Sagittarius A-Town

Author's Note:All characters in this story who appear in any sexual scenes, scenarios or situations are 18 AT ALL TIMES. All locations and characters are entirely fictional and any similarity to real locations or persons are entirely coincidental.

This is a long story. 50,000 words, give or take. I wasn't going to release it, and it's been sitting on my hard drive for almost a full year. But why not? If even one person likes the story, I will be more than elated! Hope you enjoy!

Sagittarius A-Town

The locker room was dominated by a palpable sense of dejection. Shoulders were rounded and team mates grumbled among themselves, passive-aggressively blaming each other for our unexpected defeat. Over the past month, the weather had been mostly bipolar, shifting between arctic winds and the dead heat of the desert. It seemed like only Texas could produce this type of muggy, humid weather, and we were really feeling it. The heat still beat down on us, even though the sun had long since dipped below the horizon. It was a chore to take a breath, and our rapidly evaporating sweat was only making things worse.

"Any minute now." A panted whisper came from beside me. It was the voice of my best friend, Ryan Allen. Sweat had made his short, blonde hair turn a deep shade of brown, and it seemed almost painted to his head. His face was beet red and he struggled to catch his breath. When I caught his glance, he nodded toward the entrance of the locker room and rolled his eyes. Right on cue, our coach came barrelling through the door and immediately slammed his fist into the nearest locker. He stopped and looked around, lightening flashed in his eyes and his body quivered in anger. He pulled the hat from his head, threw it to the floor and walked straight to his office.

"Foster! Allen! Get your asses in here!" He screamed, before slamming the door.

I got a wink and a "told ya" from Ryan before we followed Coach to his office. We knocked on the glass door and stood in wait. Coach was sitting behind his desk, huffing and panting, and on the verge of an aneurysm. He watched us through the windowpane for almost a full minute before he finally let us in. He gestured us in with a nod so exaggerated I was sure it would give him some sort of whiplash, then slammed a drawer shut and crossed his arms. It was a long time since I had seen him this angry.

When we entered the office, we closed the door and took a seat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He spat.

"What do you mean?" I replied, looking askance.

"Did I say you could take a damn seat!? Stand the hell up!"

I could see Ryan struggling to contain his amusement from the corner of my eye, and I couldn't help but smile a bit. Our coach wasn't exactly the world's most intimidating man. In fact, he was anything but. He was a small, stumpy man with a protruding belly and blood pressure issues. His wide based goatee took attention away from his perpetually red cheeks and balding hairline. And usually when he was angry, his voice would crack on certain syllables making him sound almost like a bloated chipmunk.

Ryan, on the other hand, was built like a wall. If the wall had gained sentience and decided to spend all of it's time in the nearest gym, that is. He was a towering figure - enough to almost dwarf my six feet of height - and was rarely intimidated by anyone, let alone somebody the size of our coach. He crossed his arms and glared at the coach. An eyebrow was raised and his tongue made a small bulge in his cheek.

"Well? Is someone gonna explain what the fuck just happened out there!?" Coach screamed again.

Ryan started to speak but was interrupted, "Shut up, you idiot! I wasn't asking you! Jake, you're my captain. The worst captain since the fucking Titanic, maybe, but still my fucking captain! What the hell were you doing out there?"

I began to answer, but he cut me off instantly, "Don't fucking speak when I'm talking to you! Are you not listening to a damn word comin' outta my mouth? You two are a goddamned disgrace and I don't even want to look at you anymore. Get the hell out of my office!"

Coach wasn't exactly the greatest public speaker, so when thing's weren't going to plan he rarely made the type of speeches that you see coaches make in the movies. Instead, he brought me and Ryan into his office and just screamed at us until he got sick of it, hoping we would carry on his message. Truth is, I wasn't much of a public speaker myself. That was mainly Ryan's job. It just seemed to make sense this way; it's hard for David to command the attention of a room when Goliath is standing next to him. Being in front of a crowd was always his strong suit.

Ryan did his thing while I stood stupidly behind him. He congratulated everybody on their performance and sent them on their way. They didn't stick around long afterwards, for good reason too. After a loss this bad, there were sure to be consequences. Ryan and I threw knowing glances to each other as we gathered our things. We both knew what was waiting for us outside. The same thing that was waiting for us every night that we lost.

