Miserable At Best Chapter Five
Title: Miserable At Best
Chapter: 5/6
Pairings: David Villa/David Silva, Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos (Mentioned), Olalla/Patricia (Mentioned)
Rated: PG13
WC: 4240
Disclaimer: As true as me ever wearing my Torres Liverpool jersey again… yeah.
Feedback: Loved and worshipped.
I know I said 5 parts, but I’m having a really hard time with the last scene and this whole past weekend. Well, let’s just say most of it was spent drinking and crying. It’s weird to think you’ve been wearing someone’s jerseys for 10 years and now, it all means nothing. I suppose I’m being overly dramatic, but whatever. I feel betrayed, but I’ll reserve judgment until he releases an official statement.
Not beta’d yet. I’ll do that when I’m not hung over.
Miserable at Best
Chapter Five (part a)
I can live without you but without you I’ll be miserable at best
Manchester is slowly becoming a better fit. You have slowly begun to smile again and mean it. There’s a new found independence and confidence you’ve found in yourself in Carlos’s absence from the team. Sure, your teammates and you still don’t speak the same language, but you are slowing learning English and communication is more than spoken words. What did that octopus woman say? Oh yes, ‘don’t underestimate the importance of body language’. Sure, she meant it differently, but the advice still applies. Ha! You’ve even been out with them a few times to try to stave off your image as a shy homebody.
Glancing at your calendar, you smile and thank the higher powers that you have the next two days completely off. No early mornings, no freezing practices, no jokes about wearing a snood; just two days of sitting around and destroying your brain with TV. Fernando is coming over later to hang out, which is really his polite way of saying ‘escape the mother-in-law’. With Olalla ready to give birth within the next month, her mother has begun staying with them to help with Nora as well as around the house. Apparently a toddler, pregnant wife, and mother-in-law under one roof could be hellish. Then again, Fernando might just be being dramatic. You remember Patricia and Zaida being perfectly normal when Patricia was pregnant with Olaya, and David never complaining.
Damn it. You snap the rubber band around your wrist. One snap for every time you think of him. You wrist is already red and will be for the foreseeable future.
“This might be the last time I can hang out until after the baby is born,” Fernando tells you as soon as another Dr. Who episode begins. “Just in case…”
“Understandable,” you respond, trying to translate what the actors are saying. “I bet he’ll be born during one of your matches.”
“No way, my kids are thoughtful and well mannered from the moment they are conceived.”
“You are so full of shit.”
The temperature is well below what you would like- the heat has cut out yet again and you’re beginning to wish you didn’t keep your snoods in your locker. As it was, you pull Fernando into your bedroom, slapping away his hands, as it’s the warmest room. The two of you are pressed together, snuggling under your blankets. There is nothing sexual about it. If anything, you’ve come to regard Fernando as a brother, weird considering the two of you were never particularly close during call ups and you’ve been jealous of his close relationship with David. But now you’ve seen another side of Fernando, the side that isn’t El Niño- his mortal side. He’s having a piss poor season with Liverpool this year and nothing seems to be going his way. You know a great deal of his hurt comes from not having Sergio within arms reach. Did David ever look so sad and longing when he spoke about you as Fernando did when he spoke about Sergio?
You are jarred from your musings when your phone rings and without thinking, you pick it up:
“Hello?”
“Hi Enano! I miss you, can you come visit please?”
“… Zaida?”
“Or can I visit you? Please?”
“Umm… I miss you a lot too Zaida.” While this is true, you are a little shocked at receiving a call this late from your ex-lover’s four year old daughter. “But shouldn’t you be asleep? Do your parents know you’ve called me?”
“No,” she whispers conspiratorially, “they’re talking downstairs; I’m hiding in my castle.”
“Oh… Princess, you know you shouldn’t use the phone without permission.” Fernando is sniggering in his hand next to you and getting up, you punch his shoulder and wander into the living room.
“I know, but I’m on a secret mission.”
Suddenly, the image of Zaida in pink camo with her hair in pigtails comes into your mind and you smile fondly. She’s probably in her closet, or hiding under her bed or wherever she’s decided her castle is today. But, she’s on a mission and you know you should listen because Patricia’s brain and David’s stubbornness combined in their daughter has made a terrifying foe. You snap the rubber band.
“What’s the mission and how can I help?”
“The mission is to fix Daddy’s broken heart.” You nearly drop the phone and you have to take a deep breath to keep from shaking. “Mommy says his heart is broken because you are not here.”
“She said that?” Your voice is a hoarse whisper and you are terrified that your biggest fear is coming true: your fall into temptation is going to destroy David’s family.
