It's once again the following day, and I'm back in my house. As I mentioned, we have another game tonight, but I've hardly put any interest in it. I've been dwelling that I'll have to run up and down that court and die of exhaustion. I'd rather lay around the house and watch a good movie while snacking on some Maltesers. It also doesn't help to know, that no matter what we do, no matter how hard we try, we'll never escape the wrath of Coach Anton's rage.

          I keep thinking about my parents. As bad as it sounds, considering tonight is another home game, I want the live stream to shut down or not connect properly. If they ask why I'm not playing tonight (considering I'll be coming off the bench), I'll lie again and say I'm injured, so my playing minutes are down.

          Nonetheless, after not hearing from her for weeks, neither of us spending any time together, I finally convinced my girlfriend Dian to come over. I've been wanting to talk about what's been going on lately. She's standing by the sink, washing her hands.

          "So, I was thinking we could go for dinner sometime this week?" I suggest, rounding up my gear for the game tonight.

          "Sounds great," she says in a blank voice, keeping her back to me.

          "Yeah. I wanna take you out to our favourite restaurant, considering we've been a little distant these days. I'll pay, too."

          "Oh, yeah?" she replies, again not looking at me.

          "Yeah. Marcelle's Cafe. It was the first place I ever took you on a date, remember? We had such a great time. I thought it could bring us closer again."

          "That's cool." 

          Ugh...she's just so flat and emotionless.

          "You look nice by the way," I say, complimenting her dress.

          "Thanks."

          Feeling deflated, I want to know what's going on.

          "What's up?" I ask. "You don't seem very happy."

          She pauses, back still turned, and says, "I didn't come here for the small talk."

          "What's that supposed to mean?"

          She yet pauses again, before dramatically turning around and replies, "We're finished, Declan."

          Finished? I think to myself. Like we're done here in the kitchen, and ready to head to the game and watch like she always does?

          "What do you mean finished?" I reply. "As in—"

          "As in I want nothing to do with you anymore," she states, finishing the sentence for me. "In other words, I'm breaking up with you."

          I can't tell if she's joking or not. What about our plans for the future? What about us having kids and living the happy life we envisioned?

          "I don't understand. Where is this coming from?"

          "Where's it coming from?" She huffs. "Maybe because you don't give a shit about anything but food. Or how you have no ambition but to keep stuffing yourself and throwing everything away. I'm sorry I'm no longer interested in someone who's let themselves go."

          "I'm working on it, okay?" I tell her, almost believing my own lies. "I've been researching new diets and plan to cut back. Please, Dian. Don't do this. I can get back to the old me. Besides...when you really love someone, you help them get through hard times, right?"

          "But that's the thing, Declan. I don't love you."

          Hearing her words is like a thousand daggers piercing into my heart, ripping it straight out of my chest. It's the most agonizing feeling I've ever experienced.

          "But what about all the fun times we had together? Did none of those matter to you?"

          "I don't live in the past, Declan—I'm concerned about what's happening right now and in my future."

          "Look, I know," I say, trying to convince her otherwise. "But can't we just sit down and talk about this? What if we—"

          "Look at your stomach for Christ's sake," she interrupts, pointing to the large gut hanging over my waist. "You think I find that shit attractive? You think I want to be with someone who doesn't give a rat's ass about their appearance?"

          Getting frustrated, I repeat, "I just told you, Dian. I'm working on it!"

          "That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard. I guarantee you'll stay legit for a day or two, then go back to your old ways. You always do, Declan. You can't change my mind. I've made my decision, and I want absolutely nothing to do with you. I'm embarrassed by just the thought of being seen with you. That's why I never talk to your lazy ass anymore."

          There's a moment of silence between us, the tension in the air brewing like a tea kettle boiling over on the stove.

          "So what are you trying to tell me here, Dian?" I ask, my anger now getting the best of me. "That you're just some hoe that's been playing me the last nine months because I was some big basketball star? Are you seriously trying to tell me this entire relationship has been all about you looking good?"

          "Yeah, well," she retorts, a devilish smirk spreading across her face like this is some twisted joke. "I'd rather be a hoe than stuck with your bum ass."

          I feel a ball of fuming anger begin to fester inside my stomach. Is she actually being serious right now? What about all those girls who wanted to get with me back when I was in shape? When I was the star athlete I was, I had beautiful females practically breathing down my neck just to get a taste of me. And never once, not a single time, did I not stay loyal to this girl standing in front of me. I cannot believe this. In fact, for a split second, having her smiling like this isn't literally killing me, I actually think about giving her a smack right across that Goddamn face of hers.

          "Get out," I say instead, pointing towards the front door. "And don't you dare come back. You're not welcome around here anymore."

