Thomas

Chapter 1 — Thomas

Thomas woke with a violent gasp.

For a second, he thought he was back on the pitch.

The stadium lights burned into his eyes. Thousands of voices crashed over each other in a wave of hatred.

Cheat.

Fraud.

Get out of our club.

His chest tightened as the boos echoed through his head.

Then silence.

Darkness.

The cracked ceiling of his apartment slowly came into focus.

Thomas stared at it, breathing heavily, cold sweat clinging to his skin. The old couch creaked beneath him as he sat up and rubbed his face with trembling hands.

Another nightmare.

He looked toward the trophy cabinet across the room.

Empty.

Dust outlines were all that remained where silver cups and medals once stood. Five years ago, that cabinet had been filled with awards, photographs, and headlines calling him the greatest rookie of his generation.

Now it looked like a grave.

Thomas forced himself to stand.

Pizza boxes covered the floor beside piles of dirty clothes. Empty soda cans leaned against the coffee table. The apartment smelled stale, like a room abandoned long ago.

“I’ll clean later,” he muttered.

He said that every day.

Dragging himself toward the bathroom, he flicked on the light and froze in front of the mirror.

Messy hair.

Unshaven face.

Heavy eyes.

He barely recognized the man staring back at him.

Behind him, reflected through the bathroom doorway, hung an old football poster on the lounge wall.

THE GREATEST ROOKIE BORN.

The picture showed a younger Thomas sliding across the pitch in celebration after scoring his first professional goal. The smile on his face looked unreal now.

Thomas looked away first.

A vibration buzzed from the counter.

His phone.

Without thinking, he opened his contacts and pressed the same number he always did.

“Forno & Fire Pizza, what can we get started for you today?”

“Large pepperoni,” Thomas said quietly. “Same address.”

The worker didn’t even ask for his name anymore.

Twenty minutes later, a knock came at the door.

Thomas opened it halfway, already reaching for the pizza box.

“Delivery for—”

The girl holding the box suddenly froze.

Her eyes widened.

“…Thomas?”

He stiffened immediately.

She looked around his age, wearing a delivery jacket and holding the pizza awkwardly against her chest.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered quickly. “You’re Thomas Osborne, right?”

Thomas grabbed the box.

“Wrong person.”

Before he could shut the door, she blurted out:

“Wait!”

He paused.

“I used to watch all your matches,” she said. “I’m a really big fan.”

Thomas felt irritation rise in his chest instantly.

Fan.

Right.

He’d heard enough from football fans to last a lifetime.

“What do you want?” he asked coldly.

She blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in his voice.

“I just…” She hesitated. “I wanted to ask what you’re doing now.”

The question hit harder than she probably intended.

What was he doing now?

Sleeping on couches.

Selling trophies.

Ordering pizza every night.

Existing.

Thomas tightened his grip on the box.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

Then he shut the door.

The sound echoed through the apartment.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then her voice came faintly through the other side.

“…I still think you can do it.”

Thomas froze.

His breathing became uneven again.

Suddenly the apartment disappeared.

The roaring stadium returned.

BOOOOOOO!

Drug cheat!

Disgrace!

His back hit the door as he slowly slid down onto the floor, clutching the pizza box tightly while thousands of phantom voices screamed inside his head

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