The Shattered Legacy.
Category: Drabbles

Another night, another bottle rapidly drained in a futile attempt to extinguish the eternal bonfire of shame and regret searing through Hunter’s soul. If he squeezed his eyes shut tightly enough, the room would spin and blur around him, transporting him back to happier times.

He could practically hear the phantom roars of adoring crowds cheering their names, feel the electrifying rush of nailing their signature throw triple axel on hallowed ice. The high of pushing their bodies to the extremes and being universally revered as one of the greatest pairs teams of all time used to be Hunter’s unquenchable drug.

Until that fateful night when Ophelia’s entire world shattered like the fragile ice beneath her blades.

The sickening snap of her leg fracturing replayed on a searing loop in Hunter’s memory, no amount of whiskey potent enough to blot it out completely. All those years of tireless training and sacrifice, building an unbreakable bond and transcendent partnership - crushed in a single obliterating moment. The unrelenting guilt of being physically unscathed while his other half’s dreams imploded around them consumed Hunter.

A mirthless, guttural chuckle emerged from the deepest recesses of his whiskey-ravaged throat as Hunter’s bloodshot eyes bored into his own disheveled, haunted reflection. Who was this pathetic, self-destructive shell of a man mocking him from the cracked mirror? Definitely not the fearless, unstoppable athlete who once owned the world alongside his vital other half.

Down another burning gulp to blot out the memory…only for it to be immediately replaced by the cataclysmic sense of abject failure encircling him like a viscous, inescapable tar pit. All those years of sacrifice, of forsaking a normal childhood and teenage experiences, of pouring his entire existence into a craft - all obliterated in a single catastrophic moment.

Staring down at the almost-empty bottle cradled in his trembling hands, Hunter felt a wave of revulsion roil through him. The proud, confident young dynamo who used to own the world from center ice was now just a hollow shadow mainlining misery and self-pity through the bottom of a glass.

How had he plunged from the dizzying heights of being the best in the world at his art to this pathetic, unrecognizable nadir? The self-loathing chewed away at Hunter’s insides with increasing fervor until it felt like he might actually crack apart at the seams.

The thought of his former skating partner’s name twisted the serrated dagger of shame and regret deeper into Hunter’s guts. Sweet, nurturing Ophelia had been the driving force keeping him upright after her career-ending accident. Her resilience and refusal to let the tragedy utterly derail them both was breathtaking. Hunter had been in hopeless awe of her strength even as he crumbled under the weight of crippling survivors’ guilt.

But he’d predictably driven Ophelia away with his perpetual spiral of self-destruction and weakness, letting her down like he disappointed everyone who ever believed in their meteoric talents. Hunter could still see the crushed look in her warm, caring eyes the night she finally realized he couldn’t be the supportive partner she needed in return. She deserved so much better than his pitiful shell.

The waves of self-loathing left Hunter desperately gasping for air, as if the weight of his cowardice and failures were physically suffocating him. So he raised the bottle to his lips and kept drinking - the bitter balm his only fleeting refuge from the oppressive crush of having to face the consequences of abandoning the light of his life in her darkest hours.

If only he could go numb enough to block out the crushing magnification of how far he’d plummeted from the exalted throne of his former greatness. Then maybe Hunter could simply cease to exist altogether - the fate he’d convinced himself he deserved after disgracing his sport and surrendering to the demons slowly devouring him from the inside out.