Written for Yma's Neglected Character Challenge, a Duncan Matthews POV.
A lot of people don't like me. A lot pretend to like me, or at least respect me, but I know they don't. There's a lot of reasons why.
They're jealous 'cause I'm better.
They're smug 'cause they're better.
They're scared of me.
They resent me.
Or they just plain hate me.
And you know what it is? What really ticks me off? It's that I don't want any of this. I never did. I don't want people to envy me, or pity me, or hate me, or be scared of me, or anything. All I want is to be normal, anonymous, just like them.
But for as long as I can remember, I never really had a choice.
It's my dad, I guess. Yeah, I know, you're gonna start up with all that Freudian crap, right? Like how he scorned me as a baby or something? Well, you're wrong. 'Cause really, it's the exact opposite of that.
See, Dad's a small-town guy who made it. Big. His whole life is one big success story. He was the local sporting hero, graduated at the top of his class, dated – and married – the prom queen, and made a bundle trading. Mister frikkin' perfect, huh?
And then I was born. And, of course, I had to be the perfect son. Follow in the old man's footsteps. Whether I wanted to or not.
And I do it. I'm the quarterback on the team, never get a grade below a 'B', always get mentioned in the local newspaper. Everyone knows my name. And Dad loves me for it.
Yeah. He loves me – when I win. If I win, and win, and win. And if I don't, he hates me. If the team loses, it's 'cause I screwed up. If I don't get an A, it's cause I'm not trying. When my best isn't good enough, it's 'cause I'm not good enough.
Yeah, love you too, Dad.
I don't know why I do it. Try to please him, I mean. I like footbal a lot, but that's just one part of it. I don't want to be the smart kid, or the Guy Who Made It Big, or anything but what I want to be. If you really want to know, I like art. Painting, drawing, that sort of stuff. But Dad doesn't like it, so I don't do it.
And I'm too chickenshit to say anything.
Instead I do what he says.
When I get home from school, know what I do? I work out. Hard. Until I can barely stand up. And then I study, study my ass off until I can't think anymore. Then, usually after midnight, I get to sleep. This is my life. It's what I do. Not because want to, or because I like it. Because I have to.
It's the only way I can win. The only way I can be a good son.
Like with Jean. I mean, look at her. Grades, looks, friends – she's perfect. Just like the image I put up. So it makes sense that we should go out, right? It makes perfect sense.
And then there's Summers.
Jean can't choose between us, you know? And I hate him for it. See, I really do like Jean, same way Summers does. But he only wants her. I need her. I need her so I can be perfect for Dad.
But then, if I had her, I'd hate myself even more. Because I know that Summers is better for her. He's real, and she likes him for it. Me? I'm fake, a pretender, and she likes the image. He deserves her. I don't.
But even though I want her to be happy, I need her for myself. So I can be good. In my world – or my Dad's – image is more important than life, love or happiness. Do what you must, not what you like.
Needs musts wants.
So I gotta keep it up. Keep being perfect, even though I'm not. Sometimes it makes me mad, too. I see people like Tolenski, or Wagner. Losers. And I'm so shit-scared that one day I'm gonna be just like them. Or worse than they are. 'Cause they aren't perfect at all. So I step on them, every chance I get, just to make sure that I never, ever, wind up below them.
I think that might kill me.
So I try, and I work at it. Everything I do, I do it hard, aiming at being perfect.
And every time, always, falling short.
