Chapter 35 Twenty-one years old
Twenty-one years old
Sam
My shoulders are aching as I finish up in the showers.
That extra gym session yesterday was probably a bad idea, but I want to get my breaststroke better, and to do that I need to be stronger.
I sigh as I raise my arms to rinse out the shampoo, lifting my arms up really shouldn’t be this painful.
Wincing, I wash my face before stepping out of the spray.
We have another race next week, and I’m dreading it. Everyone likes cheering for the underdog, but I’m not that kid surprising everyone anymore. Now I’m established and I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to lose.
“Fletcher,” Coach calls to me as I leave the changing room.
“Yes, sir?”
“What’s going on with you? Those turns were sloppy. It’s like we haven’t been training them for two years.”
I wince. “Sorry. Bad night’s sleep.” It’s only a half-lie. I have been sleeping badly. I wake up even earlier than usual and just lie there. Stuck. And then I can never get back to sleep. All I can think about is training, the mistakes I’m making and how much better I need to get.
“Really?” He looks dubious.
“Yep.”
“Well, get an early night then. I don’t want to see that tomorrow.”
I know I need to do better. I’m not swimming well, and I feel like I’m dragging everyone around me down. I was the reason we lost the last relay event, and the one before. And I didn’t even medal in my individual races at the last gala.
At least Kath’s talking to me. Well, sort of. I’m always the one who calls her. She always directs the conversation to swimming, and upcoming meets. We don’t have deep conversations anymore. I don’t know what her days are like, how her friends are doing, when her next set of exams are.
Sometimes I feel guilty for calling. Like I’m dragging her into my mess again, and forcing her to stay friends even though I don’t know how to be a good friend anymore.
When I get home, I grab a snack before going upstairs and logging onto my computer.
“Hey.” Kath’s face fills my screen, the reminder of everything I’m missing, and everything I don’t deserve.
“Hey, stranger,” I tell her.
“How was practice?”
“Shit,” I grumble. “My turns were all over the place. I just couldn’t get my head right. Sorry.” I pause. “You don’t want a blow-by-blow account of my training session.”
“I don’t mind hearing about it,” she says. “I used to watch them all the time.”
She smiles but it feels stilted. The whole conversation feels stilted, and I hate that it’s my fault.
“How are you, anyway?” I ask.
“I’m good. I caught the train home for the weekend to see my parents. And Tom’s coming over for dinner too.”
“That sounds nice.” I wish I was back in London with them like before.
There’s another pause in the conversation.
“I’ve been trying to improve my breaststroke more. You know how it is… it needs to be better if I want that record.”
We chat about my new coaching plan for a bit. It makes me realise that swimming really has taken over my life.
“Sam,” Kath says, and there is a cautionary note in her voice. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
“I wanted to wait until we could see each other properly, but that’s going to be a few months, so I don’t think it’s worth waiting.”
My heart sinks. She has a new boyfriend. This is what you wanted for her, I chide myself. You want her to move on with her life. You want her to be happy.
“It’s about your training.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting. My breath hitches, and I can feel tension in my shoulders.
“I’ve been speaking to the others, and they say you’re doing all these extra sessions that you don’t need to do. I know you push yourself. But you can push yourself into getting injured. As a future doctor, I would know.”
I frown. What have the others been saying? Why are they butting into my life like that, talking to Kath behind my back?
“It’s fine,” I bite out.
I train because I need to be the best.
I train because I need to prove that this is worth it.
And I train because sometimes it’s the only place where I can get out of my head.
“No, it’s not,” she argues.
I frown at the screen. I don’t want to get into this right now—feelings I don’t really understand myself. “It’s no one’s business, Kath. And the others shouldn’t be talking about me.”
She flinches at my harsh tone. I hate that I’m becoming so defensive. This isn’t who I am.
And she shouldn’t be worrying about me. She has her own life to live.
“You looked miserable at the last meet,” she tells me. “I watched the live stream. And it wasn’t because you didn’t medal. You looked miserable before you even got in the pool.”
“I was having a bad day,” I reason. “We all have bad days.”
“Yeah, but when we have consistent bad days, then we do something about it,” she counters. “Sam, is this about your mum?”
And now it’s my turn to flinch.
“Just leave it,” I tell her.
