Page 7 of Stroke Rate

Chris attempted to find his voice to stand up for himself, but he wasn't strong enough. All his snark and smiles were masks to hide how soft and scared he had become. His family and coaches had beaten the formidable parts out of him years ago.

“Get out. Get the fuck out of my face,” he pleaded letting out an indistinct sound, one that sounded more like a wounded animal than a grown man.

“Excuse me?”

Chris vibrated with pent-up emotions, his shoulders hunched, eyes focused on the tiled floor, his lips quivering. Conflict always made him want to cry. Memories of his parent’s nightly screaming matches played against his scrunched-up lids. He just wanted to disappear. “I can’t handle your yelling. The way you look at me. You don’t believe I can make it farther than I have. You’re just here for the paycheck, but…”

The relentless cycle of trying his hardest and still failing had worn Chris down to his core.

“Chris, don’t,” Rick spluttered. “I’m sorry. I’ll tone it down. We can do this,” Rick pleaded.

As he walked to the showers, Chris forced himself to turn around and finally say the words that had been dying to escape. “I’m tired, Rick. And you’re fired.”

Chris whimpered through the phone, hating how weak he sounded. “Brooke?”

“Hey sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Chris’ lips quivered as he lay curled in the small dorm bed, but the sound of Brooke on the other end of the phone helped to ease some of the sadness. I'm not alone. “I just‌ fired him.”

“Oh, honey, are you okay? I mean, he needed to go, but that’s stressful right before a meet.”

Chris sniffled, “I’m okay. I’m glad it’s over. He got close to me Brooke, I thought he was going to push me or touch me.”

“He didn’t, did he? I will kill him, Chris, I swear.”

He cut her off before she could get going. Brooke, his one constant. The only person who had ever protected him. “No, no, he didn’t. He was just so close and so loud. But I did it. He’s gone,” he said, letting out a relieved breath.

“I’m so proud of you, Chris. That was so brave, honey. But can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah?” Chris could hear it, he could hear the question before it even came out of her mouth. He and Brooke had had this conversation a million times, and Chris still didn’t know the answer. He was either too dumb or had a severe mental block when it came to his family.

Brooke blew out a deep breath before she started, “Chris. Honey, why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why are you still swimming? I can't remember the last time you talked about swimming and smiled. It just seems to cause you so much grief. You’re not happy.” She sighed, and Chris wondered if she was as close to tears as he was. He hated this.

Chris thought and thought and thought. He wasn’t sure how to answer. He still couldn't come up with a response that wasn't pathetic. “I just can't quit. This is all I am. This is all I am good for. I owe them too much; I owe my family this much, and Mom would never let me quit. She would be so mad.” The last words came out as a whimper, and Chris couldn’t stop the shivers that were wracking his body with the thought of how angry Laura would be.

He could hear the echo of her screams in his head, feel the slice of her nails on his skin, smell the putrid scent of old booze that seeped from her pores. Fuck, he really didn’t need this right before a race; he didn’t need to be second-guessing himself. He didn’t need to be reminded of how weak he was. He didn’t need to be reminded of how fucked up his life was. Ha your life? This is not your life. This isn’t a life, period.

“Oh, fuck that, and fuck Laura, Chris!” Brooke yelled into his ear. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but your parents suck. Your mom is a narcissistic bitch and your dad is a spineless turd who lets that woman walk over him. And Harrison, well, Harrison could be cool, but he is such a surface-level dude-bro that he is barely even a person. And Flynn, poor Flynn. We will figure out Flynn one day,” she ranted before blowing out a harsh breath.

Chris let out a choked laugh before asking, “Are you done?”

“No, I’m not done,” she squeaked indignantly. “Listen, we went to one of the hardest, most academically challenging colleges in the state. You worked your ass off these past four years. Swimming at school, winning race after race, and keeping your grades up. You have a degree in Communications. And don’t even give me the ‘it’s a bullshit degree, Brooke’ speech, because I'm over it. You have options. You are smart and funny and so caring...”

“Done now?” Chris asked.

“Not even close,” she said with just a touch of humor in her inflection. “Listen, you go on and on about hating swimming and how you’re stuck, and that you’re so damned worried about what Laura thinks, and I really don’t get it. I know she is controlling, but shit, Chris, you’re twenty-three. Isn’t it time to cut the cord? Isn’t it time to live your own life? Okay. Now I’m done,” she huffed.

Chris drew a deep breath, gathering his strength. He wanted to say yes to Brooke, to take her up on her offer, to leave and start over. He wanted to be brave. To say fuck it and fuck his family. He wanted to brave for Brooke.

Chris wanted to be brave for himself.

But he couldn’t; he didn’t know how to be. There was so much he wanted to tell Brooke. So much he wanted to scream into the ether. He craved to let out all of his family's secrets, to tell Brooke his whole truth about the shame of what he had lived with. The shame of letting his life get this out of hand. The shame of what he had allowed Laura to do to him. What she was still doing to him choked Chris into submission. So instead, he went with the same answer he always gave her. “I know Brooke. I just owe them so much. They built me that house.”

“You mean your jail cell,” she muttered.

“Quit it, Brooke. It’s my house, and they built it for me as a gift.” He almost gagged at the word gift. That house was not a gift. Brooke was right, it was a jail cell. It was just another way to control him. “I don’t have a job. They support me; they pay my bills. They pay for my coaches. Where would I live? What would I do? They are all I have, Brooke.” Chris wiped the dampness from his cheek and sniffled. “Mom would cut me off. If I quit, she would cut me out of the family; she’s threatened it before. Then what?”

“Chris,” Brooke sniffed on the other end of the phone.