Synchronised Motion (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 8

I am hiding in the bathroom toilet stall like a coward. The bright lights are jarring, making me feel slightly dizzy but it is nothing to the nerves on my stomach.

Oliver makes me mad, he always has. But now he makes me mad and nervous.

And I don't do nervous.

I don't like the icky feeling it gives me, the way my skin crawls and my stomach curls. I much prefer anger. At least I don't feel like I am going to puke when I am angry.

I don't know how to deal with this bulldozer of emotions inside me. Oliver has disrupted my facade creating a rippling effect. Life was much simpler before he attached his lips to mine. Before me made me feel other feelings then anger.

I know I am prolonging the inevitable. I just don't want to face him yet. I have learnt over the years that avoidance is key usually in these situations—kind of difficult though when he is my swim captain. Even more difficult when coach is away and Oliver is running training. Even even more difficult when you are going to be in forced proximity over the next few days at our next swim comp. 

So unfortunately my avoidance method doesn't work this time. Fuck. 

After feeling pathetic and wallowing in self-pity for a bit I finally make it out of the toilet stall and to training. 

My nerves are quick to evaporate at training. I forgot how bossy and controlling he can be!

I am usually not such a pain in the arse at training, but there is something in the way Oliver tells me what to do that peeves. me. off. Maybe it is the way he says it like he expects you to follow his command without a doubt. Or maybe it is how bossy he is about it, no sugar coating it. Or maybe it is how easily everyone follows his command, trusting him without a doubt. 

The girls think it is hot went he takes control. But for me, no. It grinds my gears.

The guy who drives a fucking Porsche to college telling me to swim harder. The kid has probably never had to break a sweat for anything other than swimming in his life. He is given everything on a golden platter. Money and privilege get no respect from me. If he wants my respect he has to earn it, I don't do charity. 

I am feeling particularly petty this morning, maybe it is because I spent fucking hour in the bathroom with a zoo in my stomach at the thought of seeing Oliver again and he didn't even glance my way this morning. I feel like an idiot for thinking he would care and even more that I cared.

So when Oliver tells me to breathe more, that does it. That snaps the last thread of tolerance and obedience I got, tearing it to shreds. 

So me being the mature college student 20 year old individual, what do I do?

I hold my breath for the next 2 laps refusing to take a breath of air. 

I know he is watching, I can feel his eyes burning holes in my back with every stroke I take. It pushes me harder, knowing he is watching. And it feels fucking great to blatantly go against him. Going against Oliver ignites a adrenaline like no other. It's a feeling I thrive off. He's always so composed and measured, so making him twitch and react is truely an accomplishment. I never know how he will react, what he will do. And every time he surprises me, intrigues me.

When I break the surface at the end of the pool Oliver is standing there looking down at me. His arms are crossed against his chest and he looks throughly annoyed. I can't help the grin that comes to face.

"You think I'm impressed because you can hold your breath, Lipski?"

"I wouldn't venture to say you're impressed, Captain," I say ripping my goggles off breathing heavily.