Inescapable Escapism

It was my mom. The second squeal from the floorboards was closer to me, and I blinked, staring up at my door blankly. It swam in my vision, making it hard to focus, and I longed to close my eyes so the dizziness would pass quicker, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt too risky.

My mom was steadily moving towards my room, and she wasn’t bothering to hide it. She must have known where to avoid stepping so the floor wouldn’t be noisy. I knew she must have; I did, and I hadn’t grown up in the house. She had. There was no way she’d made it to adulthood without learning that.

Another wooden groan reached my ears, and my eyebrows drew together. She did know, but she wasn’t trying to avoid them, I realised. Mom was actively aiming for the loudest boards. It was intentional.

My mind was still hazy from switching between the worlds, and my thoughts moved sluggishly as I tried to work out why she’d do that. Maybe she was trying to warn me she was about to knock on my door. Or scare me? That would make sense too. I reached out, grabbing my phone to check the time. Only a few minutes had passed since I entered my room, and that meant she’d probably spent that time ruminating.

She was suspicious of me, I realised. She always was, but the way I acted had made her suspect I was up to something. I was too subdued, too submissive, when she told me to pack and be ready to leave at seven. That was what she said she wanted from me, though. She always told me to argue less and just accept what she told me without question, but when I did that, she didn’t trust it either. What did she want from me?

I bit my lip to hold back the sigh that threatened to escape, knowing she’d be listening in. Instead, I forced myself to continue folding the t-shirt in my hands. I dropped it into my suitcase, hoping the noise would be loud enough for her to hear, but the soft thump was too muffled. Even if she did hear it, there was no way she’d be able to know for sure what it was.

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath, trying to make my voice loud enough to reach her but still quiet enough for it to sound like I was talking to myself. “That’s all my t-shirts. What next? How about… dresses?”

It felt a little too over the top. I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to buy it and that my door would be thrown open, but there was a pause before I heard the gentle brush of my mom’s footsteps as she walked away.

Not a single floorboard sounded that time, and I smirked as my earlier suspicion was confirmed. It was intentional. She’d been making noise to try and scare me so I’d stop doing anything she didn’t approve of. It was almost funny how little she trusted me.

The quiet snap of my mom’s bedroom door closing again jolted me from my thoughts, and I blinked, looking around my room again. Suddenly, being in my room was stifling. It was suffocating and oppressive, and I needed to be free from the constant monitoring and suspicion.

My grip tightened around the fridge handle, the cold metal biting into my still-painful hands. The moment I was sure I wasn’t going to fall, I loosened my grip and checked to make sure my spray plaster hadn’t cracked. The thin, slightly shiny layer still coated both of my hands, though.

A smile pulled at my lips as I opened the fridge and stared inside. I had just been planning to grab a bottle or two of the electrolyte-infused water I kept stocked in there, but then my eyes fell on the stacks of carefully crafted meals, all prepared by the team chef. My stomach growled as I stared.

They were sorted by meal. Breakfasts were on the top shelf, lunch in the middle and dinners at the bottom. Around the glass containers were snacks and other prepared items, but it was one of the dinners that was calling to me. The pasta just looked so good, and I knew it would be. Everything Cad made always was. The urge to stand there in the fridge and eat the meal without even bothering to heat it up slammed into me. Even ice cold, it would still be delicious. It would be better hot, obviously, but still.

I shook my head, trying to push that thought away. I was about to go out for dinner, I reminded myself. In a couple of hours, I’d be able to eat, and the food at La Lieux was always so good. It was fancy, but the portions were good. My desire to consume an inadvisable amount of pasta would still be sated.

A sigh slipped out of my mouth as I eyed the creamy spinach pasta one more time before grabbing a bottle of water and a protein bar from the cupboard. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as the pasta, obviously, but I needed something after the match, and it would keep me from getting too hungry before dinner.

I couldn’t wait to go to La Lieux. It felt like it had been forever since I went there last, and I really enjoyed it. Realistically, I knew I’d gone a few months ago with Aurora, but it felt like longer. Athena and Nina took me there a couple of weeks before that, too. That had been really nice, even if I’d felt slightly on edge the entire meal. It wasn’t their fault. It was all me. I was just scared of them for no real reason. It felt like if I said the wrong thing, they’d kick me off the team.

