"Dude, wake up."
The words sliced through the silence of the early morning like a paper-thin command from the heavens—or more accurately, from a very annoyed David.
Thud!
A dull thump echoed right after, as David’s foot t the side of the bed, making it shudder just enough to cause a chain reaction. Mohad, his Middle Eastern friend and the proud owner of the now-violated mattress, groaned like a ghost being exorcised mid-sleep.
David stood there with his arms folded, watching as Mohad, rather than rising to the occasion, flopped over dramatically and rolled right off the bed like a sack of potatoes—landing flat on the floor in the parlor with a blissful sigh. He was still, his body occasionally twitching, a faint smile playing on his lips like he was having the ti of his life... in a dream.
David’s expression? Disbelief. His friend looked like he was halfway to paradise, sprawled out, arms open, legs slightly bent, as if he had just flopped into a five-star spa, not a tiled floor.
The night before had been nothing short of legendary. A full-blown gaming marathon. What started as a quick invite had spiraled into digital madness. David had only ant to chill and ga with Mohad—but then Zoey, his online friend, had joined them, and from that mont, it was pure chaos.
They’d played for hours. Screaming, laughing, trash-talking. At one point, Mohad had scread so loud Zoey threatened to mute him. David had been eating chips, half-listening, and ended up snorting crumbs from laughing too hard when Mohad got eliminated in a ga in the dumbest way possible. The squad had spent the night rotating between intense gaplay and devouring unhealthy amounts of food. At one point, soone had the brilliant idea to make cereal at 2 a.m.—with juice, not milk. It was surreal. It was madness. It was friendship.
But now... the sun was up. And with daylight ca responsibility.
David had training.
Mohad had work.
David stared at the unmoving figure of his friend still sprawled like roadkill in the parlor. He walked over and gently tapped him with his foot.
"Dude, wake up," he said again, this ti with a bit more emphasis, giving him a few rhythmic nudges.
Mohad groaned, rolling slightly as he muttered sothing in his sleep.
"No... not another one. Stop..."
David paused, his brows furrowing.
What the hell is this guy dreaming about? he thought, staring at Mohad as if he’d just confessed to illegal ti travel. The groaning continued, with more nonsense talk as Mohad twitched and turned.
David shook his head slowly and sighed. "Bro, I ain’t got ti for this." Turning away, he strolled into the kitchen. He needed reinforcents. The kind his mother used to use.
He reached into the fridge, grabbed a cold bottle of water, twisted the cap open with a satisfying crack, and turned slowly toward the battlefield—aka the parlor.
David walked in with quiet, calculated steps. The bottle dangled in his hand like a sword ready to be unsheathed. As he approached Mohad’s sleeping form, he stopped, towering above his unsuspecting friend.
Mohad’s face was still the picture of serenity. A man at peace. A man who had no idea what was about to rain—literally—upon his dreams.
David’s expression darkened.
His voice dropped low, guttural, almost reverent.
"I have... beco my mother," he whispered in a nacing tone that could’ve made Darth Vader do a double take. His eyes glead with the thrill of the dark side.
Slowly—oh so slowly—he tilted the bottle.
And then...
drip
drip
dripdripdripdripdrip
The cold water cascaded from the bottle like a holy blessing—except this was a curse. A mother-grade, get-up-or-die kind of curse. The first drops landed on Mohad’s peaceful face.
David watched with devilish satisfaction as the transformation began.
Mohad flinched.
A frown ford.
His eyelids twitched.
Then—suddenly—his body jerked as if he’d been electrocuted by a thousand volts of freezing liquid judgnt. He shot up with a strangled scream, flailing like soone being baptized against his will.
"DUDE—WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT IS THAT?!"
But David didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He stood over him like a Sith Lord with a mission. The water kept flowing like a divine punishnt from the heavens.
Mohad threw his hands up, shielding himself like a man who had just realized the ceiling was leaking directly onto his soul.
"GUY—I’M UP! I’M UP! STOP! STOP!!" he yelled, spinning on the floor, drenched and betrayed, desperately trying to catch his breath.
David still didn’t stop. He only grinned.
Wide. Evil. Sinister.
A grin that belonged to soone who had waited his whole life for a reason to beco this dramatic.
Mohad, blinking through the water assault, finally looked up—and what he saw froze him to his core.
David. Towering. Silent. Grinning. His eyes glead like a villain on his final boss level. The water continued its descent from the tilted bottle in slow motion. Mohad’s eyes widened. His heartbeat spiked.