          She huffs in laughter, walking in the direction I point. "I'll gladly leave. I hope you realize that everybody's talking about how you're letting your team down. You're the biggest joke of the university."

          "And you're the biggest whore," I reply, practically throwing her tramp-ass out.

          But just as I'm about to slam the door shut, she says something that I can't help but acknowledge.

          "You could've had it all, Declan," she reminds.

          Trying desperately to ignore her, I can't help but respond and ask, "What's that supposed to mean?"

          "You know exactly what it means. You had your whole life planned out. You were gonna play professional basketball in Germany, but instead you chose to throw it away and eat like a fucking slob."

          "I still am going to Germany, bitch," I retort, again believing my own lies. "I'll prove you and all my doubters wrong, mark my words."

          "Whatever. Have a good life, Declan. I hope it was worth it."

          And with that, I slam the door closed, not being able to look another second at her face. Because as much as I hated hearing it, I know deep down what she said about throwing my life away is true.

          .   .   .   .   .

          In a fit of rage after being dumped by my girlfriend, I make my way to the gym for our game tonight. I'm surprised I didn't crash my car. I've been so angry and sad the last few hours. I just can't get over it. I loved that girl with everything in my soul. I understand she has the right to be disappointed in me. But with the way she conducted herself, as salty and immature as this will sound, I hope nothing but the worst for her. Dian can jump in a fucking cold lake for all I care. In this fuming heat of anger, I wish I never met that girl, regardless of how happy she made me in the past.

          Pulling into the parking lot with more despairing anger, I get out and lock my car, somehow still being able to show up to this stupid game. There's a bunch of McDonald's wrappers all scattered across the dashboard, as I was eating an excessive amount of double cheeseburgers to suppress the reality of Dian ending our relationship. 

          Doing everything to not let my anger better me, I make my way to the home locker room earlier than scheduled, hearing two individuals holding a conversation about...me. I listen in carefully, both of them currently unaware of my presence behind the lockers.

          "Look, man. He clearly doesn't give a fuck about basketball anymore," says a familiar voice.

          Tony.

          "I know, but we can't just give up on him entirely," says another recognizable tone, that being of T-roy. "Besides, you're his best friend. As much as he's letting us down, we have to make sure he's okay."

          Tony replies, "At this point, I don't consider him my friend anymore. He has no devotion to this team, and like you just said, he's letting everyone down."

          "Can't you just talk to him though? You're closest with him, and maybe something serious is going on in his life."

          "We all go through shit, T-roy," he replies. "It's about how we respond. I have no sympathy for him. I would kill for the amount of natural-blessed skill he has, and I'd damn well not eat myself to death. Regardless if I was friends with him in the past, I no longer respect him."

          I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is this fucker being for real? I'm literally the reason he's on this team, when I convinced Meldrum last year to let him join.

          "But what if he makes a comeback, Tony," T-roy replies. "Yes, he's a fuck up this season, but we can't just forget how much he did for us last year. You can see the difference his impact makes on a team. Last year we win a championship, this year we aren't even ranked anymore."

          "I know. And it fucking pisses me off. We're all working our tails off in practice and he's just sulking around, looking for the next meal to grab."

          "So you don't think he can change?"

          "No, I do not. And if I'm being brutally honest, part of me hopes he doesn't. Coach Anton called me this morning and told me I'll be getting in the game tonight. With Declan not giving a fuck anymore, it's next-man-up mentality. I'm finally getting my chance to play, because I actually want to be here, opposed to that guy who we used to call our leader."

          That's it...I've heard enough. I turn around the locker and expose myself, probably looking so un-intimidating as a chubby, overweight boy.

          "What's up, buddy?" I say, locking eyes with Tony. I'm much more aggressive than usual, considering what happened with Dian earlier.

          He clearly was unaware of my presence, as the expression on his face is shock and surprise.

          "I just heard all that shit you were talking about me, so you might as well spill it out now."

          There's a moment of silence between the three of us, my eyes looking back at both Tony and T-roy.

          "Fine!" Tony shouts back. "Since no one else has the balls to say it, I will, Declan! You're fucking this entire team up, and you know it!"

         As much as he's right, I can't think straight in the least manner, reminding myself of the cold, heartless words Dian had for me.

          "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I retort, getting angrier with every passing second. "I'm the reason you're ON the team, Tony! Did you lose your fucking brain cells from all that nicotine you've been vaping, or do you remember me having a private conversation with Meldrum about letting you come off the bench?"

          "Yeah, well at least I got my shit together and I'm actually putting effort into the team! Unlike you who's turned your back on us, you COWARD!"

          "Coward? Did you really just call me that, Tony! Let's be fucking honest here, even though I've screwed up, I've done a lot more for this team than you! You don't even play, motherfucker!" In the past, I'd never speak to him like this, but I'm raging uncontrollably from everything that's happening because of my eating problems.