“Yes, she says you are both mis-misa-miserable because you are blind. I don’t think that’s true, you can see fine.”
“Did… did she say anything else?” You try to sound normal but you know you are failing.
“She wants you both to be happy!” Zaida chirps. “But Daddy told me that you two are sad because you broke something and couldn’t fix it. Was it a toy?”
“No, honey…”
“I have an idea! If I can find a new one, than you and Daddy can be happy again and you’ll come home. I miss you Enano.”
“I don’t-”
Your night just keeps getting better and better as you hear her exclaim ‘Daddy!’ in the back ground. Tinkerbell? That was the best she could come up with? Well, she is only four you tell yourself. You hear David asking for the phone and you know you should hang up. No, you’re too weak to hang up. Snap. Snap. Snap. The rubber band is getting a work out tonight.
“David?”
All he has to do is breathe your name and your mind returns to subtle glances, stolen kisses, and crumbled sheets. There’s no one else in the world, just him and you connected through the phone. This shouldn’t be happening because you told yourself it shouldn’t, but what’s one more lie in a series of lies you’ve told yourself concerning him?
“Hello Villa,” you finally say, voice completely calm and devoid of emotion.
“I’m sorry that she bothered you this late,” his words sound forced and you wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to speak to you or if he is as nervous as you are.
“It’s fine, she’s never a bother.”
Pause
“How are you?”
You wonder if he likes torturing you like this. “Fine… you?”
“Fine.” He’s lying; that was the most unconvincing thing you’ve ever heard him say. “David, listen, I want to tell you-”
“David, what’s taking so long?” Fernando yells and your little universe’s bubble breaks.
“Is that Fernando?” His words are laced with ice and anger and you cringe. “David, please don’t tell me that you and Fernando…”
“David, it’s freezing, come back to bed,” Fernando whines and you have the burning urge to kick him.
“Oh…”
“We’re not-” you being to explain, but he cuts you off.
“You don’t have to explain. I just wanted to say that I miss you.”
The guilt card, eh? Oh no, you’re not going to put up with the guilt card when you aren’t even together. The rubber band is burning into you.
“David, the heat cut out and we’re watching a movie in my room because it’s the warmest.” You say flatly, anger beginning to build.
“Oh. I’m sorry, I just, uh…”
You. Are. Furious. “Assumed that I had a moral dilemma fucking a married man and ended it to clear my conscience and started seeing another married man?” You spit. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.” Your hands are shaking because you’re so angry and you’re about to hang up the phone.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you quietly. “It’s none of my business.”
‘Damn right,’ you want to say, but being bitchy isn’t going to make things better. Sighing, you say, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Look, this isn’t a conversation I want to have right now.” Or ever.
“Then when? You don’t return my calls.” No shit Sherlock.
“Then the next time we see each other in person,” you dodge his demand because you plan the times you want to see people in your new life of order. “I guess that won’t be until February or March since we won’t get called up until then.”
“That’s months from now.” There is a pleading, sad tone in his voice and you know if you don’t hang up, you will crumble to him like so many times before.
“I have to go.” What happened to your anger?
“David, please-”
“Goodnight.” Cutting him off before he can weaken you even more, you hang up.
A shuddering gasp of breath leaves your lips as you drop your phone as if it’s burned you. Clenching your fists, you will your hands to stop shaking. It’s no use as your arms and shoulders are shaking too. This can’t be happening. You’ve worked too hard at forgetting him. It’s no use- you know that no matter how many times you bleach, reorganize, drink, or snap that fucking rubber band, you’ll still be possessed by him. A thousand miles away and he can still create chaos. Snap. Snap. Snap. Pathetic.
“David?”
Fernando is standing in the doorway of your bedroom, giving you a worried glance. You don’t want his god damned pity and sympathy. Maybe you should have taken him up on that pity fuck so you’d have something to get your mind off of Villa.
“Just… just give me a minute.” You tell him, quaver more than noticeable in your voice.
He doesn’t listen and instead crosses the room to pull you in his arms. Sergio’s rubbed off on him in this regard, and you are both sad and jealous of the love they share. Knowing that they love each other, and that Fernando loves his very pregnant wife, makes you feel awkward in his embrace. There’s nothing the least bit sexual in it, but you don’t think someone who has such a beautiful and pure love should be touching someone as dirty and vile as you.
“Please let me go Fernando,” you mumble from where your head is pressed tightly against his chest.
“No.” He tells you firmly. “You need to stop doing this to yourself. He loves you, whether or not he can put it into words, and you love him.”
