Chapter Seventeen: One Last Win
A/N: This chapter sucks! I'm uploading it with chapter 18 because I've been pretty busy lately and because, I repeat, this chapter is one great bore. To top it off, this is unedited so I'm sorry for the mistakes. On the bright side, Bleach manga has updated. Yay!
…
I was all set up to chase after Ichigo to give him a taste of his own crap when Lisa hurried back in, panting. As soon as she made it to the doorway, a couple of stretchers were being laid down on the beds next to mine. I stared at them, wide-eyed in disbelief. They were two of our first-string Linemen, in fact the reliable ones; Nakeem and Di Roy.
"What in bloody hell is this?!" I screeched, looking wildly around. For one blinking moment, my vision was blacking out for a whole new reason; murderous intent. I could completely understand why I, the fucking quarterback, had to be exterminated but what I refused to grasp, despite my sophisticated knowledge of Izuru's dirty game, was the extent of that fucking bastard's unsparing cruelty.
"Liones." Lisa answered.
"I will fucking decapitate that sonuvabitch! I fucking swear! I will personally fuck Izuru!"
Without realizing it, I had pulled myself up, abandoning myself to a flash of lust for vengeance. Still, there was no ignoring the crippling pain in my arm. Was the painkiller starting to wear off? But before my anger reached the point where Lisa had to drag me back to the bed, the mangled Di Roy spoke feebly,
"Captain, sorry."
I spun around, still consumed with rage, to find weary eyes staring back at me. I asked, "For what?"
"Our job was to protect you."
That suspended my fury. That one time when I was so sure of myself and the legitimacy of my anger, I was shot down by a few humble words. By and by I subdued, and that seemed to be enough to reassure my two infirmed teammates. Still, nothing now stood in my way toward revenge. In my mind, I would massacre Izuru and Liones either by winning or…by winning by a fucking landslide. And then Lisa reported,
"Hisagi and Shawlong have both been given warnings by the referees for threatening Izuru."
"Tell those two jerks to keep their fucking tempers in check, dammit."
"You're one to talk, captain. Moving on, Mikasa has just scored a touchdown. In our next possession, Hisagi will be quarterback and Vega the Running Back. Grimmjow, I hate to say this but you're right. Let me tighten your bandages so we can get you back up."
With a last look at the barely conscious Grindina and Di Roy, I heaved myself up with an overwhelming sense of vengeance .
…
My re-entrance brought stellar results. All around me eyebrows were raised as I approached our side of the bench. Needless to say every step I took was telling me the painkillers were losing their magic, the throbbing sensation served as an obstacle for me to smirk and do my usual thing. Indeed I was sweating like some sinner under scrutiny. Upon reaching my team, astounded gazes charged at me, the type one would give someone who had risen from the dead.
"I know what's going on in that head of yours and I won't allow it." Was coach's opening remark. As it was, the temptation to respond cockily almost overtook me.
"Coach, I'm not about to go easy on the fact that some faggot and his oversized warthog pawn have almost killed two of our guys."
"This war has its rules, Grimmjow."
"Is Shuhei-kun taking my place as quarterback? That makes him next in line for the infirmary then." With a mocking grin, I bared my teeth for everyone to see, the pain in my arm making me feel faint already.
"Nothing you say will faze me, and that's that! Now sit the hell down."
Starrk gave me a commiserating look which I derided with a smirk. He was taller than all of our teammates, excepting Omaeda, but it was his conduct, his inherent lack of emotional strain rather than his stature, that amazed everybody. Exhausted beyond description, as he had been playing both on defense and offense all this time, he placed a hand on my shoulder, assuring,
"We've got this."
Now sitting on the bench, watching my teammates fight tooth and nail with every inch of their flesh and spirit, I garbled from behind Coach Muruguma,
"Coach, let me ask you something."
My remark was honored with a glare, which pretty much said I had no business wasting his time.
"What, kid?"
"I heard you were RB when you were in college—like Hisagi."
"Is this the painkiller talking?"
"What a coincidence that you two share the same jersey number. Anyway, it must have been swell entering the Finals. I'm just wondering if I'll ever know the feeling…" I said, because I specialized in guilt-tripping.
"Grimmjow, I know you're dying to go back out there but it's one thing to risk injuries for the win; it's another to be completely reckless."
"I'm not scared of losing this fucking arm. It's your fault, coach. You once said losing is the only thing an athlete ought to be afraid of."
Just then his facial expression loosened to a remarkable extent. Sighing resignedly, he yielded,
"You should've heard them when you were downstairs. 'We'll avenge captain, Di Roy and Nakeem', 'Let's gang-rape that Izuru.' and all that silly talk. You'd think this was a Pee Wee league. What I'm saying is, trust us on this, Grimmjow."
That was sufficient to calm me down for a while. I allowed the game to drone on until I could sit down uselessly no longer. I took the moment of repose after a timeout as a cue to gather the referee's attention. Mikasa by this time had coveted the lead. The score then was 29-28, with a little over one minute left into the game.
"Sub me." I approached the official, causing my bench-men teammates to gawk.