“Sam, you can talk to me.”
I hate the compassion in her eyes. I don’t deserve it. I’m making her put me first when she shouldn’t be, exactly like I always do.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap.
She just looks sad. “Why are you spending all your time training? Spend time with your friends for once,” she persists.
“I’ve always spent all my time training. Why are you making this into a big deal?”
“That’s not true.” Her brow crinkles again.
“You used to make time for other things.” She pauses for a moment, before proceeding with a tone that sounds more cautious.
“In Rio, when you said that your mum wouldn’t have been proud of you.
That you didn’t deserve to have good things… what did you mean?”
I forget that sometimes I don’t have a filter around Kath. That she hears the bits of my inner monologue that make it to the surface and manages to piece together the bits that don’t.
“I didn’t mean anything,” I tell her. “And it’s none of your business anyway.”
“It is. I’ve been thinking… Maybe I should fly over soon? I know we’re different now, and I need to save up a bit more money, but I want to see you.”
And at that something inside me cracks.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep forcing her to cross an ocean just because she’s worried about me. I should never have called her after Rio, it was wrong to try and stay friends.
This is all my fault.
And I need to fix it.
I take a breath to brace myself for what I have to say next.
“I don’t… I can’t be friends with you anymore.”
She jerks back from the screen. Part of me regrets the words, can’t even believe I’ve said them.
But another part of me knows this is the right thing to do.
That this is what we both need. She needs to move on.
To stop worrying about me. I can see how much I’m hurting her, how much I’ve already hurt her.
And anyway, training first. No distractions.
“Are you serious?” Her voice is rising. “You’re the one who wanted to stay friends after Rio. I was the one piecing together the emotional wreckage you left behind to make sure we could still talk. I wasn’t going to throw away a decade of friendship over one fight, even if it was your fault.”
I double down on what I said. “Maybe our lives are moving on.”
“I actually can’t believe you.” She scowls. “Do you not realise how selfish you sound right now?”
“Can you not hear how naive you sound?” I counter.
My words sit in the silence.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” She looks angrier than I’ve ever seen her.
I know that was harsh. But this might be the only way.
“What you’re saying sounds childish,” I tell her.
“You’re spending your time psychoanalysing someone who you never even see.
Someone who has not and will not put you first. Yet you constantly believe things will change.
They won’t. You’re clinging to the past, Kath.
To a childhood love that isn’t real for either of us. ”
“Well, you’re too obsessed with swimming to understand what love is,” she counters.
“Save it,” I scoff.
“Every time something matters, you just retreat back into the pool,” she says. “You always do this, and I’m done with this stupid pattern that only hurts everyone around you. Your mum wouldn’t have wanted this."
I freeze. “Don’t bring my mum into this argument.” Cold anger courses through me.
“Why not? Isn’t this the issue, Sam? Shutting everyone out because you’re worried she wouldn’t be proud of you.
Because you think you didn’t spend enough time with her.
I don’t think I deserve to be punished because you can’t resolve your own grief.
I don’t deserve to be pushed away because of some twisted, misguided martyr complex. ”
“Fuck off, Kath!” I shout.
“No!” And now we’re both shouting. I’ve never shouted at Kath. I don’t think I’ve ever shouted at anyone.
“I’m not the one obsessed with the past. You’ve spent half of your life waiting for me, when you and I both know I’ll never be with you.”
She recoils. My eyes are burning from glaring at the bright screen, but inside I just feel numb. I barely register when she hangs up the call. I sit staring at the blank screen for the next five minutes.
All I can think is that when you’ve been friends with someone for a decade, it just means that you know the best ways to hurt them.
I think it was the right thing to do. I know it was the right thing to do. I leave my room and go back to the sports centre, making a beeline for the gym.
My shoulders burn as I lift heavier and heavier weights. Kath’s words echo in my head.
You’re too obsessed with swimming to understand what love is.
I move to a different piece of equipment.
Your mum wouldn’t have wanted this.
I do another set of reps.
But I can’t get what I said to Kath out of my head. I know I was too cruel, that I overcorrected, but it’s too late now. She’ll never forgive me, anyway.
As my muscles scream at me to slow down, my heart screams at me to call her back and apologise. But I won’t.
I pick up a heavier weight.