“He’s married and I… I can’t.”
Fernando sighs and relaxes his grip on you. You know he means well but just because his relationships have worked out so successfully doesn’t mean that yours will. Villa would have to confess to Patricia and that would more than likely lead to a divorce and tabloid report. No, you would never risk their happiness- ignorance is bliss.
He leads you back into your bedroom and the two of you resume watching Dr. Who in silence. Fernando pulls out his phone and after a few rapid text messages, informs you he is spending the night. Rolling your eyes, you tell him if he snores, you’ll smother him with a pillow.
“Tomorrow will be better,” Fernando tells you as you return from brushing your teeth. “Now come here; you can be my little spoon.”
Allowing Fernando to hold you, you quietly thank your friend for being there. Fernando just plants a kiss in your hair and tells you that’s what friends are for. It’s nice not to fall asleep alone. It’s even nicer to have someone to silently hold you and rub your back when you start to cry like you do almost every night. You pray he is right and tomorrow is better.
* * *
The cab is waiting for you outside. There is something completely awkward about hugging your wife goodbye when she knows where and why you are going. You suppose it shouldn’t be awkward given it was her idea (her and Olalla’s idea, you correct yourself), but you still are fidgeting. Patricia just smiles sweetly, kisses you, and then orders you not to return until Silva is better.
“I love you,” you tell her, embracing her as you pick up your bag.
“I love you too.” She hands you a box and the sharp smell of ginger wafts up. “These are for Olalla, don’t eat any.”
Your wife’s lover is picking you up at the airport and taking you to your ex-lover’s apartment. The whole concept of what is occurring is foreign and confusing in your mind. Your wife and you are a unit, but you are both also part of another unit. David plus Patricia is equal to David plus David is equal to Patricia plus Olalla is equal to Olalla plus Fernando is equal Fernando plus Sergio. Each part of the equation is different, but all are equal. It’s like how 1+9, 2+8, 3+7, 4+6, and 5+5 all equal ten but arrive to it and are expressed in different ways. Well, it makes sense in your mind anyway.
The flight is uncomfortable for a number of reasons. The biggest is that everyone is staring at you because you’re famous. The stares aren’t unusual but for some reason, you think they all know what you’re about to do. You don’t even know what you’re about to do, so thinking that people on a plane would know is pure paranoia on your part. That’s the second reason you are uncomfortable; you don’t know what you’re going to say or do. The only options are to ring his doorbell and just stand there like an idiot or follow Cesc’s advice of showing up on a white horse. Yeah, like that’s going to happen. You don’t even know where to get a horse in Manchester. Patricia has advised you to be open and honest, two qualities that you lack. Well, not honesty; you’re brutally honest except in times when you need to be honest. Like now.
Far too soon, the plane is touching down in Manchester. You’ve heard it’s a nice city but now in the fall, all you see is gray. If Barcelona is colors and joy, Manchester is monochromatic and quiet. Maybe you’re being over dramatic, but you don’t really care. All you know is it’s gray, cold, and smells faintly of ginger, but you suspect that’s from the box of cookies in your hands.
Olalla is hard to miss as you exit the terminal area. She might be small, but she is heavily pregnant; you feel a twinge of guilt that a woman this far along in her pregnancy is picking you up. Saying hello with a soft kiss on the cheek, you thank her for picking you up and give her the box of cookies. An older woman walks by slowly and says something to Olalla, but as it’s in English, you don’t understand. Ever the epitome of politeness and grace, she smiles, responds, and eventually the old lady wanders off.
“Apparently you and I are going to have a beautiful baby and I am lucky to have a husband who brings me gifts,” Olalla tells you wryly. “Perhaps I should have told her the truth?”
Giving a few tense chuckles, you respond, “I don’t think anyone would believe you.”
“Probably not.” She opens the box. “Oooo gingersnaps. She does know the way to my heart.” She freezes and looks up at you, unsure if she’s crossed some unspoken line. “This is fucked up, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you mutter; the whole situation is fucked up like some bad romance novel. “But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” You’ve told yourself that a million times to try to justify what is occurring.
“Do you hate me?”
“Do you hate Sergio?”
“I…” Olalla frowns and pauses for a brief moment. “Only when he hurts Fernando, and half of the time not even then.” She looks you straight in the eye. “Fernando can be a prissy bitch sometimes. Wanna cookie?”
