Throw Me A Curve Ball

Alcohol and frat-parties don't fix a life that was supposed to be bright and rose-colored, but turned out dark and grim. Nothing is going to heal a heart broken by a family member, nothing is going to heal anxiety, nothing is going to heal depression, nothing and nobody but yourself. So Gabriel makes it work and tries to fix himself, but the universe has it out for him.


NOTE: This story is a prologue to the rewrite of my other story 'From Me To You', which I decided to rewrite (if I ever get to it) when I got stuck at a certain point in the story. That means some characters that appeared there as teenagers, will appear here in this story as adults (university students). Here's a quick list for the human names I'm using: Gabriel Férnandez-Rosário (APH Portugal), Arthur Kirkland (APH Britain), Winnie Wang (APH Taiwan), and Alfred F. Jones (APH America). Also, some warnings in case: Referenced/Implied Drug usage, Underaged Drinking, and Homophobia


The First Inning .


As far as I am concerned, miracles don't exist. Meeting your soulmate, Christ resurrection, and being 'alright' all sound like bullshit. But I suppose miracles can happen, otherwise people wouldn't talk about them all the time I guess. Afterall, some people survive natural disasters, some people can lift cars, some people defy the laws of nature and fate, and earth keeps spinning regardless of all the disaster on the surface. But miracles don't happen to me. Never have I ever had a ray of divine providence shine down on me, or have I seen Virgin Mary in my coffee cream. I didn't get into the baseball team with sheer luck and talent. I worked, and I worked hard. Science and determination is what you need in life. Because if miracles existed, I wouldn't have ended up where I am now.

And perhaps, perhaps you can count the fact that the wooden floor underneath at least fifty drunk university students (one of them being me) hasn't given away yet as a miracle on its own.

"You look like you're having the time of your life, man."

Arthur groans in agony. He's lying on the couch and he looks downright miserable. His hair's a mess of tangles and his preppy clothes are wrinkled. In his left hand is a red cup filled with… with whatever they serve here, and his right hand is pinching the bridge of his nose. Pale face drawn with regret.

"Fuck you, Gabriel." he grumbles and then follows something I can't quite catch over the background noises. And with background noises I mean the shitty house tracks and screaming undergraduates.

"What?" I ask, leaning over to him.

Arthur answers something, but I still can't hear him.

"What?" I try again, this time with my hand to my ear.

"Remind me why we're here again?" finally his voice reaches over the terrible loud bass. I'm pretty sure I won't hear a thing tomorrow.

I chuckle and flop down on the couch, right next to him, and pat him on his shoulder, "There're a couple of reasons. But you did this all by yourself, buddy." I say and I gesture to the petty mess he is.

Arthur glares at me, "You could have pulled me back to our dorms when I made this decision.

I shrug, "Could've, but we both know there's no stopping you when it's Jones challenging you." I shoot back, "I wasn't the one who forced you here, you followed me on your own accord. And that you decided to stay for Jones, is your own fault. Besides, Winnie really wanted you to be here."

"Fucking kill me right now." Arthur groans and he throws his head against the back of the couch, looking perfectly pathetic the way he was.

I shake my head, "Nope, not gonna happen." I tell him with a smirk, "Who else is gonna share the bed with me?"

Arthur isn't looking at me when he answers: "You better learn to sleep alone then."

Instead, his eyes are focused on the mop of blond hair at the back of the room and I know all too well who the owner of that hair is. I've seen Arthur looking at it too many times.

I gasp dramatically and place a hand over my heart, pretending to be really hurt by those words, "What?!" I begin, "Am I hearing that right?! You don't wanna share with me anymore? Would you rather share your bed with Jones then."

And I know I've struck a nerve.

At the mention of Jones' name in the same sentence with sharing the bed, Arthur's face colors in a brighter shade red, because he already had a faint blush from all the alcohol. We both know I wasn't talking about just sharing the bed.

"Shut your fuck!" he quickly shouts, covering his face with his hands to hide his flushed face.

I fling an arm around him, "I don't mind," I tell him, "If I were you, I would want to share with him too. Too bad he's a straight fuckboi and you make zero chance with him. Guess we'll be sharing a bit longer then."

I follow his eyes to the other end of the room, and despite the amount of people crowding around us, it's still fairly easy to spot Alfred F. Jones. He's talking to a couple of guys and girls, loudly and with a lot of hand gestures. Arthur and I met Jones in our freshman year during the introduction week and it was a direct hit on Arthur's side. He liked Jones but refused to admit his attraction and claimed to 'hate' him and Jones, being the idiot he is, took the bait. Ever since, they've been fighting and competing over everything there was to compete about. It's a blessing they don't have the same majors, or otherwise one of them would have been murdered already. And Arthur is still attracted, or rather attracted to the idea of something he can't actually have.

"There's no guarentee he's a straight fuckboi." Arthur spits his last word out with pure spite like it's poison on his tongue.

I frown at him, "Dude. He wears a snapback, soccer shorts, he's a Beta Theta, a frat boy, and-" I pause to gesture at Jones, "-and he's in the sports program."