In that instant, all the peace, dreams, and joy Mohad had known vanished.
He could only think one thing:
"I am going to die."
"Hey Prakesh, can I connect my phone to the car? I want to listen to so Saw music," David asked, breaking the suffocating silence that had taken over the ride.
From the driver’s seat, Prakesh glanced at David through the side mirror and nodded with a quick smile. "Yes, yes, of course," he said in his usual enthusiastic tone.
"Okay, thanks," David replied, already pulling out his phone, determined to inject so life into the dreadfully dull atmosphere.
He was halfway into syncing the Bluetooth when he turned his head and noticed Mohad beside him. The poor guy was slumped against the door, arms folded, face long, clearly sulking. His whole aura scread, "I’ve been emotionally wounded by soone who betrayed in my sleep."
David blinked at him. Yep. He was the mood killer.
"Dude, is everything okay?" David asked, his tone cautious but concerned. He had a strong feeling this was about this morning’s waterboarding episode.
Mohad didn’t respond imdiately. Instead, he turned slowly, dramatically—like a horror movie ghost just realizing who its murderer was. He stared straight into David’s eyes, wide-eyed and with a look of betrayal that would make a soap opera star proud.
"You..." he muttered.
David pointed to himself, looking completely innocent. "?"
"You tried to kill ," Mohad accused, his voice cracking under the weight of perceived trauma. "You—you!"
From the front seat, Prakesh glanced back, his eyebrows raised, clearly confused and now mildly concerned.
David burst out laughing. "Whoa, kill you? Are you insane?" he said, doubling over as he struggled to breathe between giggles. "What—did I drown you in your dreams or sothing?"
"Yes!" Mohad shouted. "You tried to drown —with water! Real water! Not even dream water!"
David couldn’t stop laughing. "Co on, it was just a sprinkle!"
"A sprinkle? Bro, I was waking up to a monsoon!"
Prakesh was now more invested in their conversation than in driving. His eyes kept darting to the rearview mirror.
David leaned back in his seat, still laughing. "Maybe I tried to kill you—in the ga last night. But even then, Zoey got us both."
"Ah yes, your female warrior," Mohad said dramatically, wagging a finger. "As if that friend of yours didn’t kill you more tis than the villain from Saw."
David rolled his eyes. "Hey! Zoey doesn’t count. She’s a pro!"
Mohad crossed his arms again. "Yeah. A pro at beating you."
"Okay, okay, fair," David said, chuckling. "She wiped the floor with . But at least I didn’t nearly pee myself when the ghost popped up in that mission!"
"Oh please," Mohad snorted. "You scread like a kettle!"
The car filled with laughter—David and Mohad full-blown cackling now. Even Prakesh tried to chuckle along, although his eyes were still darting back, distracted.
"Calm down, boys! Calm down!" Prakesh said with a nervous laugh, still glancing backward, both hands half on the wheel.
David and Mohad turned toward him. "Prakesh, keep your eyes—"
"—ON THE ROAD!" they shouted in unison, faces transforming from jokesters to horror-struck passengers.
Their eyes widened as they all saw it at once—a car, barreling toward them from the opposite lane, way too close, and definitely not slowing down.
"Prakesh! A car! LOOK!"
Everything happened at once.
Prakesh turned back to the road just in ti to yank the steering wheel with a sharp jerk. Tires screeched. The car spun slightly, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision.
David and Mohad were thrown to the sides, their screams echoing inside the car as bags shifted, phones flew, and the entire vehicle did a sharp swerve.
"AHHHHH!"
BAM!
The car collided with the sidewalk barrier, jolting them forward as the impact rang out like a cymbal crash. tal against stone. A crunch. A final lurch.
Silence. Breathing. Shock.
Everything stopped.
Author’s Note
Hey everyone!
I want to sincerely apologize for the long break—I’m really sorry for disappearing like that. But the good news? I’m back now and fully committed to this journey. I promise to deliver at least one Chapter a day, and this ti, I will see this book through to the end.
I have so many plans for David. Honestly, I can’t think of many football stories where the main character is fully arrogant—and that’s exactly what I want David to be. He’s going to face challenges, trials, and setbacks. His arrogance will evolve—it might turn into sothing worse, or maybe sothing better—but that transformation is part of the ride. And I’m here for it.
I hope you are too. Thanks for sticking with , and once again, I truly appreciate your patience.
Just one last thing to say:
We are SO back, baby.
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