Thin Love(88)
“That’s not gonna happen to me.”
That’s what all those old juice heads had told her too. “I didn’t think it would get me. I thought I was invincible.” Kona never thought anything would touch him, most kids their age did and Keira had seen it herself in how fast he drove his Camaro and how reckless he was playing pick-up games with Nathan and Luka. He always played like every game was his last. He always lived like he knew tomorrow wouldn’t be waiting for him.
Keira wasn’t so confident, was often worried about how fast and easy Kona liked to live and she knew she’d never get through to him. “Your balls will shrivel up and you’ll probably never be able to father children.” An image of Kona old and lonely flashed into her mind, body frail, skin covered in acne scars. It scared her even more. It also made her want to slap him. “But then I guess that would make your first years in the NFL pretty exciting, right? Not having to worry about a string of baby mamas. That is, of course, if you can even get your dick hard.”
“Keira… stop… don’t…”
“Shrunken testicles. Not very attractive from what I hear.” She stepped back when he reached for her, knowing if he touched her, she wouldn’t be able to hold her fists. “But wait, you won’t have to worry about any of that. They don’t take users in the NFL and they drug test any incoming draftee. In fact, so does CPU.” Head tilted as she stared at him, Keira could see Kona hiding, eyes on the jersey in his hand. “How are you getting past that?” His eye flicked to the door and she understood. “Your brother is a good person.”
“I know that.”
“He’s a better man than you are.”
Kona kicked his shoulder pads, sending them flying across the locker room. “I fucking know that!”
She had to push back that ridiculous desire that rose up at his rage. This was different. This wasn’t them fighting out of jealousy or lust. Her fury at his stupidity was sticking and sharp and despite the undercurrent of wanting him, of fueling his already burning anger, Keira was too disgusted, too disappointed to acknowledge what her body wanted. She watched Kona’s trembling hands, the unrestrained way he released breaths through gritted teeth and she still could not stop herself from asking questions. “So answer me. I want to know why.”
“It doesn’t matter why.”
“It matters to me you greedy son of a bitch!” That small thread of patience, of resistance, snapped quickly and Keira swung, hoping her palm would leave a mark, hoping he could feel her slap despite all the dulling chemicals coursing through his veins. But Kona’s reflexes were heightened, and his response was swift. He grabbed Keira’s arms, jerked her against his chest and tried to kiss her. In the middle of this devastation, Kona tried to kiss her.
She jerked free of his touch and pushed herself away, raising a hand when Kona immediately rushed toward her. “No. Don’t you dare.” Keira wondered how much time they had. The game would start soon and someone would come to fetch Kona and Luka, but she had to know. She was desperate to know why this beautiful, pigheaded giant would gamble his future, his life, on something so common and clichéd. “You tell me now.” She pointed her finger at him and Kona’s gaze moved right to that naked nail. “You tell me why you do this shit.”
“Because I need it. This Keira,” he said, slapping his bare chest, growling when she stepped away from him, “this is all I am. Bone and muscle and speed. This.” His fist on his chest, hard, stinging and Keira noticed the bright red mark on his tan skin. “This is all I am! I’m not smart, Keira. I need it. It’s what they expect of me. Be strong, Kona. Be fast. Be more, train harder, work, work until you can’t breathe.”
She didn’t know who he was speaking to, but it wasn’t to her.. This was an exorcism, words and desperation and sheer fury that he seemed to need. His voice was so loud, his anger so heightened that Keira pitied him. It dulled some of her rage, but only some.
“Train and focus, fucking focus until you feel nothing but agony, until your fingers and hands bleed from the metal of the weights, until you don’t feel like such a punk failure! This,” three hard slaps against his chest, each one harder than the last, and the skin on Kona’s chest welted up, began to redden. “This is all I am! A body, Keira. A fucking machine. No one cares about me, not what’s in my head.” Kona’s voice broke, cracking and his eyes shone bright, glassy. “One body made to please—the team, the coach, women who don’t give a shit what I think, what I feel. There is only this body, this strength and if I don’t have this, I am nothing. It I don’t win, don’t tackle, can’t play, I have nothing.”