“Are you trying to buy my blessing with cookies?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
You both take a small round cookie from the both and stuff the whole thing into your mouths. Offering your arm to her, she takes it, and guides you towards the parking deck. Olalla’s dry humor and wit greatly alleviates any tension between the two of you, and you realize that you share the same sarcastic humor. Perhaps that is a quality that Patricia is attracted to. As she opens the trunk of her car, you find your eyes drifting down to check out her ass. Oh yes, it would be nice to watch her with your wife and your mind begins to wander.
“Never going to happen,” her sing song voice snaps you back to reality and you color realizing she’s caught you staring. “Unless you and Fernando decide…” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“No. Ugh, just no.”
“Not short and fluffy enough for you?”
Silva’s small body, perfectly sized for fitting against you, and boyish hair float into your mind. “No, not by a long shot.”
“Then I guess you’re out of luck.” When you’re both in the car, she turns to you and says, “Don’t tell Fernando about Patricia. She doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you smirk. “Something I know that he doesn’t? It will drive him crazy.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Great minds think alike you know.”
“Are we alike?” You ask her, curious to see what she thinks.
“Sarcastic, silent, affinity for pink, easily stressed, and in love with the same woman? Yes.” She pulls the car out of the structure and onto the road. “But I have something that you can only dream of having.”
“Pft, what?” You scoff.
“Boobs.”
You open your mouth to try for a witty comeback, but there’s nothing you can comeback with. There’s no equivalent of boobs. You can say something about cocks, but she’ll just tell you she can buy a vibrator and probably have a better time.
“Fine, you’re right.” You acquiesce.
She laughs. “I wish Fernando would admit that more often. Now, about your problem with David…”
* * *
Love. The word itself is short, one syllable, but perhaps it doesn’t need extra vowels and constantans to convey what it means. Love is greater than other emotions; love is all emotions. Love is a spectrum that ranges from nervous butterfly kisses, to all encompassing bliss, and to crying for loss. A smile, a kiss, a stolen glance, a letter, and even a box of gingersnaps can convey love. Most know love as pinks and reds- declarations and bliss.
Love is misery. Misery is knowing you love someone but also knowing you can and should live without them. Most turn a blind eye to the part of love that involves crying yourself to sleep at night. Love can lead to an early grave as its tender hooks rip the will to live from your body, leaving you a hollow shell of the person you once were.
Love does not fit into a box. No matter what a religion, a book, a government, a society says, love is not one size fits all. Love is not only between a man and a woman. Love is not only between two people. Love is greater than any mortal, earthbound definition.
* * *
The first thing David is aware of when he wakes up is someone singing horribly off key in his kitchen.
“We are young, heartache to heartache we stand.”
He wipes at his eyes, a layer of dried tears from the night before flakes off. Wiggling his toes and arching his back, he pushes the covers off. The heat must have been fixed sometime during the night, as a wall of frozen air isn’t there to chill him.
“No promises, no demands.”
David recognizes the song, but it’s too early for English.
“Love is a battlefield.”
The clock next to the bed says 10 am; he hasn’t slept in this late in a while. Standing, he leaves his bedroom and shuffles towards the kitchen where Fernando is stirring a pot of what appears to be oatmeal but might very well be toxic sludge.
“Good morning Little Spoon. Breakfast is almost done,” Fernando says cheerfully.
“How long have you been awake?” David yawns and slides into a stool at the kitchen bar.
“Long enough to shower and cook,” He gives the pot another few stirs. “Olalla called and told me she was driving over this way soon. I guess she needed to escape her mother.”
There’s something in Fernando’s tone that gives David a small suspicion that Fernando is either twisting or not telling the whole truth. He doesn’t press it though- it’s too early for suspicions.
“Done! Eat up. A growing boy needs good nutrition,” Fernando says in a sing song voice as he slides a bowl of sludge in front of David. “We wouldn’t want your growth to be stunted.”
“Let me contain my laughter,” David delivers a glare and Fernando just laughs him off.
“What are you doing with your days off,” he asks, sliding onto the stool next to David.
“I haven’t thought about it. Maybe I’ll see if someone on the team wants to do something.” He takes an experimental bite and finds it’s palatable. “I’ll probably just play video games, sleep, and watch the games.”
“Sounds good, I-” Fernando’s cell phone vibrates, indicating he has a text message. Quickly reading it, he turns to David and says, “Uh… Olalla wants to come up and say hello when she gets here.”
“… Okay.” David takes another bite. “I guess I should shower so I don’t make her faint.”
“Wear that baby blue sweater, it looks good on you,” David raises an eyebrow at Fernando’s attempt to be nonchalant. “What? Maybe she wants to go out for lunch. We can find you someone new….”
“I am not wandering the streets of Manchester looking for a date.”
