Chapter 10: Nightmare Fuel Jim stared blankly as the airplane started to leave the gate. A heavy numbness settled over him, a strange calm after the storm. He reclined his seat, closed his eyes, and tried to force himself to sleep. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. But sleep didn't come easily. Every time he started to drift off, his mind conjured up images he desperately wanted to avoid. Valeria's face, morphing into Miguel's smirking one. The diner, but instead of him sitting across from Valeria, it was Miguel, his arm draped possessively around her shoulder. Her laughter, but it was colder, more distant, directed at someone else. He tossed and turned, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. The images intensified, becoming more vivid, more disturbing. In one nightmare, he was back at Valeria's apartment, but the paella was burnt and blackened, and Valeria and Miguel were feeding each other, their eyes locked in a passionate gaze, completely oblivious to his presence. He saw Valeria, her face blurred and indistinct, whispering something he couldn't quite make out. He strained to hear, but the sound was muffled, distorted. Finally, he heard it, clear as day: "I always loved Miguel more." Jim's body jerked awake. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. His heart hammered against his ribs. He glanced around the cabin, half-expecting to see Valeria and Miguel staring back at him, but everyone was asleep, oblivious to his inner turmoil. He tried to slow his breathing, to calm his racing thoughts. It was just a dream, he told himself. Just a stupid, fucked-up dream. But the images lingered, clinging to the edges of his mind like a persistent bad smell. He closed his eyes again, trying to force them away, but they kept coming back, each one more vivid than the last. In another nightmare, he was on the basketball court, dribbling the ball, the crowd roaring. But instead of cheering him on, they were chanting Valeria's name, over and over again, their voices growing louder and more menacing with each repetition. He looked up and saw Valeria sitting courtside, holding hands with Miguel, their faces radiating happiness. He tried to pass the ball to Kenny, but Kenny just shook his head and turned away. He tried to call a play, but no one listened. He was alone, abandoned, surrounded by a sea of faces chanting Valeria's name. He dribbled harder, faster, trying to escape the sound, but it followed him, growing louder and louder until it was deafening. He stumbled, lost control of the ball, and fell to the ground, the weight of their laughter crushing him. Again, Jim bolted upright, gasping for air. He wiped the sweat from his face, his body trembling. He was wide awake now, the nightmares banished, at least for the moment. He glanced at the small screen in front of him, checking the flight status. Still two hours to New York. Two more hours of this torture. He tried to distract himself, flipping through the channels on the entertainment system, but nothing held his attention. Every movie, every TV show, seemed to remind him of Valeria. A romantic comedy, a Spanish film, even a commercial for paella – everything was a trigger. He gave up and stared out the window, watching the clouds drift by. They looked like cotton candy, soft and fluffy, but even they couldn't soothe his restless mind. He thought about Duke, about Coach Martinez, about the future that awaited him. He tried to picture himself on the court, wearing a Duke jersey, leading the team to victory. He tried to feel excited, but the image felt hollow, empty. Valeria's betrayal had tainted everything, casting a shadow over his dreams. He closed his eyes again, surrendering to the darkness. He knew the nightmares would return, but he was too exhausted to fight them anymore. He would just have to endure, to survive, until the plane landed and he could finally escape this hell. He drifted back to sleep, and the nightmares returned, waiting for him, eager to torment him with their twisted versions of reality. --- The jarring thump of the landing gear jolted Jim awake. He blinked, disoriented, his head heavy. The cabin was filled with the muffled sounds of passengers stirring, gathering their belongings. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the last vestiges of the nightmare. The images were still there, lingering in his subconscious, but they were fainter now, less intense. He sat up straight, took a deep breath, and forced himself to focus on the present. The plane was taxiing to the gate. Soon, he would be back in New York, back in his own world. He reached for his phone, hesitated for a moment, then flipped it back on. The screen lit up, flooding him with notifications. Hundreds of texts, calls, and social media alerts. Just as Rich had predicted. He scanned the messages, his stomach clenching. Most of them were congratulatory, people praising him for his decision to commit to Duke. Teammates, friends, family, even some of his celebrity acquaintances – everyone was eager to offer their congratulations. * **Kenny:** DUUUUUUKE! LET'S GOOOOOOO * **Zion:** told u they couldn't resist the Jim Feder magic * **Lenny:** So proud of you, son! * **Greg:** Duke? Good luck being a Cameron Crazy * **Drake:** 🔥🔥 Big moves, young blood! * **Bronny:** Congrats bro! We gotta hoop soon when you get back. * **Ice Spice:** Yassss! Get that bag! 🤑 * **David Alvareezy:** YO DUKE??? Congrats bro, gonna have to come through and make a vid. He scrolled through the messages, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The support was nice, a welcome distraction from the pain. But then he saw the other messages, the ones he had been dreading. They were from Valeria. A barrage of angry, desperate texts, flooding his screen. * **Valeria:** How could you do this to me? * **Valeria:** Ignoring me??? * **Valeria:** You blocked me??? * **Valeria:** WHAT THE FUCK JIM * **Valeria:** We need to talk, right now * **Valeria:** I said I made a mistake!! I didn't mean it. * **Valeria:** Are you really just going to throw everything away? * **Valeria:** I hate you! * **Valeria:** Please, Jim. I’m sorry. He stared at the messages, his heart pounding in his chest. Part of him wanted to respond, to explain himself, to hear her out. But he knew he couldn't. He had made his decision. He had to stick to it. He scrolled past her messages, ignoring