. Even during his time in Baton Rouge, he’d mostly steered clear of LSU’s campus on Saturday’s after hearing enough horror stories about trying to find your way off the campus once games were over. Now, he was faced with thousands upon thousands of people tailgating around the campus.
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It wasn’t even 8 a.m. yet and he could already smell the scent of alcohol and food in the air.
Every building seemed designed to impress—brick facades with gleaming white columns, statues and banners hanging from lampposts. Students and fans alike moved around the campus, decked out in crimson gear, the energy palpable in the entire town.
“I know you’re from Baton Rouge, but welcome to a real SEC town,” Welton said with a grin, turning to Royce as they pulled up to a sleek facility with glass doors and Alabama’s signature logo etched onto the entrance.
Inside, the air buzzed with purpose, Royce felt dwarfed by the enormous trophy case, which displayed championship hardware, framed jerseys and game balls from iconic victories. It was clear that Alabama was just on a different level than other programs.
Welton led him to a sprawling lounge where other recruits were already gathered, telling Royce that they’d all meet with the coaching staff the next day before they flew back home. The room was modern and luxurious, with oversized leather chairs, flat-screen TVs playing Alabama highlight reels and tables lined with catered food.
Royce noticed a familiar face almost instantly. Near the buffet, wearing his signature jewelry, was Poochie talking with another couple of recruits.
“Alright, you were the last one we were waiting for,” Welton said, looking at his phone where a list of names sat on the screen. He stepped into the middle of the room. “Alright, fellas. We’ve got a long day and not a lot of time. Let’s get started.”
Royce glanced at the smorgasbord of food, feeling the urge to run over and fill his backpack before they walked away.
The recruits followed Welton through the facility as he gave them a tour, one that featured loops around areas seemingly designed to get them in and out of them as quickly as possible to not disrupt the ever-meticulous Nick Saban’s gameday prep.
They stopped in different areas – the weight room, the locker rooms, film rooms. Each stop was a reminder of Alabama’s prestige and greatness. Royce found himself in awe at the sheer scale of it all.
When they reached the locker room, Royce stopped in his tracks. Hanging inside one of the lockers was a jersey with his name on the back, stitched in bold white letters on the iconic crimson of the Tide.
“Alabama A&M wear the same color so you can get used to it,” Poochie said, walking behind him.
Royce reached out and grabbed the bottom of the jersey. “Nigga, don’t think I won’t beat your ass up in these people locker room.”
“You and Malik must be on some sus shit if you ready to catch a one with someone you don’t even know all the damn time.”
“That’s my nigga. I don’t need to know why he got beef with you. He got beef with you and that’s all that matter.”
“Just know I ain’t the one in the wrong on the situation but if you want to take it there and embarrass both us here, we can do that.”
Royce glanced over at Poochie, pausing for a moment. “You ain’t worth it.”
A tall blonde girl walked over, interrupting their conversation.
“How y’all doing,” she greeted, her accent almost so stereotypically Alabamian than Royce thought it had to be fake. “My name’s Carmen. I’m going to be help show you boys around this weekend.” She turned to Poochie. “You must be Eric.”
He nodded before correcting. “Poochie.”
“Honey, I’m gonna call you what your mama named you if that’s alright. And you’re Royce,” she said, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “Looking forward to showing y’all a good time.”
Royce took her hand, giving her a quick once over. She was pretty in that former beauty pageant queen way. “Yeah, I think we’ll be in good hands,” he said.
Her eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary before she smiled. “You’re gonna love it here. I’ll sure you get the full Alabama experience.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
…
Standing on the sideline of Bryant-Denny Stadium as the Crimson Tide went head-to-head with the Razorbacks in a game that proving to be an exciting one was surreal. The roar of the more than 100,000 people in the stadium drowned out the announcers, only the band being able to cut through the din of the crowd.
Despite having no allegiance to Alabama – yet anyway – Royce felt himself being swept up in the game. Rooting for the Tide, shouting at the refs for every missed called, dapping up the other recruits on visits when a big play happened, a natural bond forming between them as they took in the sights and sounds that they could be experiencing firsthand by this time next year.
Even through thoughts of Romeo, missing out on experiences like this, Royce couldn’t help but think this is where he belonged. On the field of an elite college football program, playing in front of hundreds of thousands of people.
He was so caught up in it all, he even found himself joking around with Poochie as Arkansas came close to ruining Alabama’s day and beating them on Homecoming.
It was at that moment that he realized this could be his life.