I said my goodbyes to Ryan and took a shower. I took my time washing the filth from my body- I must have shampooed my hair six times. When I finally finished, the locker room was completely empty and I more resembled a prune than an athlete. Before I even opened the door I could hear the ruckus from the crowd outside. The red, emblazoned 'Bears' logo on the wall caught my eye for the briefest of moments before I groaned, opened the door and stepped out into the heavy air.

Sure enough, when I looked to the gate, the horde was there. Ready, waiting, seething. I held my breath and hurried to my car, hoping to avoid their attention, and scorn.

This may seem strange, but in Bucksville, Texas, it was the norm. Hell, it was encouraged.

Bucksville is the type of small town where everybody knows everybody, and secrets last as long as a rodeo. It's the sort of racist, misogynistic town that screams for freedom and then oppresses the masses. Scalding heat melted asphalt and grass seeped through cracks in the pavement. In Bucksville, the potholes lasted years, but the sheriff drove a Mercedes. Boys shot guns and girls played with dolls. No excuses. No exceptions.

Bucksville is the ancient kind of town where sport is a religion, and blasphemy is an excommunicable offense. Everybody loved football, and they wanted to win. More than anything.

Fans can be fickle. The people you hear sing your name one week could be the very same people signing your death warrant the next. Often, a player or coach would be the toast of the town after a big win. Bars would give them free drinks, restaurants would give them free food, and girls would throw themselves at them. One or two losses later and the free drinks, food and girls turned to death threats, slander and vandalism.

One time, after a string of losses, a coach told me,"Never let them see you crack, son. Keep a brave face and everyone will believe in you, no matter what happens." Two days later, his family were leaving town with their furniture in the back of a pick up truck.

I turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the car park. At the gates, I was met by a very expected wave of taunts and jeers. Unfinished popcorn, random items of food and other unidentified objects bounced off my windscreen as I turned onto the road. I glanced at the rear-view mirror. An aura of hatred emanated from the mob, and they were still hurling objects and obscenities at me, even from this distance. It's a surreal feeling to witness an angry mob of people formed purely for your detriment, and this wasn't the first time it had happened.

I switched on the radio in hopes of getting my mind off of the game, and a familiar droning filled the car. It was the voice of Eric Butler, the local sports reporter.

"And where the hell was Jake Foster tonight, ladies and gentlemen?" the nasally voice was in mid-complaint, "What a shocker from what many people were calling the 'best young quarterback in America.' Folks, I don't know about you, but I do not see where this nonsense is coming from. Jake Foster was a mediocre player then, and Jake Foster is a mediocre player now. Bucksville got dominated tonight by a team that they should have beaten easily. Instead, it was men against boys out there, and Jake Foster looked like he'd be more comfortable playing in a ball pit than on a..."

With a sigh, I flicked the station over. I fucking hated Eric Butler. He was the type of guy that would shit in your garden and tell everybody it was because your bathroom was too dirty. Eric Butler was the high school bully that grew up and got worse. He was quite happy to use his small position of power to tear down others, and he was proud of it too.

But that isn't why I hated him so much. It was a running joke that nobody ever leaves Bucksville. Everybody dreamed of leaving, but nobody ever seemed to. I always thought of Bucksville as a dead star - A black hole; growing more and more everyday until eventually, nothing could escape it's grasp. Somehow, Eric Butler seemed to make this fact resonate deep inside me. And it made me nauseous.

I once again switched the radio station, the journey home seemingly twice as long tonight.

Parked in the driveway, I sat in complete darkness, watching the house in front of me. By day, the house was vibrant, almost lifelike. It was a large, red bricked house near the end of Ashbrook Drive, fenced in by cedar. Lush greenery overflowed the garden, and framed the house in a vivid emerald. A long, ivory path extended from the driveway all the way up to an ivy covered patio, lit by electric lanterns.

Eventually, I clambered out of the car and closed the door as silently as possible. I limped the long path to the door and turned the key equally as silent, hoping to quietly sneak upstairs and into bed without the inquisition I was sure to endure.

"We're in here," I heard my dad's voice, as soon as I shut the door, "Get in here."

