Goalkeeper's Loneliness, Prologue.
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Warning: Hints of rape. Offense to Real Madrid due to their relationship with dictator Franco. You have been warned. No offense. The friendship of Real with Franco is actually historical.
Prologue
Run. Run. Panting. Panting. My head is going to explode. I can't go on. I need to rest. I can't...
He could hear the steps behind him. Or maybe he was just imagining them. He was so tired he couldn't make sure. And he didn't want to turn back. That would cause him to lose time. And if someone was behind him...
"¡David! ¡David, mierda*!
Fuck. That was Álvaro's voice, behind him, calling out, trying to fool him into going back. But no way. He couldn't go back. Arbeloa only wanted the price for his head. He knew he was a wanted man from the moment he had run away from the falangista ranks. He had everything against him: his former friends, his father's suspicions, his own hatred for the war and for his companions at that camp.
And... especially... what had happened. That humiliation and torture they had put him through. He still sported bruises from that night. There was an acidic taste, like vomit, in the back of his mouth ever since. And then the smell of sweat and dirt from all the bodies. It would make his head swim and his eyes fill with tears.
Shit. He couldn't be thinking about that now. He had to run.
What hurt the most was to think it all had been his fault. Maybe his father had been right. If he had been a man, a real man, this would have never happened to him. He would have been left alone and in peace.
He asked himself though, is that what real men would do? He had wondered that. Would any real man have treated the way the troops at the Real Army did? He sometimes doubted it. If he was so disgusting to them, why had they actually seemed to enjoy that act?
He remembered his father then. He had always warned him about his ways. It was punishment. Punishment from above so he would see the horror and just how unnatural his ways were. So he could change. So he could walk in the ways of God. They had been sent to change him and to right him even if it meant such suffering.
Edwin would have thought otherwise, though. And he didn't feel... unnatural... when they were together.
Edwin...
David closed his eyes tightly. The least he needed was to cry right now. Tears obscured his vision. He could fall and he wouldn't know. He had to concentrate.
Instead, all he could hear was Edwin repeating: "Don't be afraid. We're not monsters. We're humans. This is human too. Whoever dares to tell you otherwise, is the monster."
He had been surrounded my monsters and beget by monsters then. He ran quicker. But, really? Could he call his father a monster? He had promised Edwin he would always remember that. That no one could take his teachings away from him. But it was so easy to tell him that, under a blue British sky, a sky seldom seen. It was easy to feel that way when he was away from home. Now, surrounded by woods, alone, being chased, with his life in danger, it was not so easy to keep Edwin's teachings as his guiding light. The thought his mentor could be wrong saddened him. The thought he had come back to unlearn everything Edwin had carefully taught him made him choke. He had to sit down for a while to cough and spit. He had reached a clearing, which was dangerous, but he couldn't take another step.
After retching for a few seconds, David stood up. That was when he turned back and saw, at a menacing distance, Álvaro Arbeloa, holding his gun, raising it slowly.
"Perdona David, pero tú te lo has buscado.**"
Indeed. Arbeloa thought it was his fault too.
"A la patria no se le traiciona.***"
He was a little scum. Standing out in the open. Nothing but a tree some steps away.
"Tu cabeza ya tiene precio. Y es muy alto, David. Quién diría, el hijo de José de Gea enemigo del país.*****"
Álvaro cocked the gun.
"No he de desaprovechar esta oportunidad.*****"
A single gunshot broke the silence.
(Spanish words)
*Shit
**I'm sorry David. You asked for it.
***You don't betray your country.
****Your head has a price, David. And it's a high price. Who would have thought José de Gea's son is an enemy to the country.
*****I shall not let my chance pass.
Warning: Hints of rape. Offense to Real Madrid due to their relationship with dictator Franco. You have been warned. No offense. The friendship of Real with Franco is actually historical.
Prologue
Run. Run. Panting. Panting. My head is going to explode. I can't go on. I need to rest. I can't...
He could hear the steps behind him. Or maybe he was just imagining them. He was so tired he couldn't make sure. And he didn't want to turn back. That would cause him to lose time. And if someone was behind him...
"¡David! ¡David, mierda*!
Fuck. That was Álvaro's voice, behind him, calling out, trying to fool him into going back. But no way. He couldn't go back. Arbeloa only wanted the price for his head. He knew he was a wanted man from the moment he had run away from the falangista ranks. He had everything against him: his former friends, his father's suspicions, his own hatred for the war and for his companions at that camp.
And... especially... what had happened. That humiliation and torture they had put him through. He still sported bruises from that night. There was an acidic taste, like vomit, in the back of his mouth ever since. And then the smell of sweat and dirt from all the bodies. It would make his head swim and his eyes fill with tears.
Shit. He couldn't be thinking about that now. He had to run.
What hurt the most was to think it all had been his fault. Maybe his father had been right. If he had been a man, a real man, this would have never happened to him. He would have been left alone and in peace.
He asked himself though, is that what real men would do? He had wondered that. Would any real man have treated the way the troops at the Real Army did? He sometimes doubted it. If he was so disgusting to them, why had they actually seemed to enjoy that act?
He remembered his father then. He had always warned him about his ways. It was punishment. Punishment from above so he would see the horror and just how unnatural his ways were. So he could change. So he could walk in the ways of God. They had been sent to change him and to right him even if it meant such suffering.
Edwin would have thought otherwise, though. And he didn't feel... unnatural... when they were together.
Edwin...
David closed his eyes tightly. The least he needed was to cry right now. Tears obscured his vision. He could fall and he wouldn't know. He had to concentrate.
Instead, all he could hear was Edwin repeating: "Don't be afraid. We're not monsters. We're humans. This is human too. Whoever dares to tell you otherwise, is the monster."
He had been surrounded my monsters and beget by monsters then. He ran quicker. But, really? Could he call his father a monster? He had promised Edwin he would always remember that. That no one could take his teachings away from him. But it was so easy to tell him that, under a blue British sky, a sky seldom seen. It was easy to feel that way when he was away from home. Now, surrounded by woods, alone, being chased, with his life in danger, it was not so easy to keep Edwin's teachings as his guiding light. The thought his mentor could be wrong saddened him. The thought he had come back to unlearn everything Edwin had carefully taught him made him choke. He had to sit down for a while to cough and spit. He had reached a clearing, which was dangerous, but he couldn't take another step.
After retching for a few seconds, David stood up. That was when he turned back and saw, at a menacing distance, Álvaro Arbeloa, holding his gun, raising it slowly.
"Perdona David, pero tú te lo has buscado.**"
Indeed. Arbeloa thought it was his fault too.
"A la patria no se le traiciona.***"
He was a little scum. Standing out in the open. Nothing but a tree some steps away.
"Tu cabeza ya tiene precio. Y es muy alto, David. Quién diría, el hijo de José de Gea enemigo del país.*****"
Álvaro cocked the gun.
"No he de desaprovechar esta oportunidad.*****"
A single gunshot broke the silence.
(Spanish words)
*Shit
**I'm sorry David. You asked for it.
***You don't betray your country.
****Your head has a price, David. And it's a high price. Who would have thought José de Gea's son is an enemy to the country.
*****I shall not let my chance pass.