…
Carmen’s apartment was on the edge of campus, perched in a sleek complex that overlooked a row of oak trees. The place was spotless, the kind of modern and tastefully decorated space Royce had only seen in movies.
Plush rugs covered hardwood floors, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a showroom – clean lines, soft fabrics and just enough color to make the space feel inviting. A framed picture of Carmen wearing a crown and a sash that read Miss Teen Alabama between two women who looked like aged up versions of her sat on a side table, next to a flickering vanilla-scented candle.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, kicking off her shoes as she walked toward the kitchen. She’d taken him to a couple of parties after the game but predicted when he’d want to leave better than he had himself, the flight beginning to catch up to him.
He bent down to untie his shoes, setting them by the door before walking into the living room, sitting on the couch. He picked up a picture of Carmen and a young man from an end table and inspected it.
She returned with two glasses filled with something cold and fizzy, condensation sliding down the sides. She set on glass down on the coffee table and took the picture from him, tossing it onto another chair without a word.
“You thirsty?” she asked, holding out the glass to him.
He took it from her, her fingers brushing against his.
“Now that you’re off the clock, you can relax,” she said, her voice low and coaxing as she sat down next to him, tucking her legs under her. She leaned closer, her perfume wrapping around him – a mix of floral and something warm, like vanilla or amber.
“I ain’t realize I wasn’t relaxed,” he said, taking a sip from the glass. He could immediately tell it was something too expensive for his palette to recognize.
She laughed softy, her hand grazing along his arm, fingertips tracing the curve of his bicep. “You’d fit in here. You have that quiet confidence, the talent… the looks.”
“I gotta have the looks to play football at Alabama? I ain’t no quarterback, love.”
“Look at you trying to be all suave. Well, my grandmama, Lord rest her soul, thinks I should’ve been a nun, but that’s a little bit of a selfish thing on my part. I just like seeing y’all looking good in those pants. Some girls like baseball players but give me a man on the football field any day of the week.”
He leaned forward and put the glass down on the coffee table before turning toward her, putting his hand on her knee. “Do you only like a man if he on the field here or any field work?”
She smiled, taking her phone out of her pocket and putting on some music. “You’re going to come here so it’s a matter of semantics.”
…
The next morning, sunlight spilled through the blinds, warming Royce’s face. He stirred, disoriented, for a moment as he felt the unusually soft sheets wrapped around his waist. That was until he remembered he was in Tuscaloosa – and that he was in Carmen’s apartment.
“Well, good morning to you. I guess I had you all tuckered out,” Carmen said. She sat on an ottoman next to the bed wearing a silk robe while putting on her legs. She gestured to Royce’s phone on the nightstand. “Your girlfriend texted you.”
“Girlfriend?” Royce asked, confusion on his face.
Carmen raised an eyebrow. “I reckon so. Honey, I wouldn’t be texting any man before the roosters are up unless we’re together. But don’t worry, I didn’t read it because that’s not any of my business. I just noticed the notification.”
He reached over and snatched the phone up. An unread text from Alix sat on the screen.
’Hey, just wanted to apologize for being a cunt the other day. I hope Tuscaloosa isn’t too bad. You deserve this, though, even if I think Alabama is a shithole.’
Royce felt a bit of guilt creeping in as he looked over his phone at Carmen, despite the strange parameters of his and Alix’s “relationship.” Sighing, he put the phone back on the nightstand without answering.
He dropped his head back to the pillow, sinking into what may have been the most comfortable pillows he’d ever felt.
“Don’t you go back to sleep now. They said I got to make sure that you’re back at the facilities by 9, and you’re not fixing to make a liar out of me,” Carmen said, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom.
He glanced up at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was a quarter after seven. “We got like two hours. What about a second round?”
The only answer he got was her laughing from the bathroom.
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 7883
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Flown out and turned out. That's crazy
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16880
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Our guy got that Frankly, My Dear, I don't give a damn pussy. That Scarlet O'Hara poon poon
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16880
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Dying to Live
Dark Times
Royce leaned his head against the cold window of the plane, watching the Louisiana landscape come into view below. The flat swamps and winding river were bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, their beauty serene and unchanging. Cypress trees dotted the horizon, their silhouettes sharp against the glowing sky.
He barely saw it, his eyes glazing over as his mind churned.
His chest felt hollow, a pit of memories and emotions he couldn’t bury, no matter how far he traveled. The hum of the engines was steady, a rhythmic white noise. Around him, passengers talked softly, their words blending into an indistinct buzz.
