With You

07. F*** 'Em!

I kicked the ball hard, the sound of it hitting my boot resounding across the field as it barrelled straight past the goal post. It whipped through the grass, beyond the field, until it slammed against a wall and rolled to a stop.

I groaned, falling to my knees, my head going into my hands. I was sweating, and sore, and tired, and pissed off.

I breathed heavily, my breath turning to a cloud in the air in front of my lips as my chest heaved.

"Fuck!" I shouted, punching the grass. My fist ached and I punched it again. And again. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Shit, Sebastian. What did that grass ever do to you?"

I spun, my knees and shoes sliding on the dewy grass, and I slipped onto my ass. I frowned, looking up to see Rowan towering over me, a smirk on his lips.

"Nothing," I grumbled, pulling myself up to stand and dusting my shorts off.

He lifted a brow. "Sure, didn't look like nothing."

He was dressed in his usual too-fancy-for-college outfit, his pretentious shoes shining from the dew on the grass, and I vaguely wondered if they'd be ruined by the mud. He didn't seem to care, only tugging his satchel higher on his shoulder, his fingers gripping the strap tightly.

I flicked my eyes up to meet his, directing my anger at him now.

"Oh, and what about you, huh? Storming off in the middle of a conversation, multiple times. Ignoring me. Insulting me. Didn't look like nothing, Baines," I shot back, stepping towards him and shoving his chest.

His eyes widened and he lifted his hands. "I just don't like Reed. Shit. What has gotten into you?"

I sighed, realising how stupid I was behaving. This was pointless. All of this was pointless, and stupid, and not worth my energy.

I turned back to the goal, kicking another lined-up soccer ball as hard as possible, watching as it barely missed the goal post to hit net. It wasn't satisfying, though. I wasn't aiming for that corner. I grimaced, staring as the ball rolled onto the grass, feeling Rowan's eyes on me. Feeling my anger turn my chest hot. Feeling embarrassed that he'd seen me play horribly. Act stupidly.

It was all just so stupid.

"Sorry," I said, eventually. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to calm down, running a palm over my face. When I opened them again, Rowan had moved in front of me, and he was openly frowning at my expression.

"Sorry," I repeated.

"Stop saying sorry," he said. I opened my mouth to apologise, and he held a finger up, cutting me off. I figured I had to explain.

"I – uh – Coach put out the starting line-up for the season," I said.

"Right," he said. "And?"

"And." I looked down at the grass. My curls fell over my sweaty forehead, sticking to skin and falling into eyelashes. "And I'm not on it."

There was a silence.

And then, Rowan was laughing.

"Well, obviously. You're pretty shit, Seb. I mean, you just missed like three goals in a row."

I scowled, snapping my eyes up to meet his and shoving him forward. "Say that again."

"You're shit," he repeated, straightening his back and puffing his chest out. "And you're a freshman. Of course, you're not going to be as good as the rest of the team. Of course, you're not going to be on the starting line-up. Especially when you play the same position as the captain of the team."