“But… just wear the blue sweater, okay?”
“… Okay.”
David rolls his eyes but doesn’t question Fernando’s sudden interest in his wardrobe. He wants to say something snarky about how Fernando should pay attention to how Sergio dresses. There are just some members of the National Team who should invest in personal shoppers. Perhaps Xabi could shop for them or Alvaro depending on the look you were going for.
Quickly finishing his oatmeal, David puts the bowl to soak in the sink before grabbing some cloths, blue sweater included, and heading towards the shower. Maybe some time outside of the apartment not relating to practice or games will be good for him, though he’s definitely not looking for a random hook up like Fernando suggested.
Today is the first day in a very long time where David has not woken up alone. Even though it’s just Fernando, a friend he feels forever indebted to, it’s a refreshing change to not feel so alone. Perhaps today he can finally turn the last page in his old book and start a new. Maybe today will be different.
* * *
A door is all that is separating the two Davids. But what is a door; a way to shut out the world or an opening to something new and unknown? One man stands on the inside of the Door, building walls made of already crumbled resolve. The other man stands on the outside of the Door, terrified of the unknown he will encounter. The Door is a stalemate if no one enters or exits through it. Sometimes, a door is only a door; a transition from one room to the next. This Door however, is a lot knowledgeable then it lets on.
The Door knows the man on the inside very well. Everyday, the Door sees the strong face that David wears and shows the outside world. As soon as the Door closes and David is safely building broken walls inside again, his façade leaves his body and he returns to being the broken, hollow man. The Door wishes it had arms so that it could hold David when he cries or simply pat his back and tell him everything would be alright with time. The Door is very old and has been here for a long time. It knows that broken hearts eventually heal. Knowing that David will never be able to hear it, the Door must simply be content in keeping its locks strong to protect David from any harm.
The man standing on the outside of the apartment is someone the Door never thought it would see. His picture is in a few of the pictures David keeps on the walls and the Door knows this man is also called David, but referred to as Villa or ‘him’. The Door also aware of the fact that this is the man David cries over and is the reason for his heartache. This man isn’t an evil monster though, but rather reminiscent of a nervous and anxious boy. He has reached up to knock on the Door twice, but faltered both times. The Door knows this human ritual well, having seen it many times in its long installation in this frame. While it is entirely possible that the man has come to apologize to David and fix his broken heart, it doesn’t mean the Door will make it easy.
KNOCK KNOCK
Chapter: 5/6
Pairings: David Villa/David Silva, Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos (Mentioned), Olalla/Patricia (Mentioned)
Rated: PG13
WC: 4240
Disclaimer: As true as me ever wearing my Torres Liverpool jersey again… yeah.
Feedback: Loved and worshipped.
I know I said 5 parts, but I’m having a really hard time with the last scene and this whole past weekend. Well, let’s just say most of it was spent drinking and crying. It’s weird to think you’ve been wearing someone’s jerseys for 10 years and now, it all means nothing. I suppose I’m being overly dramatic, but whatever. I feel betrayed, but I’ll reserve judgment until he releases an official statement.
Not beta’d yet. I’ll do that when I’m not hung over.
Miserable at Best
Chapter Five (part a)
I can live without you but without you I’ll be miserable at best
Manchester is slowly becoming a better fit. You have slowly begun to smile again and mean it. There’s a new found independence and confidence you’ve found in yourself in Carlos’s absence from the team. Sure, your teammates and you still don’t speak the same language, but you are slowing learning English and communication is more than spoken words. What did that octopus woman say? Oh yes, ‘don’t underestimate the importance of body language’. Sure, she meant it differently, but the advice still applies. Ha! You’ve even been out with them a few times to try to stave off your image as a shy homebody.
Glancing at your calendar, you smile and thank the higher powers that you have the next two days completely off. No early mornings, no freezing practices, no jokes about wearing a snood; just two days of sitting around and destroying your brain with TV. Fernando is coming over later to hang out, which is really his polite way of saying ‘escape the mother-in-law’. With Olalla ready to give birth within the next month, her mother has begun staying with them to help with Nora as well as around the house. Apparently a toddler, pregnant wife, and mother-in-law under one roof could be hellish. Then again, Fernando might just be being dramatic. You remember Patricia and Zaida being perfectly normal when Patricia was pregnant with Olaya, and David never complaining.
Damn it. You snap the rubber band around your wrist. One snap for every time you think of him. You wrist is already red and will be for the foreseeable future.
“This might be the last time I can hang out until after the baby is born,” Fernando tells you as soon as another Dr. Who episode begins. “Just in case…”
“Understandable,” you respond, trying to translate what the actors are saying. “I bet he’ll be born during one of your matches.”