The trip to Tuscaloosa had been a distraction. For two days, he’d shaken hands with coaches who sized him up like a prize racehorse. He’d walked the pristine facilities, feeling the energy of a campus built around the greatness of its football program. He’d stood in the stadium, experiencing the roar of the crowd, the pageantry of the occasion. For a while, it had worked. He’d felt a spark of excitement, a glimpse of a future that didn’t feel weighed down by grief.
But when he stood in the airport in Birmingham, preparing to return to Louisiana, he’d noticed the day and the illusion shattered. The dull screech of the tires meeting the runway jolted him back to reality.
It’d almost been a year since Romeo was killed. A year since he was almost killed. A year since his life was shattered.
Royce gripped the armrest, the cold, hard plastic biting into his palm, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough to keep the panic at bay. His chest tightened, his breaths coming short and shallow. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
The elderly woman next to him glanced over, her brow furrowed in concern, but he ignored her. He continued to stare out the window as the Bon Carre Spillway provided the backdrop to the plane taxing down the runway.
The marshes stretched endlessly between the Mississippi River to Lake Pontchartrain, their still waters reflecting the fiery hues of the sunset.
And all Royce could think about was how the water looked like blood, spreading and pooling, refusing to be contained.
~~~~~~~~~~
That night, the nightmares returned with brutal force, Royce lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep. But the moment his eyes closed, he was back on that street. The air was thick and humid, sticking to his skin, but the surroundings blurred and twisted unnaturally. The house stretched tall like shadows, their windows empty and black, the peaks leaning in on him as if making a tunnel.
Romeo stood beside him, grinning, spinning a football in one hand. “Alabama said they’re giving me 350, bro,” he said, his voice bright and full of life. “Starting day one. That shit’s going to be a fucking movie.”
Royce tried to respond, but his voice wouldn’t come. He watched as Romeo continued walking, his steps light, his laughter ringing in the distorted street, haunting and not human. Royce’s feet wouldn’t move at first, but suddenly, he was running, his legs heavy like they were stuck in mud.
The headlights appeared from nowhere, slicing through the darkness. The car roared down the street, faster and faster, its tires screeching as it turned toward Romeo.
“Rome! Get out of the fucking way!” Royce shouted, his voice finally breaking free.
But Romeo didn’t stop. He kept running, his laughter turning into a distant echo. The car barreled toward him, its headlights morphing into burning white orbs that seemed to consume everything in their path. Royce tried to shout again, but his voice choked off as the car collided with Romeo, who dissolved into a cloud of ash on impact.
“Rome! No!” Royce yelled, sprinting to the spot where his brother had been.
But the street was empty.
The car was gone. Only the football remained, suddenly weathered as if it was decades old, spinning slowly in place.
Royce bent down to pick it up, but the ball turned to blood in his hands, warm and stick, dripping through his fingers. He stumbled back, his breathing ragged, and the world twisting again, figures dancing in the shadows.
Suddenly, he was kneeling on the pavement, and Romeo was there—on the ground, bleeding out. But his face wasn’t right. His features shifted, becoming unrecognizable, yet it was still obviously him. His eyes were wide with fear, his mouth moving soundlessly as if pleading for help.
“I’m here, man. I’m right here,” Royce stammered, pressing his hands against the wound in his brother’s chest. But the blood kept coming, pooling around them, swallowing Royce’s knees. “C’mon, man. Fucking stay with me.”
“Why didn’t you save me?” Romeo whispered, his voice echoing strangely, overlapping with Royce’s own thoughts.
“I tried!” Royce shouted, bloody hands trembling. “I tried!”
The blood rose higher, lapping at Royce’s waist now, warm and suffocating. HE tried to pull away, but Romeo grabbed his wrist, his grip iron-tight.
“You did this. You killed me,” Romeo said, his face morphing into something hollow and gaunt, his eyes empty and accusing.
“No, I didn’t!” Royce cried.
The blood surged, pulling Royce under, and he trashed, gasping for air as it filled his lungs. Romeo’s face loomed above him, staring down, silent and unblinking. The world dimmed, and Royce’s chest burned as he fought to breathe.
With a jolt, Royce bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving and soaked in sweat. His heart pounded against his ribs, and his hands shook as they clutched the sheets.
The door creaked open, and Roni appeared, her small frame silhouetted by the hall light. “Royce? Are you okay?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Rana and Tyrell appeared behind her, their faces grim.
“C’mon, kid,” Tyrell said softly, guiding her away.