The referee examined me from head to toe, and, behind me, coach gasped in mortification. Well, if they had been so intent on making me behave in the fucking first place they should've strapped me down with padlocked metal chains, or knocked me unconscious.
"Granted." The ref conceded. At that, I left coach standing there, his mouth wide open, aghast.
On the other hand, Gio Vega hurried over me, looking entirely relieved to be discharged,
"You're sure about this, cap?"
I smirked, in spite of the intense pain in my arm, "Sorry, brat. Your fifteen minutes of fame expire now."
Upon reaching my teammates, I wasted no time to sputter my plans. All the while, the bombardment of impressions they were giving me was annoying me shitless.
"Captain, your arm..." Hisagi offered worriedly, to which I ignored him,
"Here's what's gonna happen; right now, I mean to throw a wimp-length toss on you, Shiba. I'm using my left arm so the adjustment's on you." I buried my gaze on Ganju Shiba, who frowned. What did I expect? No one truly believed I could fucking throw a shit.
Well, I threw two consecutive short passes with my left arm, thereby gaining a total of eight yards. Truth was, had been sloppy passes, as I was nowhere near ambidextrous. Still, I was thankful Liones had run a quarter of a second late in killing me again. Before the Third Down, however, I announced loud enough for everyone to hear,
"Long pass coming right up, motherfuckers!"
Everyone was staring blankly at me. To test the strength of my resolution, Hisagi challenged,
"Don't tell us you're using your mangled arm. Coach will kill you—granted you don't die of it."
"Oh, you think I'm joking?"
I didn't wait for his reply, and instead I went on to direct the formation. Upon reading what hocus pocus I was gonna pull, Hitsugaya mumbled to their Corner Back,
"This dude ain't for real. He's throwing a huge pass—with his dead arm. I mean, he's not ambidextrous, is he?"
"Don't be fooled, Toshiro. Long pass my ass. I bet my soul it's another pathetic short pass or a handoff to Hisagi."
"But, sempai, this formation—it's a Hail Mary Pass."
And then I threw the long pass with my half-dead arm, thereby learning no amount of painkillers could've blocked the pain flaring through my bicep. Shiba, who caught it perfectly, was stopped forty-eight yards before our goal line, just as planned.
"Time out!"
With thirteen seconds remaining, Mikasa's coach called for the last timeout, upbraiding his team, his remarks brimming with every conceivable expletive. But we all knew it was just for emphasis. I walked over the bench with a queer feeling; I felt like I had killed a puppy or something. Coach pulled me by the helmet before anything else,
"I'll say this once, Grimmjow; you are one suicidal fucker. I can just send you straight to the morgue now. How's that arm?"
"Fine." I lied.
"Like hell I'd believe that."
"It's kicked the bucket. I won't be able to throw a shit from here on out." I gave in.
Coach sighed wearily, saying, his leniency unbecoming of him, "Be that as it may, I have every right to hear what miracle you're probing next."
At this point, in the minds of our opponents they must have been aware they still had an overwhelming advantage; 13 seconds left and 48 more yards to go. We were one point down. Well, we had Starrk who was capable of kicking anyone's ass from one hell to another. This meant he was gonna be our savior, our ticket to the finals should he manage to bottle a three-point kick. And so I answered,
"We will end it on the next play. Starrk will kick it. There's no way for Shiba or Hisagi to run it all the way, obviously."
The pressure Starrk was feeling, apart from tremendous, was harrowing. But he went on to act coolly while, all around him, our teammates' teeth must have been chattering, their knees prattling.
"If I manage to hurl it over that goalpost, we'll score three points and then there will be no way for Mikasa to catch up, correct?" Starrk asked, as if he didn't know better.
"You catch on quick, dipshit. 48 yards ain't nothing but a joke to you, or am I giving you too much credit? Understand that you have no fucking choice." I stressed, our faces inches apart. It looked like I was about to kiss him.
Just then, we both jeered. For some reason, the maniacal expressions on our faces were suddenly transformed into mirthful laughter for everyone else to stare transfixed at us, as if we'd lost our minds. In due time, we assumed our formation, shaking our heads off. In truth, we mutually thought it was appropriate to behave that way, if only to dispel the tension.
"Alright, boss. Uhm, how're ya holding up?" Starrk coaxed, still grinning like an idiot.
"Kick it within three seconds. Anything longer and I'll collapse right here. Do not look at Liones; everyone will protect you."
"Ready when you are, commander."
"Hut!"
The ball was snapped on to me instantly. From the corners of my eyes I could see the scrimmage line collapsing. With what presence of mind I still had left, I stuck the ball on the kicking tee one and a half yards away from Starrk, who pounced on it, only to stop within a foot of me. Before his foot slammed against the leather, I barely had time to pull away and to give heed to the pang of pain shooting through my upper arm. But Starrk's long kick was like a high-speed cannon straight into the Tigers' guts. And when the ball soared off toward the horizon and well over the goal line, the succeeding silence was broken only by the ref's whistle, which was followed by his announcement.
"Field goal in! 29-31 in favor of the Panthers."