“No way, my kids are thoughtful and well mannered from the moment they are conceived.”
“You are so full of shit.”
The temperature is well below what you would like- the heat has cut out yet again and you’re beginning to wish you didn’t keep your snoods in your locker. As it was, you pull Fernando into your bedroom, slapping away his hands, as it’s the warmest room. The two of you are pressed together, snuggling under your blankets. There is nothing sexual about it. If anything, you’ve come to regard Fernando as a brother, weird considering the two of you were never particularly close during call ups and you’ve been jealous of his close relationship with David. But now you’ve seen another side of Fernando, the side that isn’t El Niño- his mortal side. He’s having a piss poor season with Liverpool this year and nothing seems to be going his way. You know a great deal of his hurt comes from not having Sergio within arms reach. Did David ever look so sad and longing when he spoke about you as Fernando did when he spoke about Sergio?
You are jarred from your musings when your phone rings and without thinking, you pick it up:
“Hello?”
“Hi Enano! I miss you, can you come visit please?”
“… Zaida?”
“Or can I visit you? Please?”
“Umm… I miss you a lot too Zaida.” While this is true, you are a little shocked at receiving a call this late from your ex-lover’s four year old daughter. “But shouldn’t you be asleep? Do your parents know you’ve called me?”
“No,” she whispers conspiratorially, “they’re talking downstairs; I’m hiding in my castle.”
“Oh… Princess, you know you shouldn’t use the phone without permission.” Fernando is sniggering in his hand next to you and getting up, you punch his shoulder and wander into the living room.
“I know, but I’m on a secret mission.”
Suddenly, the image of Zaida in pink camo with her hair in pigtails comes into your mind and you smile fondly. She’s probably in her closet, or hiding under her bed or wherever she’s decided her castle is today. But, she’s on a mission and you know you should listen because Patricia’s brain and David’s stubbornness combined in their daughter has made a terrifying foe. You snap the rubber band.
“What’s the mission and how can I help?”
“The mission is to fix Daddy’s broken heart.” You nearly drop the phone and you have to take a deep breath to keep from shaking. “Mommy says his heart is broken because you are not here.”
“She said that?” Your voice is a hoarse whisper and you are terrified that your biggest fear is coming true: your fall into temptation is going to destroy David’s family.
“Yes, she says you are both mis-misa-miserable because you are blind. I don’t think that’s true, you can see fine.”
“Did… did she say anything else?” You try to sound normal but you know you are failing.
“She wants you both to be happy!” Zaida chirps. “But Daddy told me that you two are sad because you broke something and couldn’t fix it. Was it a toy?”
“No, honey…”
“I have an idea! If I can find a new one, than you and Daddy can be happy again and you’ll come home. I miss you Enano.”
“I don’t-”
Your night just keeps getting better and better as you hear her exclaim ‘Daddy!’ in the back ground. Tinkerbell? That was the best she could come up with? Well, she is only four you tell yourself. You hear David asking for the phone and you know you should hang up. No, you’re too weak to hang up. Snap. Snap. Snap. The rubber band is getting a work out tonight.
“David?”
All he has to do is breathe your name and your mind returns to subtle glances, stolen kisses, and crumbled sheets. There’s no one else in the world, just him and you connected through the phone. This shouldn’t be happening because you told yourself it shouldn’t, but what’s one more lie in a series of lies you’ve told yourself concerning him?
“Hello Villa,” you finally say, voice completely calm and devoid of emotion.
“I’m sorry that she bothered you this late,” his words sound forced and you wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to speak to you or if he is as nervous as you are.
“It’s fine, she’s never a bother.”
Pause
“How are you?”
You wonder if he likes torturing you like this. “Fine… you?”
“Fine.” He’s lying; that was the most unconvincing thing you’ve ever heard him say. “David, listen, I want to tell you-”
“David, what’s taking so long?” Fernando yells and your little universe’s bubble breaks.
“Is that Fernando?” His words are laced with ice and anger and you cringe. “David, please don’t tell me that you and Fernando…”
“David, it’s freezing, come back to bed,” Fernando whines and you have the burning urge to kick him.
“Oh…”
“We’re not-” you being to explain, but he cuts you off.
“You don’t have to explain. I just wanted to say that I miss you.”
The guilt card, eh? Oh no, you’re not going to put up with the guilt card when you aren’t even together. The rubber band is burning into you.
“David, the heat cut out and we’re watching a movie in my room because it’s the warmest.” You say flatly, anger beginning to build.