Rana lingered for a moment. “Royce –”
Before she could finish the sentence, he laid back down and turned away from the door, signaling he wasn’t open to anything she had to say.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next day at school, Royce felt like he was moving through molasses. The hum of students in the hallways—laughing, shouting, lockers slamming—washed over him like background noise, muffled and distant. Every step felt like a chore, his limbs weighed down as though he was dragging invisible chains, phantoms pains emanating from everywhere he’d been shot as if it was happening all over again.
The faces around him blurred together, their expressions unreadable, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all staring. Whispers trailed behind him like shadows, murmurs he couldn’t quite catch but felt were about him.
Malik met him by the lockers between classes, he held his hand up for Royce to dap him up, but Royce only glanced at him before pressing his head against his locker.
“Damn, my nigga. Them Alabama hoes wore you out like that?” Malik asked, attempting a joke. “You know them white girls in the country love them a Black boy.”
Royce shrugged, not even bothering to pretend he cared to answer.
“Yo, you good? Visit went bad or something?”
Royce shook his head, standing up straight from the locker to open it and get the books he needed. “I’m good.”
“You sure, bruh? You look like you ready to catch a body or something. I ain’t trying to get in your business if you don’t want me in it but if you want to talk on some seri—”
“Nigga, I said I’m fucking fine!” Royce snapped, louder than he intended.
Malik raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin gone. “My bad, bruh. You got it.” He walked away, glancing back over his shoulder once before disappearing into the crowd.
…
During lunch, Alix found him sitting off by himself in the courtyard as he had done often when he first arrived at UHigh. She sat down next to him, but didn’t say anything at first, just stared at him as he looked off into the distance.
“I know it’s the anniversary of – You’re not fooling anybody,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm.
Royce didn’t look at her.
“Can you talk to me?” she pressed, placing her fingers on his arm.
He moved his arm but didn’t say anything. She lifted her hand, curling her fingers into a fist as if she’d touched a hot stove. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
“Royce,” she said softly. “Please.”
He finally met her gaze, his eyes tired and empty. Her face softened for a moment, as if she thought he was going to open up to her, but as the silence remained, she just sighed and leaned forward to stand up.
“Fine. Keep it to yourself. You can push everyone away if you want to.”
He didn’t respond, and she didn’t push him any further as she walked away.
…
Practice was worse. The field, a place that had become somewhere that showed Royce a new chapter in his life, had returned to a prison that reminded him of his brother at every turn. Between reps, he was sure that he could see Romeo standing on the sideline, his face gaunt and hollowed out, watching him.
He threw himself into every play with reckless abandon, hitting harder, running faster, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion. His body screamed for relief, but he ignored it. The pain was a welcome distraction, something he could control.
Royce bulldozed through the offensive line during a no-contact drill, sending Andre crashing to the turf on the sideline.
The running back popped up to his feet and shoved Royce. “Chill the fuck out, man. I damn near twisted my ankle because of your dumb ass.”
Royce grabbed Andre by the jersey and drove him back toward the bench, sitting him down between two of the team managers. “Do something about it then, bitch.”
Andre tried to get up from the bench but Royce shoved him back down. Before the two could start swinging at one another, the rest of the team rushed over to separate them.
“Lafitte, dial it back!” Coach Cunningham shouted once some semblance of order had returned to practice.
“I am fucking dialing it back!” Royce shouted back, yanking off his helmet and glaring at the coach.
Coach Cunningham crossed the field to Royce in a flash, His voice was low and threatening. “Put your damn helmet back on when you’re out on my field. You’re out. Now,” he said, pointing to the sidelines.
Royce pulled the helmet back on and stalked off the field, his fists clenched so tightly he could feel his nails digging into his palms through his gloves. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, their gazes heavy with confused and concern. He hated it. He wanted to snap at them.
Instead, he paced on the sideline, like a caged animal, he could sense the nervous actions from Zach and the other team managers’ seemingly afraid that any sudden motion would set him off.
He clenched his jaw until his teeth started to hurt, needing something to distract him from the memories chasing him that he was trying to outrun.
Royce leaned his head against the cold window of the plane, watching the Louisiana landscape come into view below. The flat swamps and winding river were bathed in the soft light of the setting sun, their beauty serene and unchanging. Cypress trees dotted the horizon, their silhouettes sharp against the glowing sky.
He barely saw it, his eyes glazing over as his mind churned.