          "Bullshit!" he fires back, now getting up in my face to the point T-roy has to stand between us and break it up. "You have all the talent in the world Declan and you're throwing it away! You don't even care about us! You don't—"

          And with that, we are silenced by the rest of the team entering the locker room, luckily none of them overhearing us through the thick walls. Tony and I give another evil glare, both of us having valid reasons to be angry with each other.

          "We'll talk about this later," I whisper, gritting my teeth in an attempt to control my emotions. I just feel more and more tension building with every moment that passes. With everything going on, I might explode.

          "Alright," Coach Anton says, entering the room with his usual gloomy expression. "We have a game tonight, gentlemen."

          Tony and I keep looking back at one another, my heart racing a thousand miles per hour from the adrenaline. With the way I've been eating lately, this is the most energy I've experienced in quite a while.

          "Considering we're no longer a contender for the playoffs, I'm gonna be playing a lot of the bench players tonight," Coach Anton informs, yet I can barely hear him with the way I'm feeling. "But that doesn't mean I won't check you if you're not giving your best efforts. Whether we make the playoffs or not, you still have a commitment to this team."

          Tony and I glance at one another when he mentions the word "commitment," and it makes me even angrier.

          "So having said that, let's get our asses out there for warm-up."

          The team gradually makes their way out of the locker room, the whole time my feelings and emotions getting the best of me. In the past, I was very strong mentally on the court. I wouldn't let anyone get inside my head or play with me psychologically. But right now I'm so rattled I can barely even remember where I am. Having Dian dump me in cold-blooded fashion was already bad enough, but then hearing the way Tony talked behind my back was icing on the cake. All I can feel right now is anger. Anger towards my girlfriend, anger towards my best homie, but most of all, anger towards myself.

          When we arrive on the court, the loud noises of the music and crowd (which at one point in my life brought me tremendous joy and happiness) are overwhelming to say the least. Having said that, our crowds aren't even half the size they were from last year. Considering we're no longer a playoff contender, nobody seems to care about us anymore. Sure, there are a few OG fans here and there, but for the most part, we're hardly recognized at this point. I look up to the spot where Dian usually sits, where she'd cheer and support me so much in the past. Of course, the seat is empty this time, and her presence is nowhere to be found.

          Fucking bitch, I think to myself, grabbing a ball and laying it in. As we continue our lay-up lines, Tony and I keep glaring at one another. As I mentioned in the locker room, we both have valid reasons to be upset with one another. Yes, I'm letting the team down, but I just can't get over the fact he's completely discarded how I got him on the roster. 

          Regardless, we continue our warm-up, the loud music blaring and driving me crazy. I just want to keep eating to forget about everything, and push away this painful rage festering inside me

          At the two-minute mark, just like Meldrum used to do, Coach Anton calls us in for the huddle. He only says a few words, as it's clear he's lost hope in this team, just like everyone else has. 

          When the starting lineups are announced, of course me not being part of it, I try to tune everything out and envision myself snacking on another double cheeseburger. For only a few minutes, like a shot of heroin, they numbed away everything I was experiencing, as I sunk my teeth into those greasy buns with mustard and pickles and ketchup.

          Without even realizing it, stuck inside my head from the past few hours, the game begins. It stings like a wasp seeing all the bench players out there on the court. It just goes to show you what a disaster this season has turned out to be, and I'm the root cause. As expected, we're getting beaten badly with only four minutes into the first quarter. Even though he said he wouldn't care, just like me, Coach Anton can't control his anger, yelling and screaming at us like a lunatic.

          "What the fuck are you guys doing!" he shouts during our first time out. "Have some discipline out there!"

          I'm sitting at the end of the bench, tapping my foot on the ground anxiously. I just can't get Dian out of my head. I seriously envisioned the rest of my life with her, and every time I think about her, I get angrier and angrier. Again, I'm so rattled, to the point she and Tony have consumed my mind. I remind myself about all the good times he and I had together, on and off the court, and now it's all led to this. I don't think we'll ever have the same friendship after the words we had for one another. But more importantly, I don't know if I want to be friends.

          Speaking of Tony, it cuts like a knife when Coach Anton subs him into the game at the second quarter before me. I watch as he jogs out onto the court and picks up a check, locking in and doing his assignment defensively, unlike my fat ass that just sits on the bench. Back when we were friends, I'd be so happy for him, considering he never played. But just like with Dian, maybe because I'm feeling salty as fuck, I'm not happy for him. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't even feel bad if that motherfucker broke his leg.

          With only three minutes left in the half, somehow, someway, Coach Anton finally subs me into the game. I jog out onto the court, embarrassed of how chubby and overweight I've become, and still oozing with fury from everything that's happened. Yet only running thirty seconds or so, my adrenaline rush ends, and I'm downright exhausted from desperately trying to keep up. I'm the single slowest player on the court, and I begin to desperately pant from lack of oxygen.

