Art Donaldson

art knew he was cruel when he proposed to you after you had won a tournament.

you have talent, real talent for tennis. you were better than he and patrick combined. but he didn't want to share you, with patrick or with the world. anyone could call it jealousy of a college boy but he feared it was even worse than that.

“i'm sorry.” he whispers as he arches his back to make sure you look at him in the eyes. “i'll win the next one, for you.” he whimpered at the end, his eyebrows furrowing on his face as you continue to ignore him.

of course, he wouldn't have made your career stuck on its gears if he knew you would've pressed your ambition on him. because, sadly, he wasn't you. he wasn't perfect like you and he hated that, he hated that he couldn't give you what you give him.

he hates that you don't love him like he loves you. at the same time, he doesn't care because even if you spit on his face, he would worship the ground you walk on. art will torture himself for you, he will play tennis until his hands and feet bleed, until you are satisfied and proud of him.

he sighs. “honey,” he whispers, glancing down at your wedding ring, “please, forgive me.” he almost cries.

kiss me. he silently pleads. forgive me.