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[jamiesfootball]

Augusnippets Day 1

Brainwashing

CW: brainwashing (pre-brainwashing technically, these are early stages), referenced child abuse, sports injury

Summary:

When Jamie's career is still in its early stages, one of his teammates witnesses his dad's abuse. Unfortunately that teammate is Zava.

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“You do not need to put up with this.”

Jamie righted himself quickly, trying to hide his wince. With a quick swipe of his eyes, he turned to defend himself, discarded shoe at the ready, only to realise it wasn’t his father who stood behind him this time.

Cold horror filled his chest.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped. His eyes darted around the treatment room, but if there were somewhere to hide, he would’ve found it ten minutes ago. The corner of his lip throbbed from what had been a quick but brutal slap. He wasn’t sure yet if it’d bruise, but the residual heat felt like a neon sign to anyone who looked.

Zava, the Zava, stood in the doorway watching him, his head cocked as he studied Jamie like one of those evil Australian birds with the necks.

“That man, he is your father?”

Shame curled under his skin; an ugly flush sprung up to his cheeks.

“None of your business, is it?” he spat. He leaned down to fetch the other shoe from where it’d missed his face and smacked against the far wall. Even that small movement made his knee sing in agony, fingers shaking as he snagged the laces. “Don’t you have post-match incense to light or something? Or a shower? Your man bun’s looking a bit flaccid there.”

Zava ignored him the same way he’d ignored Jamie ever since the man arrived at City four months ago. “You are ashamed.”

“Fuck off.”

“He is upset because you did not play long enough for his liking.”

“Are you fucking deaf or something?” Jamie choked; even to his own ears he sounded screechy and overemotional. He dug his nails into palms, trying to ignore the heat where it sprung behind his eyes. This was exactly the kind of behaviour his dad wouldn't tolerate. Zava was far from the first dick to catch him vulnerable and decide to poke at the bruise. This should be nothing.

The knee brace was still right on the counter where his dad had tossed it after demanding Jamie show him what was so bad that they’d had to pull him fifteen minutes into play. Only his third time starting this season too. His dad hadn’t been impressed.

“Zava agrees.”

It took Jamie a moment to catch up. When he did, he paused, knee brace forgotten in his hand. “What?”

“Zava agrees. If not for the unfortunate tackle, Zava would have preferred you to play longer. You are not unskilled.”

“Oh. Uh-,” he choked, his throat gone inexplicably dry. After months of his dad riding him, even a backhanded compliment like ‘not-unskilled’ sounded like a choir to his ears. “Thanks?”

Zava nodded in approval. For a dizzying moment, Jamie found himself struck with the need to make it happen again – only to remember that he couldn’t do shit until his knee healed.

Just his fucking luck.

Shaking himself out of his stupid, short-lived daydream, he sat down on the bench. He needed to get the brace back on. Already, the swollen joint had started to turn black around the edges, an unnerving ink blot into how long it would take to recover-

“Stretch your leg out.”

Jamie glanced up. Even disregarding the fact that Jamie still hadn’t hit his growth spurt, Zava was tall. Standing this close while he was still seated, he loomed over Jamie like a god.

Hesitant, Jamie slowly slid his leg out. He watched dumbfounded as Zava — Zava — knelt down in front of him to redo the straps. He worked quickly, professionally, the exact opposite of the irritated rage with which his dad had ripped it off.

Once it was secured, Zava worked his finger under the sides, testing and readjusting the straps.

“You are on contract with City,” he said. “Do you intend to stay after next season?”

Jamie nodded. Zava didn’t spare him a look; he appeared focused on efficiently tightening the straps. When the silence grew awkward, Jamie finally said out loud, “Yes.”

“You should not. During the summer transfer window, you should come with Zava.”

Zava did something to the brace, and Jamie hissed through his teeth as a sharp pain shot up his leg. Biting his lip was one of his habits that needed breaking, and the hot swell at the corner of his lip was the price he paid for forgetting. Jamie was certain now that it’d bloom into a bruise. His dad always got a bit heavy handed towards the end of the season – and this was the end of the season for Jamie.

Regret settling thick in his stomach, Jamie shook his head. “My knee’s fucked. Physios said I won’t even be able to train for another three months.”

Zava disregarded this. “It does not matter. Come play for Zava.”

“Mate, even if another club wanted me like this, my contract ain’t up for another year.”

“Irrelevant. Come play for Zava.”

“The fuck does that even mean?” Jamie demanded, overwhelmed and lightheaded as Zava gave one final, businesslike tug on the straps.

The hands that settled on Jamie’s knee were gentle; the stare that was levelled at him was heavy as granite and pinned him to the bench.

“It means you come with me. You leave behind the sad man with the bad aim. You come with me; you play for me. You give your life to Zava.”

The magic spray had worn off over an hour ago, and the physios still hadn’t returned with any pills. His face hurt. His eyes stung. He’d limped off the field with only two touches and a bad tackle to his name, and his teammates — the senior team he’d envied from a distance, the ones who hardly tolerated having a younger kid about anymore than his dad did — had barely clapped him off the pitch. He didn’t play enough to matter to them anyway. An entire season, and he’d only started three matches – and he’s been made to regret every one of them.

He didn’t play enough to matter to anyone. Yet.

Jamie swallowed. Out of curiosity, he asked, “Where are we going?”

Zava raised his hand. Jamie couldn’t hide his flinch in time, but the older man ignored it. With no regard for personal space, he settled his palm on Jamie’s face, right over the impression his dad had left behind.

“You do not need to know. You need only to say ‘yes’ to Zava.”

Something tilted in his head then. 

For years, Jamie had existed with a soul that felt too heavy for the skin it was supposed to ride around in. The pressure of it weighed him down, the bones in his chest squeezing and buckling under the pressure until he feared that one day it’d crush him dead in his sleep.

Whatever that weight was, wherever it had come from, it abruptly sprung loose, and for the first time in years the world felt… lighter.

Easier.

A shiver ran down his spine.

“Okay,” he said carefully, a bit scared that saying he wanted it might make the offer vanish. “Yes.”

The intensity of Zava’s stare made him feel as if he was being weighed, tested for that ugly stone inside him.

He bore the scrutiny with all the feigned strength his bony shoulders could muster up and tried to make himself a feather.

“Three more times,” said Zava. “Three more yeses. One for every time you made Zava ask. And one more for making him explain.”

That seemed fair.

“Yes,” said Jamie Tartt, eighteen and bruised, with hope flapping in his chest. “Yes, yes, yes.”

It would be the hope that killed him.