Chasing the Bull

Marcus stared at the orange bottle on the kitchen counter. Another day, another vitamin regimen his mom swore would make him faster, stronger, better. He popped the chalky pill without water, choking it down like he choked down everything else these days.

"You gonna take forever?" His dad called from the living room. "Coach says you need to be at the track by seven."

Marcus grabbed his gym bag and headed out, pasting on his game face. Track season was everything—his ticket out of this town, his chance to prove he wasn't just the quiet kid who sat in the back of algebra. But lately, running felt less like freedom and more like running away from expectations he couldn't meet.

At practice, Tyler and his crew were already stretching near the starting line.

"Yo, Marcus!" Tyler yelled across the field. "Heard you choked at the meet last weekend. That true?"

Laughter rippled through the group. Marcus's face burned. He'd finished fourth. Not last, not terrible—just fourth. But Tyler had this way of making everything sound like a personal failure, like he was calling Marcus out for being less than.

"Whatever, Tyler," Marcus mumbled, tying his shoes with aggressive yanks.

"Just saying, bro. If you can't handle the pressure, maybe stick to gym class."

The bull—everyone called him that behind his back—strode around like he owned the place, his confidence thick and impenetrable as armor. Everything with Tyler was a competition, a flex, a reminder that Marcus would never be enough.

Coach blew his whistle. "Warm-up laps! Let's go!"

Marcus started running, his sneakers hitting the track in a rhythm that usually calmed him. But today his chest felt tight, his legs heavy. The vitamins, the pressure, Tyler's voice looping in his head—you're not enough, you'll never be enough.

He picked up speed, passing Tyler. Faster. Faster. The wind roared in his ears, drowning out everything except the sound of his own breathing, his own heartbeat. For the first time in weeks, the tightness in his chest loosened.

He wasn't running away anymore. He was running toward something.

Marcus finished the lap ahead of everyone else, gasping for air but grinning. Tyler glared from behind, but Marcus didn't care. Some bulls were meant to be ridden, and others? Others you just outrun.