The protein bar tasted of cookie dough, but it seemed to suck all of the moisture from my mouth as I chewed. I struggled through, forcing my jaw to work harder as I ripped the top off the bottle and lifted it to my lips. The moment the slightly salty water touched my tongue, I grimaced.

The flavour was so unexpected, and I pulled the bottle away and peered at the label. Somehow, I’d missed the yellow bar at the bottle. That was entirely my mistake. I should have checked to make sure it wasn’t yuzu flavour, but I hadn’t even thought to. Cherry and unflavoured were so much better. They were palatable, bordering on almost tasty. Yuzu was not. It tasted like salty acid, and I kept meaning to update the order so I wouldn’t continue receiving it, but somehow, I managed to forget every month.

There was no point in wasting it, though. As much as I wanted to tip it down the sink, I forced myself to finish the horrible recovery drink and swallow the final mouthful of the protein bar. I was unsatisfied by both, and I frowned as I walked towards the recycling chute on the wall. I wanted more food, but I could wait for that. My craving for another drink was almost impossible to ignore, though.

Unflavoured, I decided, scanning the labels on the bottles in the fridge door before plucking one out and taking a long sip. That helped me feel better, and I sent the tub of pasta one last yearning look before letting the door shut.

La Lieux would be good, though. It would probably be more satisfying than anything in my fridge, and I’d be there with my team. That was good. It always helped. When I was alone or just with Aurora, I always felt out of place in fancy places. I should have gotten used to it by then, and I knew that, but it still felt like someone might walk over to me at any moment and tell me I had to leave.

I didn’t go to that many posh restaurants, though. More often than not, I avoided them and chose cheaper places where I blended in more. Or I just stayed home and ate whatever the chef had prepared for me. That was generally better. At least when I was at home, people didn’t stare at me. That always made me uncomfortable.

The attention was unsettling. Sometimes, people would come over and ask me to sign something, and I hated that. My handwriting wasn’t good enough. I tried. The first time someone had asked me for it last year, I was so taken aback. They caught me unprepared, and all I could do was scribble on the picture of me they had. It was barely legible, and I still feel bad about that.

I’d practised my autograph so much that evening. I wrote until my hand cramped, and even then, I refused to stop. It didn’t seem likely that anyone would ask me for it again, but I wanted to be ready just in case. And it was a good thing I’d done that. People had started asking me to sign things fairly regularly ever since, and as awkward as that made me feel, the fans were much better than the ones who hated me.

Some still supported my team; they just didn’t like me specifically, and I wasn’t sure why. I tried not to take it personally, just like Aurora said, but it was hard when they were saying they didn’t like me personally. The hecklers were always hard to deal with. The ones who came up to me and told me I didn’t deserve to be on the team or felt the need to mention some of the saves I failed or the times I’d missed easy shots.

My heart sank as my hand tightened around the glass bottle. The last time had been particularly bad. I was just trying to eat, but that man, who was easily thirty years older than me, felt the need to come up to me. I could still remember the way his face slowly turned purple as he hurled insults at me, showering my food with spit. For a moment, I was sure he was going to hurt me. He hated me so much that I was convinced he was going to try and do something to have me kicked off the team or forced to retire.

People seemed to forget that I was just a kid. That was all I was. Just a kid trying to enjoy a meal out with her friends. I stopped going as much after that. It just stopped being worth it. I stopped meeting up with my old friends too, the ones who didn’t play. They didn’t really get what it was like. Aurora did; she’d been through the same thing, but I couldn’t really talk about it with anyone else.

Sadness made swallowing the rest of my drink almost impossible, but I forced myself to do it before crossing the room towards the recycling chute once more. Dizziness hovered at the edge of my mind, trying to tempt me into leaving again. Part of me wanted to. I didn’t want to be in a world where people screamed and shouted at me. My mom did that to me in real life sometimes, and I didn’t want it to happen anywhere else.

The platform within the chute sunk slowly as I watched, keeping my breathing deliberate and deep. I was being silly, and I knew it. I’d just helped the team win the championship again. I was a champion. Surely people couldn’t hate me after that, right? I just needed to forget about that man and the other ones and enjoy my evening.