“Oh. I’m sorry, I just, uh…”
You. Are. Furious. “Assumed that I had a moral dilemma fucking a married man and ended it to clear my conscience and started seeing another married man?” You spit. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.” Your hands are shaking because you’re so angry and you’re about to hang up the phone.
“I’m sorry,” he tells you quietly. “It’s none of my business.”
‘Damn right,’ you want to say, but being bitchy isn’t going to make things better. Sighing, you say, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Look, this isn’t a conversation I want to have right now.” Or ever.
“Then when? You don’t return my calls.” No shit Sherlock.
“Then the next time we see each other in person,” you dodge his demand because you plan the times you want to see people in your new life of order. “I guess that won’t be until February or March since we won’t get called up until then.”
“That’s months from now.” There is a pleading, sad tone in his voice and you know if you don’t hang up, you will crumble to him like so many times before.
“I have to go.” What happened to your anger?
“David, please-”
“Goodnight.” Cutting him off before he can weaken you even more, you hang up.
A shuddering gasp of breath leaves your lips as you drop your phone as if it’s burned you. Clenching your fists, you will your hands to stop shaking. It’s no use as your arms and shoulders are shaking too. This can’t be happening. You’ve worked too hard at forgetting him. It’s no use- you know that no matter how many times you bleach, reorganize, drink, or snap that fucking rubber band, you’ll still be possessed by him. A thousand miles away and he can still create chaos. Snap. Snap. Snap. Pathetic.
“David?”
Fernando is standing in the doorway of your bedroom, giving you a worried glance. You don’t want his god damned pity and sympathy. Maybe you should have taken him up on that pity fuck so you’d have something to get your mind off of Villa.
“Just… just give me a minute.” You tell him, quaver more than noticeable in your voice.
He doesn’t listen and instead crosses the room to pull you in his arms. Sergio’s rubbed off on him in this regard, and you are both sad and jealous of the love they share. Knowing that they love each other, and that Fernando loves his very pregnant wife, makes you feel awkward in his embrace. There’s nothing the least bit sexual in it, but you don’t think someone who has such a beautiful and pure love should be touching someone as dirty and vile as you.
“Please let me go Fernando,” you mumble from where your head is pressed tightly against his chest.
“No.” He tells you firmly. “You need to stop doing this to yourself. He loves you, whether or not he can put it into words, and you love him.”
“He’s married and I… I can’t.”
Fernando sighs and relaxes his grip on you. You know he means well but just because his relationships have worked out so successfully doesn’t mean that yours will. Villa would have to confess to Patricia and that would more than likely lead to a divorce and tabloid report. No, you would never risk their happiness- ignorance is bliss.
He leads you back into your bedroom and the two of you resume watching Dr. Who in silence. Fernando pulls out his phone and after a few rapid text messages, informs you he is spending the night. Rolling your eyes, you tell him if he snores, you’ll smother him with a pillow.
“Tomorrow will be better,” Fernando tells you as you return from brushing your teeth. “Now come here; you can be my little spoon.”
Allowing Fernando to hold you, you quietly thank your friend for being there. Fernando just plants a kiss in your hair and tells you that’s what friends are for. It’s nice not to fall asleep alone. It’s even nicer to have someone to silently hold you and rub your back when you start to cry like you do almost every night. You pray he is right and tomorrow is better.
* * *
The cab is waiting for you outside. There is something completely awkward about hugging your wife goodbye when she knows where and why you are going. You suppose it shouldn’t be awkward given it was her idea (her and Olalla’s idea, you correct yourself), but you still are fidgeting. Patricia just smiles sweetly, kisses you, and then orders you not to return until Silva is better.
“I love you,” you tell her, embracing her as you pick up your bag.
“I love you too.” She hands you a box and the sharp smell of ginger wafts up. “These are for Olalla, don’t eat any.”
Your wife’s lover is picking you up at the airport and taking you to your ex-lover’s apartment. The whole concept of what is occurring is foreign and confusing in your mind. Your wife and you are a unit, but you are both also part of another unit. David plus Patricia is equal to David plus David is equal to Patricia plus Olalla is equal to Olalla plus Fernando is equal Fernando plus Sergio. Each part of the equation is different, but all are equal. It’s like how 1+9, 2+8, 3+7, 4+6, and 5+5 all equal ten but arrive to it and are expressed in different ways. Well, it makes sense in your mind anyway.