          "Run, Rashard!" Coach Anton screams from the bench, venomous rage dripping from his chin like a supervillain. "RUN!"

          Hearing him yell only makes me more and more tired. I'm so overwhelmed; I'm going to fucking explode any minute. 

          Down on defensive possessions, I'm starting to lose my bearings, as I drop a few elbows to my check, getting all rough and aggressive with him. In the past, I always played the game of basketball with love and passion. No matter how tenacious I was, I never disrespected my opponents. But right now, I'm playing with pure anger.

          Byron, one of our home referees, gives me a warning as we jog back down the court. I can barely hear him—so exhausted I'm to that point I might throw up. My head pounds from the home fans screaming and even booing us, as they're tired of watching us give sloppy performances and bush-league effort, particularly me. Despite the warning, I drop another shoulder into my check, earning me a technical foul for poor sportsmanship.

          "I'm warning you, Rashard," Byron says, coming over and confronting me. "Once more and I'm kicking you out the game."

          I lower my head in shame as we line up for the foul shot, any second about to pass out from indescribable fatigue. I can hear Coach Anton screaming at me from the sideline, but nothing is making sense anymore. None of my brain cells are thinking rationally, and I can't take this shit. I don't even care how selfish this sounds, but it's true. For the first time in my entire life, after bringing nothing but joy and pride to my world, I can honestly say that I don't give a flying fuck about basketball. I just want to be wherever I can eat more food!

          After the foul shot, Jeffrey grabs the rebound as we pathetically head for our offensive possession. As I cut down the court, I'm wide open under the basket, considering the opposing team now views me as such an unlikely threat, whereas in the past I'd have teams doubling me in fear of my unmatchable skills. I call for the ball, Jeffrey and I making eye contact. Now there's a difference between being open and WIDE open. There's no one within six feet of me. I could easily get the ball and lay it in under the basket, but just like that, Jeffrey turns away and passes the ball to Melvin Direton out on the wing.

          And then it hits me like a brick wall. Nobody on this team trusts me anymore. Maybe Tony was right in the locker room. Everyone has given up their faith in me, and rightfully so. Luckily for my sake, ready to collapse to the floor from exhaustion and sleep right there, Coach Anton calls a time-out and brings us back to the bench. I take a seat and nearly collapse just from the relief I experience, simultaneously hearing Coach Anton's blistering wrath.

          "What's the matter with you!" he screams, grabbing my jersey and getting in my face like Tony, until I can smell his stank breath. "Why the fuck are you giving us technical fouls! Man up and play the game, Rashard!"

          I pant desperately, trying everything to keep my shit together. I just want to fucking scream I'm so exhausted and frustrated.

          "Answer me!" he shouts again.

          Somehow I manage to nod my head, the sweat dripping down me like I jumped in a pool, this all happening from only two minutes of play. I want to break his jaw so he can't keep yelling and practically abusing me. I feel my hands balling into fists, digging deep to not explode. But I just can't do it. By the end of our timeout, knowing I can't hurt Coach Anton, I look for the closest victim to take my rage out on: Jeffrey. And with that, I finally snap, doing something I would never do if I was calm and collected.

          "Hey, dumbass!" I shout, walking over and wrapping my hand around his throat. "Why don't you try passing the fucking ball!"

          "Hey!" Coach Anton yells again, pulling me back with a fury of aggression. "What the fuck, Rashard! That's your teammate!"

          And just like that, I feel all the anger inside drain from my body, leaving me with a tremendous feeling of guilt and remorse for what I did. I lock eyes with the rest of my teammates. They don't look disappointed, they don't look sad, they just look...scared. As if they're afraid to just be around me. Nobody, with the exception of Kevin maybe, wants me on this team anymore. Nobody wants to look up to me as the leader, and I know my actions just ruined my reputation for good. My teammates already gave up on me, and now I just lost their respect entirely.

          "Sit your ass down, Rashard! You're done for the night!" Coach Anton shakes his head, the embarrassment and guilt building within me like a toxic virus spreading. "You should be ashamed of yourself! That's your fucking teammate and you just assaulted him!"

          I take a seat at the end of the bench, lowering my head again in shame as the game continues. Like I said, I never would have done that before. Part of me wants to explain why I did what I did. My girlfriend just dumped me, my best friend just turned his back on me, my coach is fucking screaming in my face like an animal. But none of that matters. There's no excuse for what happened, and now I'll have to pay the consequences.

          Coach Anton leans over and whispers in my ear, "And I'll be reporting to your coaches in Germany about what you did to Jeffrey."

          And at that moment, I know my basketball career is officially over.