Title:
Dust
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Nathan Scott kicks the dust beside the pathetic playground court where grass
won't even dare to grow and he scowls as if his very life depends on it. The
match is long since over. Payton is sleeping soundly in his bed on the other
side of town, and his half brother bastard is probably still out carousing with
his lowlife buddies.
He thinks of Lucas, and despite himself, he can't help but feel furious. The
guy has the chip-on-the-shoulder, wounded puppy act down to an art.
Really. His heart bleeds for his poor sibiling, who has never known their
father's love. Lucas has never experienced Father's day or been able to have
someone there to legitamately call his own on those stupid boy scout
father'n'son things. The only male influence that poor short-changed Lucas has
ever had to call his own is their half-baked Uncle Keith who isn't exactly a
shiny star example of success. In all, his half sibiling has missed out on half
of the parental experience that most kids face.
And the lucky prick probably doesn't even realize how good he has it.
No, Nathan doesn't feel all that terribly sorry for Lucas, and he probably
never will. After all, it must just be the shit having to live with a mother
that loves him, a town that doesn't think he exists solely to ape his father
and in a world devoid of unatainable expectations. Oh yeah, he spends his
nights sheding crocodile tears for his basketball playing feind of a brother.
Fact of the matter is that Nathan pretty much hates Lucas.
He hates the way Lucas's face goes all zen in the middle of a game. Nathan
hates the way his brother's face lights up for a moment each time he sinks a
shot. He hates that basketball is just a game to the jerk. He hates the
way Lucas's friends think it's all just a game and he hates the way that no one
seems to fucking realize that it was never just a game and that it never
will be.
Nathan remembers playing Lucas in junior high and he remembers being faced
suddenly with the reality that reality was not exactly what he thought it was.
He knows his father steadfastly refuses to acknowledge even the smallest
possibility that Lucas is his, but Nathan can see right through him. The denial
is made in the same voice that his dad uses to tell him that all he wants is
for Nathan to do what's best for Nathan.
Because, really, Nathan figures that even if he were in a coma, his father
would find a way to animate his body and attempt to live vicariously through
him. Even the most vapid of soccer moms have nothing on the man.
When Nathan was younger, he had a recurring nightmare in which his father was a
vampire, sent to suck out all his blood. Not much has changed since then, he
figures, because the man's still sucking the life out of him.
For fuck's sake, he stole a goddamned school bus, and even that
didn't get him kicked off the team. Short of killing himself, Nathan doesn't
think that there is a way to amputate basketball from his life. It's the only
reason why his self-absorbed father pays him even the slightest bit of
attention. It's the only way the entire fucking town can see him. And it's the
only reason Payton would ever deign to sleep with him in the first place,
because even disaffected punk sluts have their standards.
Nathan and Nathan's entire world are defined solely by basketball and
basketball alone.
And isn't it just a fucking shame that he hates the whole goddamned sport.