A smile grew on my lips, the movement only a little forced, as I turned and started to walk out of the kitchen before something caught my eye. Apples. Red ones. I knew just from looking at them that they were perfectly ripe and almost too sweet. That was how I liked them, but my mom always judged me for it when I lived at home. They were too high in sugar, according to her.

That was one of the best parts about having my own place. I could stock it with food that I enjoyed, and I didn’t need to worry about anyone shaming me for what I was eating or trying to guilt me by saying they’d been looking forward to eating it for ages. I always hated it when my mom said that. If something had been in the fridge or cupboard for days, sometimes even weeks, why hadn’t she eaten it yet if she was really looking forward to it? Why did she only feel the need to mention she wanted it after I’d already finished it?

An irritated sigh slipped out of my mouth, and I shook my head as I started to walk through my apartment. It was fine. Not an issue anymore, anyway. I didn’t need to worry about that or anything. I could eat whatever I wanted. Well, not exactly.

I still needed to be healthy, but the coach did make me sit through a four-hour workshop with the club dietitian when I first moved out, so I mostly knew what I was doing. I rarely cooked for myself, anyway. The club chef delivered meals to my apartment every couple of days, so I didn’t really need to do anything more than throw them in the oven.

Cooking used to be something I enjoyed. My mom was never really a fan, so I did it more often than not at home. It was weird to get used to not doing that anymore, but I wasn’t complaining. It was so much easier not to have to.

When I left the team, if I got kicked off or retired, it would be hard. I’d gotten too used to not cooking in the relatively short time I’d had the chef there to do it for me. Going back to having to cook every day would be… exhausting. I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to do it, even if I had nothing to do all day. As long as I stayed on the team for a few seasons, maybe a couple of years, I’d be fine. That should give me enough money to be able to live somewhere nice and potentially hire someone to do it for me, but if I left earlier…

I couldn’t go home. That wasn’t an option for me anymore, not after living alone. The freedom, the happiness, I felt in my own space was unreal. It didn’t feel right. It was too different, such a huge change from what I was used to, and it just didn’t quite feel possible. I could feel myself, the real me, struggling with the concept of being so happy. It felt about as foreign as the new world did.

My thoughts stuttered to a halt. For a moment, I couldn’t do anything other than stare into the room I had just reached. The sheer size of it was shocking to me. The soft cream carpets seemed to stretch out forever until they reached the floor to ceiling windows. I barely even glanced at them before something else caught my attention.

The bed. It was calling out to me, and I felt myself take a step towards it without even thinking. It was huge and low. The glowing LED strips underneath gently shifted and changed colours, the movement and pattern strangely soothing. It was hypnotising. I could feel my thoughts slowing, my body relaxing, and my eyelids becoming heavier as I took another step closer.

The pile of blankets and duvets looked so soft and inviting. I knew it would feel so good to curl up under them and let the world pass me by as I slowly drifted off to sleep, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have time. There was too much I needed to do before I met up with my teammates again, and if I curled up under that heap of bedding, I’d be late. No, not late. I’d just never go.

I didn’t make the bed, I realised as I forced myself to turn away. The thought brought a smirk to my face, and I couldn’t help but think that if my mom ever saw what a state it was, she’d be furious. She would see it as a sign that I was doing horribly. That I was failing at life.

For some reason, it was something she always insisted on. I had to make the bed each morning, and I had no clue why it mattered so much to her. I never felt the need to do it; it just didn’t really make a difference to me. The bed was still usable even without the duvet being carefully smoothed out. It was just as wonderful to climb into at the end of the day.

That was another thing I loved about living alone. I didn’t have to make the bed or follow any other rules that made no sense to me. Part of me felt a flare of excitement at that thought. It wanted to be able to live like that, but it was only a matter of time. I’d have that freedom and luxury soon. I just had to wait and…

My mouth fell open as I did a double take, staring out the windows at the city beyond. I’d barely even glanced at it before, and I wasn’t sure how it hadn’t captured my attention before. It was so beautiful and strange. My apartment was high up. Although I knew that, I hadn’t been expecting the view.

The entire city seemed to stretch out around me. A few other buildings reached up into the night sky, flecked with small golden lights as the people inside went about their lives, but hardly any were as tall as the one I was in. My room must have been near the top, just based on how high up I was and how hard it was to see the ground.