Arthur isn't buying it. With his eyes still on Jones he snaps: "Well, so are you."

"Yeah, but I do baseball and he does american football." I say, "And that, my friend, is the important difference between us."

Arthur rolls his eyes, "You're an arse."

"Oh, but you love it."

Arthur is about to say something witty back when we're both suddenly ambushed by two slender arms wrapping around the both of us, pulling us into a tight and warm hug that smells a lot like alcohol and sweat. I don't need to be told to know who this person is.

"Holy shit, Arthur came!" the voice, clearly a girl's, beams.

Arthur pushes her away, "Are you drunk, Winnie?"

Winnie Wang, simply Winnie is an earth physics major and a senior just like us. I was stereotyping her when we first met, in the library, two years ago. She looked like the kind of person who never left that place to study things she didn't even need to know. I thought that because she is asian and that's how we all stereotype asians, smart and good at math with no life. I thought Winnie was like that too, but boy, was I wrong. She's a partier, outgoing and barely paying attention to her studies. She's managing, always barely passing, but passing nonetheless and that's all that counts for her. Life is supposed to be fun for her, freedom is all she gives about. Problems at home, too.

Winnie pulls away from the hug and squirms her body between us on the couch, "No way." she giggles, clearly tipsy, "I'd say Arthur's wasted for coming here. Because, wow, he's at a party. Away from the library and his laptop and his books. He's here, at a frat-party! What kind of spell did you put him under, Gabe?"

"I didn't," I say, holding my hands up in defense, "More like Jones did something."

"No way." Winnie whispers and she turns to look at Arthur with her big doe eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Jones?!"

I nod and Arthur groans loudly, he's been doing that a lot lately, "He dared me, I repeat, he dared me and you know I can't turn my back on a competition, Winnie."

She clearly wasn't listening to him, "Jones?" she whispers again, "I understand you've got a type, Arthur, but he looks like a dick. It's not like I ever talked to him, we're in completely different majors, but I know his type and he's a dick."

I take my chance, "Remember, Winnie, Arthur likes dick."

He looks like he's ready to pull the trigger and kill himself. Or me.

Winnie pushes her round glasses back up her nose, "What's he like anyway? You've got to have a good reason to like him other than his looks."

When Arthur doesn't answer, I do, "He's a jackass, or a dick like you said, but so is Arthur. So I guess that doesn't say much… I guess Jones is a genuinely nice person. He tries, but he can't make it happen. Not with Arthur at least."

"I don't like him." Arthur says arms crossed over his chest, "And you guys are single too, so shut the fuck up and stop trying to force me together with Alfred."

Arthur had a point. I had been single since I graduated high school. Couple of hook-ups now and then, and an occasional bed share with Arthur was all I did. It wasn't a healthy way of living your student life, but it could've been worse.

(Oh, who am I kidding. It is the worst)

"I'm not single." Winnie glared, "I've got a girlfriend since, like-" she pauses to take a glance at her watch, "-yesterday."

Arthur nearly drops his red cup on the couch (he manages to catch it before it spills and I would have applauded any other day if it weren't for the current situation) and I choke on air. We're just surprised that Winnie managed to get a girlfriend, we're not surprised it is a girl.

"What?!"

"Yeah, I've got a girlfriend. Her name is Sophia and she's in computer science." Winnie tells us with a proud grin on her face, "And she's freaking hot, I tell you. Pretty blue eyes, soft blond hair, pink lips…"

While Winnie rambles on, Arthur and I exchange a couple of glances over her head like we're having a whole conversation without her. No, we are having a whole conversation without her. Arthur glares at me at makes a couple of rude hand gestures, telling me not to go on with what I am planning to do. I only smirk back and him and wink. Arthur traces his finger past his throat, but I don't take the threat. Arthur sighs in defeat.

"I guess Arthur now owns me ten bucks and free lunch." I grin. And after seeing Winnie's confused gaze, I try to explain, "We had a bet on who would get in a relationship first. I betted on you, he on himself. And we just pretended that you bet on me, so if I got into a relationship first you would have won ten bucks and a lunch from me and the Mr. Master Mind over here."

"You thought you had game with Jones?" Winnie cackles in disbelieve, completely missing the point, "That's hilarious!"

Arthur frowns and reaches in his pocket, handing me a ten dollar bill, "Stop mocking me. Great fucking friends you are." he grumbles, "Anyway, I'm having some fresh air. I'm getting sick of the smell here. Take care of this, will you?" he hands me his drink and jumps up from the couch.

"Have fun, buddy."

"Good luck, Mr. Master Mind."

"Yeah," he grimaces, "you too." and he's saying it like know something I don't.

And with that, Arthur's heading towards the kitchen. In the corner of my eye, I spy Jones stammering an excuse towards his friends before jumping up and leaving into the same direction as. He walks surprisingly straight for someone who has participated in so many rounds of beer pong. Perhaps because he is straight, or his gay makes up for it.

I silently pray for both of their souls.

"So," Winnie starts, "did you, with the betting thing, do that on purpose?"

I pretend to be innocent, "What?"