His chest felt hollow, a pit of memories and emotions he couldn’t bury, no matter how far he traveled. The hum of the engines was steady, a rhythmic white noise. Around him, passengers talked softly, their words blending into an indistinct buzz.
The trip to Tuscaloosa had been a distraction. For two days, he’d shaken hands with coaches who sized him up like a prize racehorse. He’d walked the pristine facilities, feeling the energy of a campus built around the greatness of its football program. He’d stood in the stadium, experiencing the roar of the crowd, the pageantry of the occasion. For a while, it had worked. He’d felt a spark of excitement, a glimpse of a future that didn’t feel weighed down by grief.
But when he stood in the airport in Birmingham, preparing to return to Louisiana, he’d noticed the day and the illusion shattered. The dull screech of the tires meeting the runway jolted him back to reality.
It’d almost been a year since Romeo was killed. A year since he was almost killed. A year since his life was shattered.
Royce gripped the armrest, the cold, hard plastic biting into his palm, grounding him, but it wasn’t enough to keep the panic at bay. His chest tightened, his breaths coming short and shallow. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
The elderly woman next to him glanced over, her brow furrowed in concern, but he ignored her. He continued to stare out the window as the Bon Carre Spillway provided the backdrop to the plane taxing down the runway.
The marshes stretched endlessly between the Mississippi River to Lake Pontchartrain, their still waters reflecting the fiery hues of the sunset.
And all Royce could think about was how the water looked like blood, spreading and pooling, refusing to be contained.
~~~~~~~~~~
That night, the nightmares returned with brutal force, Royce lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to sleep. But the moment his eyes closed, he was back on that street. The air was thick and humid, sticking to his skin, but the surroundings blurred and twisted unnaturally. The house stretched tall like shadows, their windows empty and black, the peaks leaning in on him as if making a tunnel.
Romeo stood beside him, grinning, spinning a football in one hand. “Alabama said they’re giving me 350, bro,” he said, his voice bright and full of life. “Starting day one. That shit’s going to be a fucking movie.”
Royce tried to respond, but his voice wouldn’t come. He watched as Romeo continued walking, his steps light, his laughter ringing in the distorted street, haunting and not human. Royce’s feet wouldn’t move at first, but suddenly, he was running, his legs heavy like they were stuck in mud.
The headlights appeared from nowhere, slicing through the darkness. The car roared down the street, faster and faster, its tires screeching as it turned toward Romeo.
“Rome! Get out of the fucking way!” Royce shouted, his voice finally breaking free.
But Romeo didn’t stop. He kept running, his laughter turning into a distant echo. The car barreled toward him, its headlights morphing into burning white orbs that seemed to consume everything in their path. Royce tried to shout again, but his voice choked off as the car collided with Romeo, who dissolved into a cloud of ash on impact.
“Rome! No!” Royce yelled, sprinting to the spot where his brother had been.
But the street was empty.
The car was gone. Only the football remained, suddenly weathered as if it was decades old, spinning slowly in place.
Royce bent down to pick it up, but the ball turned to blood in his hands, warm and stick, dripping through his fingers. He stumbled back, his breathing ragged, and the world twisting again, figures dancing in the shadows.
Suddenly, he was kneeling on the pavement, and Romeo was there—on the ground, bleeding out. But his face wasn’t right. His features shifted, becoming unrecognizable, yet it was still obviously him. His eyes were wide with fear, his mouth moving soundlessly as if pleading for help.
“I’m here, man. I’m right here,” Royce stammered, pressing his hands against the wound in his brother’s chest. But the blood kept coming, pooling around them, swallowing Royce’s knees. “C’mon, man. Fucking stay with me.”
“Why didn’t you save me?” Romeo whispered, his voice echoing strangely, overlapping with Royce’s own thoughts.
“I tried!” Royce shouted, bloody hands trembling. “I tried!”
The blood rose higher, lapping at Royce’s waist now, warm and suffocating. HE tried to pull away, but Romeo grabbed his wrist, his grip iron-tight.
“You did this. You killed me,” Romeo said, his face morphing into something hollow and gaunt, his eyes empty and accusing.
“No, I didn’t!” Royce cried.
The blood surged, pulling Royce under, and he trashed, gasping for air as it filled his lungs. Romeo’s face loomed above him, staring down, silent and unblinking. The world dimmed, and Royce’s chest burned as he fought to breathe.
With a jolt, Royce bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving and soaked in sweat. His heart pounded against his ribs, and his hands shook as they clutched the sheets.