I found my father resting in the living room. A fire roared from the hearth beside his favourite chair, filling the room with a dour orange tint. He was reclined back, covered by a blanket. I didn't like that blanket very much, it smelled of hospitals and medicine and was a sickly shade of blue-gray.

On the couch opposite, sat my mother; while my brother, Kevin, lay nestled in at her side.

"Jake!" exclaimed Kevin when he saw me. He leapt from his chair and ran to me.

"Hey, little man." I said, grabbing him in a playful headlock. "What's happening?"

"Mom's home!"

"Yeah, I see that." I smiled meekly at him, before glancing at my mother. A look of concern furrowed her brow. "Did you see the game?"

"Nope, sorry."

"That's okay, buddy, Mom's home." I winked at him, then looked at my mom again. She cleared her throat before throwing my dad an impatient glance. "Hey, do you know how you are always bugging me about my PC? Why don't you go play on it for awhile?"

"Really? Can I?"

"Well, have you done your homework?" I asked.

"Yes." He replied. "And I got my shower."

"Teeth brushed?"

"Uh-huh."

"I don't believe you. Let me smell your breath." I ordered and he obeyed. There was a slight hint of mint on his breath. He passed this time.

"So can I play now?"

"Fine, then. Get going." I said, but he was already gone before I finished the sentence.

"I put him in the shower after I got home." My mother finally spoke when he left.

"Oh, did you now?" I scoffed, and sat in the chair opposite them both. I flicked my hand through the air, trying my most sarcastic tone, "Fantastic parenting once again, Mom. Don't show your face for weeks at a time and then turn up out of the blue to put Kevin in the fucking shower. I'm sure there's some sort of mother of the year award for that."

"Jesus Christ, Jake! Why does it always have to be like this with you!?"

"Like what, Mom? You only see me once every other month. How can you possibly know what it's 'always' like around here?"

Mom almost leapt from her chair, "See, John? This is exactly what I'm talking about! The way he speaks to me! It's always a confrontation with him! Do you think its easy for me, Jake? Do you? Huh? How much do you think your father's treatments cost? And this house? How much does our mortgage cost? Do you think money just falls out of the fucking sky or food just magically appears in the refrigerator?"

"Whatever, Mom." I answered. "You're not the one who has to look after this house. Do you have any idea how hard it is to study for school, play football, and look after Kevin and Dad all at the same time? Or do you just not fucking care?"

"Don't speak to me like that! Don't invalidate me! How dare you? Have you forgotten that I'm still your mother?"

"You might as well not be! You're just some lady who stops by to check in on us every once in awhile! We wouldn't even notice if you didn't come back next time! We wouldn't even care!"

The look of pure hurt struck immediately, and regret replaced the anger in my gut. Mom opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind and closed it again, instead reclining into her chair. She wiped a tear from her weary, emerald eyes and glanced at my father, running her hand through her long, golden hair and sighing deeply.

Dad broke the silence. "Jake, if I ever hear you speak to your mother like that again, so help me god I will get out of this god forsaken chair and whoop your ass. Do you hear me?" His voice was more a groan than a shout, but it still struck the same fear into my heart as it did when he was fit and healthy. "No son of mine will speak to a lady like that! Especially his mother. Do you hear me? I said do you hear me!?"

I hung my head, "Yes, sir."

"I can't hear you! Speak up, boy!"

"Yes, sir!"

He took a breath and focused his eyes, "You're frustrated at your own performance tonight -- or lack of, should I say -- and you're taking it out on your mother. That is not acceptable and you know it isn't. We are a family here, and we deal with problems like it. Now, if you are angry and frustrated, then talk to me about it, no matter what it is. Do not bottle it up. And do not take it out on your mother."

"I don't wanna talk about it," I said, placing my head in my hand.

"I bet you don't. Four interceptions?"

"Don't remind me."

"A fumble?"

"Don't remind me."

"No touchdowns?"

"I said 'don't remind me'."

I ran my hands through my hair, then returned them to covering my face, not wanting to look into my father's eyes. Everybody used to remark on how alike Dad and I looked. We once shared the wavy, brown hair and tall stature of the Foster side of the family. Now all that remained of our similarities was the pale, blue eyes that somehow seemed to make him look even sicker.

Dad shifted his body to face Mom. It was a slow, painful movement. "Beth, would you mind giving us a minute?"

