The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill

Nine

Zeke

“Have you seen Twitter yet today? Or watched any TV? You’re all over the fucking internet, bro. Hashtag Forester Freaks Out.”

My sleep-deprived brain is barely awake enough to comprehend what Ansel chirps over the other end of the phone line. I know he’s calling from Germany, where he’s spending his summer, and when I look at the time, I’m confused as to why he’s calling me so early. It’s five A.M. here and he woke me up from a dead sleep after I’d finally crashed out three hours earlier.

It was a bad night. I tossed and turned, the anxiety creeping up over me like a dark storm cloud, sending my thoughts into even darker places.

Kendall told me I’d continue to have these episodes and when I did, I should write down what I was feeling prior to the episode. She reminded me that depression and anxiety aren’t something I can simply achieve my way out of. It’s not like the sport of basketball, where the harder I worked and more time I invested, I could easily become a better player. But my mental health is a lot more complex and I can’t simply conquer my depression.

Sure, part of that is true. I’d continue making strides through therapy and take my meds to get myself to a healthy mental state, but it wouldn’t all just disappear. I would still have these episodes of intense depression that could hit me out of nowhere.

It makes me so angry that it would happen now, after I had such a great time last night. The very sexual context of the messages between The Other Sister and me gave me an endorphin release that I hadn’t had in a long time. And a different type of release, too.

I wasn’t kidding when I told her I was going to take care of my hard on after our conversation ended. I came so hard, my dick jerking in my hand as I imagined The Other Sister bent over my bed with her curvy ass lifted high, with my hands gripping her hips as I slammed into her.

But then the memory of the discussion I had with Kendall came bursting through, popping that bubble of euphoria and my thoughts landed back on my triggers from the incident in the coffee shop.

That man and his outrage. The way his tone and word choice triggered my “well of pain” as Kendall coined it, rooted from the trauma I experienced as a kid, living with my dad.

My identity and self-worth are all linked to aspects of my life—how I played basketball and how my dad treated me and my mom.

When I performed well, or when my dad perceived I was doing well and he didn’t belittle me or berate me, I felt great. I felt worthy of his affection. But in a very unhealthy way, I connected his love and affection—or lack of it—to how I felt about myself.

It’s an unhealthy way to live. We become addicted to the highs and the accolades. It’s what I need to feel good about myself and to put me in a positive mindset.

When I don’t receive it, I crumble.

Kendall explained that I’m not alone in this unhappiness cycle. Many athletes, celebrities, and creators who crave the spotlight take these things to heart. We live and breathe for positive feedback. For likes on social media. For awards and recognition. When we don’t receive it, we think it’s our fault. That we did something wrong, and we aren’t good enough to earn their praise. She gave me examples of celebrities like Robin Williams and Matthew Perry, individuals who admitted they fed off the praise to keep their wells full.

And last night I crashed. My well ran dry.

Ansel’s words finally make sense and cut through my brain fog. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. It’s five A.M., dude. I’m sleeping.”

The next thing I know, I hear a text notification and Ansel tells me to check it.

“What happened yesterday? This dude, Bradley Roth, says you accosted him and pushed him. He might even sue you. Have you heard from the team’s PR rep yet?”

I roll to my side, groaning as I throw my legs off the bed, pulling my phone from my ear and putting it on speaker so I can read the text.

It’s a link to a video on Twitter. “Hang on, let me play it.”

When I do, my stomach drops to my feet. It’s the video of me confronting the asswipe from yesterday at the door of the coffee shop. It’s weird to see and hear how visibly upset I was, my voice loud and menacing. I’m definitely confrontational.

I can honestly say I was out of my mind. The emotional overload short-circuited something in my head, and I lost it.

And then the video captures me pushing him backwards.

I drop my chin to my chest. “Fuck me. This is not good.”

Ansel agrees. “No, it is not, my friend. Especially on top of all the other shit going on. Marek is not going to be happy with this development. You better get on that quick. Call Glen in PR and start the process.”

“Yeah, thanks, man. I will.”

“Sorry I’m the one who sprung this on you. What exactly happened, anyway? I mean, you’re not normally the nicest of guys in the world,” he says and chuckles at my expense. “But I’ve never seen you get in someone’s face outside of the court. Was it over that woman in the background?”

I play the video again and realize that Kendall was off to the side, trying to intervene. I’d lost it so much in the moment that I didn’t even realize she could have been hurt in the process. That makes me feel even worse than I already do.

I’ve fucked this whole thing up.

“Yeah, her name is Kendall. She’s my therapist and this douche had just spilled his coffee on her and was being an asshole. So, I was just calling him out on his rudeness, but I guess I want a little too far.”

There’s a bit of silence and the heave of a sigh from the other end of the line. “Yeah, well, it’s nothing you can’t get yourself out of. Just keep working with your therapist and talk to PR. You’ve got that camp thing coming up soon, right? That should help your image.”

Oh great. I completely forgot about the basketball camp I’m scheduled to volunteer for next week in Atlanta. That is, if they still want me, considering I appear to have an anger management problem.

“Yeah, maybe,” I concede.

“Well, anyway, bro. I’m here for you, man.”

I snort. “Thanks, I appreciate it. But aren’t you back home in Germany for the summer?”

“I meant it in a theoretical way. Dude, you’re so literal. I better go and let you take care of things. Again, I’m sorry I had to break the news to you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. You did me a solid. I’ll talk to you later, man.”

I end the call and hang my head in my hands in desperation, the weight of my anxiety squeezing my chest like a vise. I feel the tightening in my muscles, pulling on my skin like a rubber band ready to snap. I try to take deep cleansing breaths to find my center like Kendall taught me, but instead it comes out in choppy and uncontrolled bursts. I clutch at my heart, the excruciating pain ripping through my chest.

Shit, maybe I’m having a heart attack?

I think back at what Kendall told me about anxiety and panic attacks. My anxiety is a state of mental distress caused by fear…fear of something unwanted. To calm myself, I must stay present, remain aware of my surroundings, and redirect my thoughts to something positive. Change my mindset and perspective.

Easier said than done.

I grab my notepad from the nightstand and jot down in my journal, listing out the things I can’t control and then all the positives.

It takes me ten minutes, but the passage of time and the redirection of my energy has calmed my breathing and slowed my heartrate back to normal range.

Just as I do, my phone blows up, starting with a message from Glen Roberts in PR.

PR Prick: CALL ME IMMEDIATELY.

So much for my calm state of mind. Looks like the shit has just hit the fan.

Again.