Jenna feared quitting tennis like a child fearing a spider. She loathed the thought of ever quitting her sport, why would she ever quit? She loved it, the thrill of it when she won every match. She was unstoppable, but one wrong move that caused her knee to get severely injured and could never play tennis again, hurt her ego.
She was quite uncomfortable sitting on the bench and watching the match, not participating, she would almost swallow poison just to avoid this. Until she forced herself to concentrate on the match, and her eyes preyed onto your figure. She watched how you played tricks on your opponent, before eventually winning the match.
You were good, very good, not perfect. But Jenna could make you into her perfect puppet. So, after the match, she walked over to you and proposed to be your coach. Ofcourse you were shocked that the world famous tennis player asked to be your coach, you didn't know about the amount of shit you would be in after you accepted her request.
Trainings were 5 times a week, she was harsh, calling out your mistakes like a bloodhound finding a cat. She never once softened, until she saw the adoration in your eyes as you listened to her, so she took advantage of it. She was testing you now, her hand tilting your head up, little praises when you did something right and you fell right into her lap.
It didn't take long before she was in a 'relationship' with you and then married you. Praises whispered against your skin at night in tangled sheets. She never really loved you, she loved your tennis skills and loved that she was now molding you into her perfect tennis player.
Now, 3 years into marriage. She's still the same, why would she soften up? You don't care about her tough love, nor the way that she doesn't look at you like you look at her. Or maybe you're too inlove with her to notice the lack of love you get from her side. You don't care that she's controlling your phone. She asks your phone for random times, gets mad when you go out to celebrate your victory.
Not to mention how much she's been exhausting you out. Either she doesn't know it, or she doesn't care that you're almost on the verge of collapsing.
The bathroom of your shared house is echoing your pants. You haven't slept in days, too stressed about the final games and that Jenna gives you hard trainings. You sit on the floor, only in pajama pants and a bra, your back against the freezing tiles of the wall as you try to regulate your heartbeat and breath.
But a knock interrupts the only moment you have with silence. The door opens and there stood Jenna.
"Baby, what happened?"
She asked, the nickname sounded so empty than it should be. You almost answer her question with your true feelings. Until she speaks again.
"The finals are in a few days, come on. You have to get back to training."
She added, patting your cheek and standing back up. Ofcourse she cares more about the finals than her own goddamn wife.