Mom nodded her answer, and when she left, Dad turned to me again.

"Y'know son, back before I met your Mom, I had a crush on this girl called Kelly. She was a beautiful little thing. She was a cheerleader, I was captain of the wrestling team."

I half-laughed, "Really? You wrestled?"

"Don't laugh." He said, with a strained chuckle, "I was young once, too. Anyway, we ended up having this really fun summer romance. It just kinda blew me away. Then, one day, she up and dumped me, just like that. I was crushed. I thought my life was over. So one day, I talked to your grandfather about it and he said: 'No matter how dark the winter gets, spring always brings a rising sun.' Back then I thought this was nonsense. I thought 'of course, the sun rises. What difference does that make to my problems?'"

He leaned forward, staring me dead in the eyes, "But as I got older, I realised it meant that no matter how bad things seemed to be, they would always get better, and you would always have someone to count on. Does that make any sense?"

Dad wasn't the most eloquent man, but he always made me feel better. I knew I could rely on him for anything. "Yeah... Weirdly, it sorta does."

"That's my boy." He said. "You know I'll always be here for you, right? No matter what the problem is. All you have to do is ask."

I nodded, and as I got up to leave he added, "And son? Go easy on your mom. Things are a lot harder for her than you think."

-------------

Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...

A loud vibration woke me from my sleep. With a groan, I rolled over in my bed. Barely. Every muscle in my body was aching.

Buzz... Buzz... Buzz...

I reached for my phone and through a single, squinted eye I made out a name, 'Ashley'. I launched to a seat and answered the phone, wiping a sleep from my eye.

"H-Hey, baby," I said, "Hey, listen, about tonight..."

"Don't you 'hey baby' me!" My girlfriend's voice sounded through the phone. "Where the hell were you tonight? You were supposed to be picking me up after your game, remember? Or were you off acting the idiot with Ryan again? I left you like eight texts!"

In my post game depression, I had completely forgotten to pick her up from work. To make matters worse, a pounding had started behind my eyes, adding to my ever-increasing list of throbbing body parts. I rubbed a temple with my free hand, and tried to focus on Ashley's words.

"I was talking to Aimee about you today and she said that you're never going to change and I should just dump you right now, but I..."

Things hadn't been great lately. I guess you could say we were going through a rough patch. When exactly the relationship had been smooth is not something that I can recall quite readily, but I'm almost positive it had been good at some stage. My friends, Ryan especially, had come to the unanimous decision that I should have kicked her to the curb a long time ago. Their words, not mine.

Although most of our relationship had been spent at each other's throats, I loved her and honestly didn't mind how demanding and controlling she could be. I reckoned it was her way of caring. She just cared harder and much more intensely than anybody else. That's what I told myself anyway.

"Uh, hello?" Ashley's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, of course I am." I lied.

"Then what did I just say?"

Shit. "You were talking about how shit of a boyfriend I am?"

"Are you serious!? That's typical of you, Jake. Freakin' typical. You never listen to what I'm trying to tell you. You go off into this little world of your own and complete forget about me. You never think of my feelings! Don't you realize you have a girlfriend too?"

"Of course, I realize it. I love you, Ashley. More than anything else in the world."

"Well, you have a funny way of showing it! You know, baby..." Her voice suddenly got sweeter. I knew that tone, it only came on when she had done something wrong, when an attractive girl was around me or when she talked about how 'amazing our life is going to be together'.

"... if we're going to have this amazing future together," Called it, "you have to start listening to people and doing what you're told, but you never do. You think the whole world revolves around you. It's always the same; Jake knows better than the coach, Jake knows better than his parents, Jake knows better than me. Sometimes, I'm so embarrassed to be your girlfriend..."

Wordlessly, I hung up, having heard more than enough. I was sick and tired of talking about football and listening to people's complaints. In desperate need of a drink, I text Ryan and invited him to the local bar, Murray's. Legal drinking age laws aren't really an issue when you're a football player in Texas.

Almost immediately, I got a text back from Ryan, "Goldilocks gnna b there?" it read. The 'Goldilocks' he was referring to was, of course, Ashley. It was a secret to nobody but Ashley that Ryan had a particularly low opinion of her. I somehow managed to convince her that it was an endearing nickname that referred to her long, blonde hair but the reality was entirely different.