"Me betting on you." she clarifies, "Did you do that on purpose because you knew I wouldn't win that way?"

"Well, yeah…" I say, "But also because Arthur wanted to bet on himself. We all know you two have more game when it comes down to romance than me."

Winnie shoot me a sympathetic glance. I hate that look on her face, not because she looks that way but because that look is always directed at me. Winnie knows about my life, I told her everything there's to know because she's so relatable. Trouble at home and trouble in her romance life, but Winnie is different than me. She's stronger and has herself under control.

"You're gonna be fine." she says while patting my shoulder, "You're the great Gabriel Férnandez after all. Star of the baseball team with a promising and rose-colored life."

I laugh at that, but it is more of a fake laugh, "You're hilarious, Winnie."

She glances away from my face and scans the room for somebody, "I'm gonna look for Sophia, I guess. I haven't seen her yet this evening, but she said she'd be here."

I raise a hand to her as response, "Fine."

She snickers at that, "Please don't do anything stupid when I'm away." she says, "You're supposed to fix yourself and that-" she pauses to gesture at the red cup filled with liquor, "-isn't the way to do it."

"I got you." I say, waving her away, "I won't do anything stupid."

"So please don't go bone the first hot boy you see."

"I won't!"

"Be careful!" she says, slowly backing away from the couch, eyes still on me.

"Yeah, don't worry!" I yell back at her, "Please go look for Sophia!"

She waves one last time before diving into the crowd and with Arthur and Winnie both gone, I'm completely left to my own shitty house tracks are overwhelming and my ears feel like they're about to burst and the smell of weed isn't making my headache much better, I get rather nauseous of the smell. I accidentally found out that burned bay leafs kinda smell like weed, but weed is like twenty times worse than burned bay leafs.

Well, it's not like my headache will go away any time soon. It's already guaranteed I'll wake up with a hangover tomorrow morning, so I might as well drink like my life depends on it. It's not like it actually matters. In a year, all of this will be over.

I sniff the drink Arthur handed me and it smells suspiciously a lot like gasoline. It's called the Washing Machine, the drink I mean, because they literally mix any booze they've got on their hands in a single cup with some syrup to make hell taste a little less like hell. It's usually served as the first drink of the evening to get the freshmen out of the door. If you've never had a taste of alcohol in your life before, one gulp of this stuff and you're out. It's to secure a better party and it has worked again today. There are almost no freshmen students left in the room any. The few that have decided to stay longer, lie knock out or totally wasted on the floor. All, but one.

"Dang…" I whisper.

Near the window is standing a boy, tall and blond and as far as I can see in the dimmed lights, he's dusted with freckles around his nose and shoulders. He's not wearing a lot of layers for the season; blue skinny jeans around his long legs and a tight white tank-top his hugging his body, defining every single muscle on his chest. And suddenly it's way too hot for January.

He's probably called Dylan, or Chris, because he looks like that kind of person. And he probably has a little sister he loved with all of his heart. He cooks for his mom, he helps old people cross the street, and he does animal charity on his days off. His grandma is gushing to her friends about how precious her grandson is, probably, because Pretty Boy doesn't look like a bad guy. Despite the cigaret between his teeth and the angry gaze in his eyes.

I wonder what color they are.

"Sorry Winnie." I whisper against the red plastic, "To hell with it."

So I chug Arthur's drink in one gulp and raise from the couch. I wobble the first few steps I make towards Pretty Boy's direction, because the first few steps are always a challenge when you're wasted. And the steps after that are not much easier. I decide to take baby steps, because that's supposed to help when you're in this kind of situation. Take little steps, take it slow, and don't be afraid to fall, or so my mom says. I'm definitely afraid to fall, if I fall right no, my chance with Pretty Boy is ruined. And also, I'll hit my head against the table, so, falling ain't an option here.

Some voice in my head says I shouldn't be doing this.

I'm not sure what though, because there's a lot of stuff I shouldn't be doing. Drinking myself into a coma, for instance. Smoking. Fucking myself up over and over again. Sleeping with my roommate. Leaving my little brother behind in Dorado Bay with a witch of a mother. Being here, at the party, at all. So much I shouldn't be doing, and yet I do all of ir.

I should be fixing myself.

Pretty boy is still standing on his spot near the fogged window as I walk up to him. He's looking outside, to the lights of the building on the other end of the streets, but I am looking at him. He takes the cigaret out of his mouth and blows the smoke into the air. There's a tattoo on his left shoulder, a red rose.

Then his eyes fall on me and they're green.

Green.

So deep.

I wonder what secrets he's hiding.

"Hi," I say, "I'm Gabriel."

Pretty boy smiles down at me, he's fucking tall, "Hey." he says, "I'm Thomas."


...


NOTE: Okay, so no promises, but I'll try to update regularly. I really will try, but it's gonna be hard, since I'll be starting the pre-university program in high school for the next two years and that program is much harder than the one I followed previously. I probably have to study more than I was used to, so don't expect regular updates (although my motivations for writing relies greatly on when I don't want to make homework). Next chapter will probably added within two weeks, hopefully just one. With that in mind, I hope I see you next chapter!