It was a little disorientating. I felt vertigo lap at me as one of my hands found the cold glass, leaning against it for strength. A worry shot through me, and I felt my body jerk. The phantom sensation of falling forward, the glass slipping from its frame and letting me tumble into the night, gripped my mind, causing me to step back. It wasn’t real. I wasn’t actually falling, but the worry was still there.

Standing at a slightly safer distance away from the window, I continued to watch the city below. My mind oscillated wildly between wonder and confusion. Everything I saw looked simultaneously so new and strange but also mundane. There was nothing particularly different or bizarre about the view. I’d looked out of the city every day since I moved there, but it still took me by surprise sometimes. It was almost like I couldn’t quite believe it had actually happened, that it was real.

My eyes followed a flashing red light as it zipped between the buildings below. I could barely see it, barely track its progress through the air, but I didn’t want to look away. There were dozens, even more than that. Hundreds of lights seemed to dance above the street in their own choreographed waltz that I didn’t know. They never crashed into each other, always managed to avoid it somehow, and it was mesmerising to watch.

Drones, something told me. They were drones.

I should have known that. I wasn’t sure why it had taken me a moment to remember what they were. Everyone used them in the city, even if they were kind of rare back home. That place was way more rural, though. My parents barely even lived in a city, and basically none of the houses had receiver ports built into them. If someone did send me a drone, I had to either ask it to land outside or open my window and hope the device was small enough to fit in.

But in the city? Everyone had ports. There was a glass cube built into the living room window, big enough for even the largest drone to land with ease. It was so handy, so useful to be able to have things delivered right to my apartment. I’d lost track of the number of times I’d ordered food and didn’t want to walk to the front door to pick it up. At least with the port in the lounge, I could just rise from the sofa and walk a few steps when I wanted to.

Maybe Aurora and I would order food later, I mused as I turned towards the bathroom. She would probably come over to my apartment when we got back from karaoke. That’s what we normally did after a night out with the team. Some people would stay out and go clubbing or to a bar, and the rest of us would head back to the apartment building we all lived in. A few people would head to bed, but staying up and watching trashy television all night was more fun.

I was so glad I’d met her. It was so nice having a best friend again. I’d fallen out of contact with all of my other friends, really. I never had many, even when I went to school. People mostly ignored me there. It was a little different once I started gaining attention. An article was posted on me not long after I started playing for my first amateur league, and someone from school found it. I wasn’t sure why they started being nice to me all of a sudden, but I worked it out pretty quickly.

At least I had my teammates at the time. They were a little better, but most of them had been playing since they were kids. I was new; I didn’t fit into their group, but that was a good thing. It meant I threw myself into practice more. I wasn’t late because I was hungover or tired from the sleepovers I hadn’t been invited to, and that meant I had more time with the coach.

That helped. It made me better, more dedicated, but I knew I’d missed out on some things. I just wasn’t aware how much until Aurora. She was just as committed to the team as I was, though. That was the difference. We could have sleepovers, talk and have fun, but we also pushed each other to do better, and we didn’t get jealous when one of us was praised, unlike with my old team. In fact, she kind of reminded me of…

Did Phoebe not exist in that world? I hesitated, stopping in the doorway of my bathroom, my hand on the light switch. Had we never met? Or had I left her behind when I dropped out of school? I couldn’t even remember her. I had no recollection of the girl who mattered so much to the real me, and that broke my heart. How could she be so unimportant to me?

And did that mean she was alone? I was her closest friend in real life. She didn’t really have any others. There were people she’d talk to in passing, but she wasn’t close with them. She didn’t feel comfortable around them, and that made it harder for her. If she didn’t have me, would she have found someone else, or would she just be lonely?

Pain shot through my chest, and I found myself reaching for my phone. Maybe I could find her online. She probably had social media or something. I could check it, see if she posted any pictures with friends and if not, perhaps I could reach out. I could invite her to a game and make friends with her all over again.

My fingers froze above my screen. I couldn’t do that. I knew I couldn’t. It would be weird for me to reach out to some girl I didn’t know in this world. Creepy. How would I explain it to her? How could I explain it to anyone? I couldn’t. It would just look bad. Plus, maybe she was better off without me. Perhaps she had other friends and was happier. I hoped she was, at least.