the pleas and the accusations. He wouldn't let her suck him back in, not this time. He turned off his phone again, shoving it into his pocket. He didn't want to deal with this right now. He needed to focus, to clear his head. The plane finally came to a stop, and the doors opened. Passengers began to disembark, grabbing their luggage and heading for the exit. Jim stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and joined the throng. He walked through the terminal, his eyes scanning the crowd, half-expecting to see Valeria waiting for him, ready to confront him. But she wasn't there. He made his way to the baggage claim, grabbed his suitcase, and headed for the exit. Rich was waiting for him, his face beaming. "Welcome back, superstar!" Rich said, clapping him on the back. "You ready to get to work?" Jim managed a weak smile. "Yeah," he said. "Let's go." Rich led him to his car, a sleek black SUV. They drove in silence for a few minutes, Jim staring out the window, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. "So," Rich said, breaking the silence. "Everyone's going crazy about Duke. You're all over ESPN, Sports Illustrated, every sports blog imaginable. This is huge, Jim." "I know," Jim said, his voice flat. "You okay, man?" Rich asked, his voice filled with concern. "You seem a little… out of it." "I'm fine," Jim said, forcing a smile. "Just tired." Rich studied him for a moment, his eyes filled with skepticism. "Alright," he said. "But if you need anything, you know you can talk to me, right?" "Yeah, I know," Jim said. "Thanks." They continued driving in silence, Jim's mind racing. He needed to do something, to take his mind off Valeria, to distract himself from the pain. "Rich," he said, breaking the silence. "Take me to the gym." Rich raised an eyebrow. "The gym? Now? You just got off a plane, man. Shouldn't you be resting?" "I need to work out," Jim said, his voice firm. "I need to clear my head." Rich shrugged. "Alright," he said. "Whatever you say. But don't kill yourself, alright? You've got a lot of pressure ahead of you." "I won't," Jim said. "I promise." Rich changed direction, heading towards the nearest gym. Jim stared out the window, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn't going to let Valeria ruin his life. He was going to focus on basketball, on Duke, on his dreams. He was going to bury his pain and emerge stronger, better, more determined than ever before. He had to. --- The familiar squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood, the rhythmic thump of a basketball – these were the sounds that grounded Jim, that brought him back to himself. The air in the gym was thick with the scent of sweat and determination, a comforting aroma that washed over him as he stepped onto the court. He ignored the curious glances from the other players, the whispers that followed him as he walked to the free-throw line. He didn’t care about the fame, the attention, the pressure. All he cared about was the ball in his hands, the hoop in front of him, the feeling of pushing his body to its absolute limit. He started with some simple drills, dribbling the ball between his legs, behind his back, his movements fluid and effortless. He could feel the tension slowly easing from his muscles, the anger and frustration beginning to dissipate. Then he moved on to shooting, starting with layups, then free throws, then three-pointers. He focused on his form, on his breathing, on the rhythm of his body. Each shot was a release, a way to channel his emotions, to transform his pain into something productive. He pushed himself harder and harder, running sprints, doing push-ups, lifting weights. He felt his muscles burning, his lungs aching, his body screaming for rest. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He was punishing himself, pushing himself beyond his limits, desperate to escape the memories of Valeria, the sting of her betrayal. He wanted to erase her from his mind, to replace her with the image of the basketball, the sound of the swish, the feeling of victory. Hours passed, and Jim continued to work, his body drenched in sweat, his mind locked in a relentless pursuit of exhaustion. He dribbled, he shot, he ran, he lifted, he pushed, he fought. He didn’t stop until he was completely drained, until he could barely stand, until his vision started to blur. Finally, he collapsed onto the bench, gasping for air, his body trembling. He closed his eyes, feeling the sweat trickle down his face, the ache in his muscles, the emptiness in his heart. He had pushed himself to the brink, to the point of physical and emotional collapse. But it wasn't enough. The pain was still there, lingering beneath the surface, waiting to resurface. But he wouldn't let it. He would keep fighting, keep pushing, keep working until he had conquered his demons, until he had emerged victorious. He stood up, his legs wobbly, his body aching. He walked back onto the court, grabbed the basketball, and started dribbling again. He wasn't done yet. He wouldn't be done until he had erased Valeria from his mind, until he had proven to himself that he could survive without her. He had a future to build, a dream to chase, a legacy to create. And he wasn't going to let anyone, not even Valeria, stand in his way. The news about Jim Feder's commitment to Duke spread like wildfire, dominating sports headlines and social media feeds. ESPN, Sports Illustrated, Bleacher Report – every major sports outlet was buzzing about the young phenom's decision. Analysts debated his potential impact on the Duke program, scouts dissected his strengths and weaknesses, and fans speculated about his future in the NBA. Jim Feder was the hottest topic in basketball, and everyone had an opinion. But as Jim pushed himself to exhaustion on the court, he blocked out the noise, the hype, the pressure. He focused on the ball, on the hoop, on the feeling of pushing his body to its limit. He was Jim Feder, the captain of the Briarwood Warriors, the future of Duke basketball, and he wasn't going to let anything distract him from his goals. He dribbled the ball, his movements fluid and effortless. He shot the ball, his aim precise and deadly. He ran the court, his body strong and determined. He was burying his pain, one shot, one sprint, one lift at a time. And he wouldn't stop until he had conquered his demons and emerged victorious.