The punishment

My heart felt like bursting out of my chest.

Every breath I took in made my throat raw, dry and desperate, like my body was begging for water and being cruelly ignored.  The muscles in my legs screamed with every step, a deep, throbbing ache that traveled from my calves straight up into my hips. I felt unsteady, like if I slowed down even a fraction more, my body would simply give up and fold in on itself.

I was right on the edge of shutting down. It was miserable, bonedeep, all-consuming exhaustion and it made the anger burn hotter.

Hudson Capaldi, on the other hand, looked infuriatingly composed.

He ran ahead of me at an easy, steady pace, posture relaxed, strides smooth, like this was nothing more than a warm-up. Every time I glanced at him, it felt like someone was tossing more fuel onto the already raging fire in my chest. He didn’t even look back. Didn’t acknowledge the punishment, the loss, or the fact that this entire situation was his fault.

I was seriously considering the possibility that I might pass out mid-lap when something caught my eye near the building.

Hope.

Coach Matthews stepped out of his office, his ridiculous old hat perched on his head and that worn brown leather jacket hanging off his shoulders like it always did. The sight of him moving away from the field felt like a miracle.

As soon as I was sure , absolutely sure he was leaving, I staggered to a stop. My hands dropped to my knees as I bent over, chest heaving violently. Air rushed in and out of my lungs in harsh, uneven pulls, my vision blurring at the edges. My stomach churned unpleasantly, the instinct to throw up clawing at my throat.

I felt like I was dying.

And it hurt like hell.

But those were the costs of being on Coach Matthews’ football team. No excuses and no mercy.

“Wow…” a voice wheezed beside me. “You’re… such… a wimp.” I shot a glare sideways as Hudson came to a stop too, mirroring my posture with his hands braced on his knees. His breathing was heavier than before, chest rising and falling more noticeably, which gave me a brief, petty sense of satisfaction.

So he wasn’t completely unfazed.

Still, he recovered faster than I did. Of course he did.

I wanted to tell him to shove his comment exactly in his ass , but my body refused to cooperate. I could barely breathe, let alone form together a coherent insult. All I could do was stare at his handsome face and silently curse him.

“Woooo! You did so good, Hud!”, The bright, sing-song voice disrupted us grating against my already fried nerves. I squeezed my eyes shut for half a second as the cheer captain approached, her presence somehow louder than the field itself.

Olivia Bieber. I didn’t like her just like her boyfriend.

She reached Hudson and immediately wrapped her arms around him, pressing a quick, enthusiastic kiss to his mouth like she didn’t care that he was drenched in sweat or that half the field was still watching.

I looked away immediately. I didn’t know whether it was jealousy but it was deep mixing with irritation. Watching them together felt like being forced to sit through a performance I hadn’t bought a ticket for.

“Hey, uh… Liam?”

The softer voice came from behind me, hesitant and unsure. I straightened slowly, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand as I turned.

Rose, my girlfriend stood there, barely reaching my shoulder and she clasped her hands together nervously in front of her. Her expression was open, hopeful, and painfully sincere. She smiled at me like this moment mattered.

“You were really great out there,” she said quietly, cheeks coloring. I forced myself to smile back. It was automatic, something I’d perfected over the years. The polite smile, the kind that suggested interest without promising anything. 

“Thanks, Rose,” I replied, keeping my tone warm but distant. "I have a lecture right now, I will see you later", She beamed at that, nodded quickly, and hurried back to her friends, energy bubbling over as if my response had meant more than it actually did.

I watched her go, then looked away. Girls liked me. She loved me and I played along because it was easier than questions, easier than suspicion. No one knew that I liked men.

I didn’t hate women but I didn’t feel what I was supposed to feel either. The attraction everyone else talked about just wasn’t there. And pretending to date Rose was too much effort.

Pretending kept me safe though.

Shaking my head, I swiped the sweat off my forehead before turning to head for the showers, which were most likely empty and quiet exactly what I needed. Away from the field. Away from the noise. Away from Hudson Capaldi  who made my breathing feel harder than it already was.

With wobbly strides, I pushed through the doors to the changing rooms, heading straight for the lockers.

I yanked my locker open harder than necessary and hurled my helmet inside, metal clanging loudly in the narrow space. The sound echoed my mood perfectly. I stripped out of my pads with jerky movements, kicked my shoes off with more force than required, and dumped everything into a messy pile at my feet.

I stood there for a second, breathing hard. It was his fault I was this angry. He thrived on pushing my buttons, loved getting under my skin and the worst part was that he wasn’t even around right now to see just how close I was to losing it.

The creak of the locker room door snapped my attention up.

Hudson Capaldi had entered.

My shoulders tensed immediately. I straightened on instinct, irritation flaring anew. If I wanted any chance of getting out of here on time well, less late I needed to keep moving.

His footsteps echoed closer, slow and confident, until he rounded the corner of the lockers. His lips were still a little swollen, his expression fixed in that crooked, infuriating smirk he wore like armor.

And my traitorous eyes went straight to his mouth.

I hated that.