The door creaked open, and Roni appeared, her small frame silhouetted by the hall light. “Royce? Are you okay?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Rana and Tyrell appeared behind her, their faces grim.
“C’mon, kid,” Tyrell said softly, guiding her away.
Rana lingered for a moment. “Royce –”
Before she could finish the sentence, he laid back down and turned away from the door, signaling he wasn’t open to anything she had to say.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next day at school, Royce felt like he was moving through molasses. The hum of students in the hallways—laughing, shouting, lockers slamming—washed over him like background noise, muffled and distant. Every step felt like a chore, his limbs weighed down as though he was dragging invisible chains, phantoms pains emanating from everywhere he’d been shot as if it was happening all over again.
The faces around him blurred together, their expressions unreadable, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all staring. Whispers trailed behind him like shadows, murmurs he couldn’t quite catch but felt were about him.
Malik met him by the lockers between classes, he held his hand up for Royce to dap him up, but Royce only glanced at him before pressing his head against his locker.
“Damn, my nigga. Them Alabama hoes wore you out like that?” Malik asked, attempting a joke. “You know them white girls in the country love them a Black boy.”
Royce shrugged, not even bothering to pretend he cared to answer.
“Yo, you good? Visit went bad or something?”
Royce shook his head, standing up straight from the locker to open it and get the books he needed. “I’m good.”
“You sure, bruh? You look like you ready to catch a body or something. I ain’t trying to get in your business if you don’t want me in it but if you want to talk on some seri—”
“Nigga, I said I’m fucking fine!” Royce snapped, louder than he intended.
Malik raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin gone. “My bad, bruh. You got it.” He walked away, glancing back over his shoulder once before disappearing into the crowd.
…
During lunch, Alix found him sitting off by himself in the courtyard as he had done often when he first arrived at UHigh. She sat down next to him, but didn’t say anything at first, just stared at him as he looked off into the distance.
“I know it’s the anniversary of – You’re not fooling anybody,” she said finally, her voice quiet but firm.
Royce didn’t look at her.
“Can you talk to me?” she pressed, placing her fingers on his arm.
He moved his arm but didn’t say anything. She lifted her hand, curling her fingers into a fist as if she’d touched a hot stove. The silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
“Royce,” she said softly. “Please.”
He finally met her gaze, his eyes tired and empty. Her face softened for a moment, as if she thought he was going to open up to her, but as the silence remained, she just sighed and leaned forward to stand up.
“Fine. Keep it to yourself. You can push everyone away if you want to.”
He didn’t respond, and she didn’t push him any further as she walked away.
…
Practice was worse. The field, a place that had become somewhere that showed Royce a new chapter in his life, had returned to a prison that reminded him of his brother at every turn. Between reps, he was sure that he could see Romeo standing on the sideline, his face gaunt and hollowed out, watching him.
He threw himself into every play with reckless abandon, hitting harder, running faster, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion. His body screamed for relief, but he ignored it. The pain was a welcome distraction, something he could control.
Royce bulldozed through the offensive line during a no-contact drill, sending Andre crashing to the turf on the sideline.
The running back popped up to his feet and shoved Royce. “Chill the fuck out, man. I damn near twisted my ankle because of your dumb ass.”
Royce grabbed Andre by the jersey and drove him back toward the bench, sitting him down between two of the team managers. “Do something about it then, bitch.”
Andre tried to get up from the bench but Royce shoved him back down. Before the two could start swinging at one another, the rest of the team rushed over to separate them.
“Lafitte, dial it back!” Coach Cunningham shouted once some semblance of order had returned to practice.
“I am fucking dialing it back!” Royce shouted back, yanking off his helmet and glaring at the coach.
Coach Cunningham crossed the field to Royce in a flash, His voice was low and threatening. “Put your damn helmet back on when you’re out on my field. You’re out. Now,” he said, pointing to the sidelines.
Royce pulled the helmet back on and stalked off the field, his fists clenched so tightly he could feel his nails digging into his palms through his gloves. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, their gazes heavy with confused and concern. He hated it. He wanted to snap at them.
Instead, he paced on the sideline, like a caged animal, he could sense the nervous actions from Zach and the other team managers’ seemingly afraid that any sudden motion would set him off.
He clenched his jaw until his teeth started to hurt, needing something to distract him from the memories chasing him that he was trying to outrun.
-
djp73
- Posts: 13187
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Dying to Live
Dang I got some reading to do
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 7883
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Dying to Live
Therapy. He needs it BAD!
-
Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16880
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