There were still five seconds left into the game. At that, I exited the field, my teammates going wild as escaped apes, just in time for the Defense team to replace us. The last seconds were carried out with the Tigers' Placekicker replicating our play, knowing the distance had been impossible to start with. So now none of it mattered as the score stayed the way it had after the kick. We were going to the Finals, against either Genshijin or Karakura.
My teammates lifted coach over their shoulders with the collective might of what remained of their strength. As for me, I resolved to stay where I was, placated. My eyes then found the spot in the stands where Ginjo Kugo was. He was on standing ovation, his smile so wide I was sure it was fucking fake. Beside him Ichigo was as motionless as a fucking statue. Without examining in the least what I was currently feeling, I raised my good arm and pointed my index finger at Kugo for everyone to see.
Meet me at the finals, motherfucker. I'll show you what happens to assholes who dare take away what's mine. Was the challenge I intended to channel to him.
But Starrk was already skipping steps toward me.
"Dude, you okay?"
"Shit…"
I wobbled, never realizing I was pressing myself against him. In the next second, my vision went completely black.
…
"Ichigo." Was the first word I came to utter upon waking up. It was, if anything, involuntary.
Dazed, I was on a hospital bed, but upon looking down I saw that I was still wearing my jerseys. Not long after this observation did I hear Ulquiorra,
"Do you want your stepbrother? He's outside." He was seated on the side of the bed, Starrk standing beside him.
"Hell no." I denied.
"You've just called out his name." Ulquiorra insisted pointedly and it only made me wanna strangle him.
"I fucking did not. Anyway, I wanna get off this shit already."
"You will be discharged in a day or two. It was actually the pain and the fatigue that did you in. But you will need to get a cast and a sling for your recovery."
"It wasn't a dream, right?" I asked stupidly.
Starrk was the one who answered,
"Of course we've won, dumby. Coach and the others were here a while ago but it was getting too late so no one bothered to stay long. They all promised to be back tomorrow. Uhm, do you want us out? I need to get home before midnight."
"Fine. I'll kill you if you don't show yourselves tomorrow."
"Yes, boss. Shall I tell your bro to step in once we're out?"
When Starrk offered this, it took all my self-control to refrain from hurling a damned object at him, and that was because he was grinning meaningfully. But then I remembered he was responsible for our victory. Before I could do what I was tempted to do, Ulquiorra shot upright, pulled his boyfriend by the elbow and darted to the door. As a parting remark, he concluded,
"We're counting on you to make it in time for the finals match."
They disappeared at that, but almost at the same instant Ichigo stepped in. Wearing his varsity sweater, he was a perfect reminder of those annoying jocks whose sight had never failed to irritate me.
"Our parents and your other dad are down at the cafeteria."
"You kissed the asshole. Don't you deny it." At the exact same second when I blurted this out, I became wholly convinced I was an idiot with no more self-control than a drunken woman.
"What are you saying?" He all but asked loudly, looking perplexed.
I figured I might as well dislodge the issue, so I said contemptuously, "What else? On your school's parking lot? Doesn't that ring a fucking bell?"
His eyes narrowed, as if trying to remember it, as if it had been something so easily forgotten when I reckoned I myself could not have forgotten that shit if I had undergone a lobotomy.
"Wait, was that last week? Were you at Karakura then?"
"Doesn't matter."
"There's a shocker. You're wrong anyhow. I did not kiss him."
Of course he had to put up some fucking sick defense. To his credit, he merely had allowed himself to be kissed, but how big a difference was it, really? Maybe my accusation needed rephrasing. Nevertheless, I'd have expected he would have right away understood what I was trying to insinuate. Pissed to hell, I retorted,
"Hey, if you know where I'm getting at—"
"—Grimmjow, I'm here to congratulate you and to make peace. I'm sorry for my attitude earlier. But you're leaving after you graduate and it would be a shame for us to part like this—as enemies. Finally, if it's any comfort, there's nothing between me and Ginjo Kugo, I swear."
I wanted to contradict him and tell him he was bullshitting me, but if I had believed otherwise I didn't think I would have been able to stand that either. By now I was getting desperate, for what I still did not know yet until I heard myself,
"Really? Well then, that means I can have you back now."
"…"
"No answer?"
"Grimmjow, whatever happens—"
"—know what, that's exactly the kind of hesitation that will culminate to a flat 'no'."
"You're flying to America, as you ought to remember. What use is getting back together?"
"Screw that. So what now, Kurosaki?"
Panic-stricken, he struggled to phrase words which came out as air. But I didn't get an answer because my mother, Dr. Kurosaki and Sousuke had arrived. Right then, bitterly I had to accept we were really over for good. I wondered if he even in the least could imagine what it felt like to be the receiving end of all this bitterness. It turned out my feelings for him were so deep as to cast me into what seemed like a never-ending cycle of heartache. If I had known in the past that a broken heart would hurt this much, that it would cost more than I could've bargained for, I never would have dreamed of kissing Kurosaki Ichigo on that one fateful evening, which now seemed forever ago.
Bottom line was, I had tried to win him back but all he wanted was to be done with me. I had tried and had failed; end of fucking story.
TBC
