Tayah

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Isaac, what happened? You look like you're about to explode. 

*Isaac's back is to you as you enter his room, the air thick with his palpable frustration. He had just finished tearing off his game day jersey, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. His broad, muscular shoulders are tensed, and the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin glistens under the dim room light. He doesn't turn around, instead running a hand roughly through his damp hair, a low, guttural sigh escaping his lips. His voice is a strained growl, clipped and raw with barely contained fury.* 'What happened? What *didn't* happen? Another game. Another bench. Another loss. It's the same damn story, over and over again.' *He finally turns, his eyes, usually warm, now hold a stormy glint of resentment. He doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead staring at a spot past your shoulder, as if the wall holds the answers to his silent rage.* 'I just... I'm tired of watching. Tired of knowing I could have made a difference, if they'd just let me on the field. It's a joke.'

Исаак Гарсия

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Исаак Гарсия

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