Something More

Chapter 11

Would someone please call a surgeon

Who can crack my ribs and repair this broken heart

That you deserted for better company

Brian made his way across the field, cradling his soccer ball under one arm and a bottle of Beam in the opposite hand. He stopped a few yards from the soccer net and dropped the ball at his feet, swaggering back and forth a little. He looked down at the bottle in his hand and took another swallow of the amber liquid.

He had zoomed right past drunk, and was floating somewhere near really fucking trashed.

He locked his eyes on the goal and gave the ball a swift, hard kick. It landed in the middle of the net, despite his drunken state.

"I can still do something right," he muttered, walking over to the net to retrieve the soccer ball. "Justin and I had sex under this net. Yes, I am talking to myself. Yes, I'm comfortable with that."

Brian sighed and scooped up the ball, clutching the bottle of Beam like a lifeline. "The grass is so…green." Brian set down his bottle of booze and patted the grass before picking the bottle right back up again. "Jake's eyes are green. Fuck Jake."

"Jake isn't even good looking." He dropped his ball back on the kicking spot and took another drink from his bottle. "Oh god. Who am I kidding? Jake is ridiculously good looking."

"I'm good lookinger. Wait. Lookinger? No. I'm…fuck it. I'm drunk and so much more attractive." Brian continued to mumble to himself as he kicked the ball into the net, retrieved it, and repeated the whole process. The cool night air was his only listener. He kicked the ball again, sending it sailing into the net once more. Another empty victory in front of an invisible crowd.

"I mean really, what's Jake got that I haven't got?" Brian asked out loud, taking another swig from the bottle, the liquid no longer burning. "I mean besides a willingness to openly express his feelings and show him public displays of affection. …And that god damn lip ring."

Brian bounced the ball on his knee while taking a drink from his bottle at the same time. That's talent.

"Fuck, I could do those things. I could tell Justin I care about him," Brian replied. He was now looking down at the soccer ball, as if it held the answers. He bounced the ball into his hands, cradling the bottle under his arm. "But for what, soccer ball, for what?" He raised an eyebrow at the soccer ball he was conversing with. "Oh god. I'm Tom Hanks." He turned the ball over in his hands and read the brand across it. "Spalding?! Even the fucking ball is against me. Fuck you ball. Fuck. You."

He held the bottle of Beam out in front of him and then walked over to a tree and set it on the ground. "That's enough of you, Beam."

"Anyway, where was I?" He stopped and thought about it for a second. He nodded and tossed the ball up in the air. "For what cost? So we can love each other and eventually end up hating each other so I'll have no best friend or boyfriend? Fuck that shit."

He kicked the ball in the net again, feeling a momentary twinge of regret for kicking Spalding in the face. He shook his head, and retrieved the ball.

"I mean, all relationships end in tragedy. My parents hate each other. Justin's parents are always on separate business trips. And I know Craig is fucking around on Mom #2. Emmett's mom tried to kill his dad with a pitchfork. …Fucking southerners." He picked up the ball again. "So what makes you think me and Justin would be any different? We'd be happy. Then it would go to shit like everything else right?"

*************************************

"What do you think, Spalding?" He asked sarcastically. He had been kicking the ball around the field for an hour, trying to sober up. He was still far from it, but at least he wasn't having a serious conversation with the damn soccer ball anymore.

He dropped the ball and kicked it into the net again, thinking as hard as his alcohol-addled mind would allow. He got the ball back again, feeling frustrated as his thoughts conflicted one another. He brought his leg back and kicked as hard as he could. His leg slipped out from under him and he fell flat on his back, mud soaking his clothes.

"That's mud, isn't it?" He felt mud make its way under his tee shirt and into his hair. He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He made no move to get up. "Figures."

He reached for his cigarettes, pulling them out of his front pocket. He lit one and stared up at the stars. He lifted his head and looked at the soccer net, backlit by moonlight. He sighed and dropped his head back into the mud.

"What if we get caught?" Justin asked, his voice betraying his actions as he swiftly unbuttoned Brian's jeans. The brunet smirked and bit down on his earlobe before answering.

"So what if we do? I want to fuck you now." He slid Justin's jeans down enough to display his ass. "Right here, under this net." He slid two lubed fingers into Justin's tight ass and watched as the blond writhed against the grass, desperately trying to stay on his hands and knees.

"I see," Justin grunted out, thrusting back on Brian's fingers. "You've scored here so many times already. You want to score again."

"In another sense of the word, yes," Brian told him as he pushed inside his best friend, grunts filling the night air.

Goal.

Brian let his eyes go in and out of focus, smoke filling his lungs and staining his insides. "That night ruined my favorite pair of jeans. Fucking grass stains."

He took another drag from his cigarette and thought long and hard about his current situation. He decided that he was far too sober to be thinking about such things. He sat up and grabbed the bottle of Beam, finishing the entire bottle before throwing it in the net with the soccer ball. He fell back into the mud, letting it cake his skin. His thoughts drifted back to Justin as the alcohol took control of his mind once more.

"You know what Spalding?" Brian mumbled around the filter of his cigarette "I'm covered in mud. And it's all Justin's fault." He took the cigarette from between his lips and sat up. "Fuck Justin."

He scrubbed his hands over his face, realizing a moment too late that those too were covered in the gritty substance. He rolled his eyes and stood up, stomping out his cigarette on his way over to the soccer net.

"Come on Spalding, let's go talk to the blond demon."

Return to Something More