The flight is uncomfortable for a number of reasons. The biggest is that everyone is staring at you because you’re famous. The stares aren’t unusual but for some reason, you think they all know what you’re about to do. You don’t even know what you’re about to do, so thinking that people on a plane would know is pure paranoia on your part. That’s the second reason you are uncomfortable; you don’t know what you’re going to say or do. The only options are to ring his doorbell and just stand there like an idiot or follow Cesc’s advice of showing up on a white horse. Yeah, like that’s going to happen. You don’t even know where to get a horse in Manchester. Patricia has advised you to be open and honest, two qualities that you lack. Well, not honesty; you’re brutally honest except in times when you need to be honest. Like now.
Far too soon, the plane is touching down in Manchester. You’ve heard it’s a nice city but now in the fall, all you see is gray. If Barcelona is colors and joy, Manchester is monochromatic and quiet. Maybe you’re being over dramatic, but you don’t really care. All you know is it’s gray, cold, and smells faintly of ginger, but you suspect that’s from the box of cookies in your hands.
Olalla is hard to miss as you exit the terminal area. She might be small, but she is heavily pregnant; you feel a twinge of guilt that a woman this far along in her pregnancy is picking you up. Saying hello with a soft kiss on the cheek, you thank her for picking you up and give her the box of cookies. An older woman walks by slowly and says something to Olalla, but as it’s in English, you don’t understand. Ever the epitome of politeness and grace, she smiles, responds, and eventually the old lady wanders off.
“Apparently you and I are going to have a beautiful baby and I am lucky to have a husband who brings me gifts,” Olalla tells you wryly. “Perhaps I should have told her the truth?”
Giving a few tense chuckles, you respond, “I don’t think anyone would believe you.”
“Probably not.” She opens the box. “Oooo gingersnaps. She does know the way to my heart.” She freezes and looks up at you, unsure if she’s crossed some unspoken line. “This is fucked up, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you mutter; the whole situation is fucked up like some bad romance novel. “But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” You’ve told yourself that a million times to try to justify what is occurring.
“Do you hate me?”
“Do you hate Sergio?”
“I…” Olalla frowns and pauses for a brief moment. “Only when he hurts Fernando, and half of the time not even then.” She looks you straight in the eye. “Fernando can be a prissy bitch sometimes. Wanna cookie?”
“Are you trying to buy my blessing with cookies?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
You both take a small round cookie from the both and stuff the whole thing into your mouths. Offering your arm to her, she takes it, and guides you towards the parking deck. Olalla’s dry humor and wit greatly alleviates any tension between the two of you, and you realize that you share the same sarcastic humor. Perhaps that is a quality that Patricia is attracted to. As she opens the trunk of her car, you find your eyes drifting down to check out her ass. Oh yes, it would be nice to watch her with your wife and your mind begins to wander.
“Never going to happen,” her sing song voice snaps you back to reality and you color realizing she’s caught you staring. “Unless you and Fernando decide…” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“No. Ugh, just no.”
“Not short and fluffy enough for you?”
Silva’s small body, perfectly sized for fitting against you, and boyish hair float into your mind. “No, not by a long shot.”
“Then I guess you’re out of luck.” When you’re both in the car, she turns to you and says, “Don’t tell Fernando about Patricia. She doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you smirk. “Something I know that he doesn’t? It will drive him crazy.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Great minds think alike you know.”
“Are we alike?” You ask her, curious to see what she thinks.
“Sarcastic, silent, affinity for pink, easily stressed, and in love with the same woman? Yes.” She pulls the car out of the structure and onto the road. “But I have something that you can only dream of having.”
“Pft, what?” You scoff.
“Boobs.”
You open your mouth to try for a witty comeback, but there’s nothing you can comeback with. There’s no equivalent of boobs. You can say something about cocks, but she’ll just tell you she can buy a vibrator and probably have a better time.
“Fine, you’re right.” You acquiesce.
She laughs. “I wish Fernando would admit that more often. Now, about your problem with David…”
* * *
Love. The word itself is short, one syllable, but perhaps it doesn’t need extra vowels and constantans to convey what it means. Love is greater than other emotions; love is all emotions. Love is a spectrum that ranges from nervous butterfly kisses, to all encompassing bliss, and to crying for loss. A smile, a kiss, a stolen glance, a letter, and even a box of gingersnaps can convey love. Most know love as pinks and reds- declarations and bliss.
Love is misery. Misery is knowing you love someone but also knowing you can and should live without them. Most turn a blind eye to the part of love that involves crying yourself to sleep at night. Love can lead to an early grave as its tender hooks rip the will to live from your body, leaving you a hollow shell of the person you once were.
Love does not fit into a box. No matter what a religion, a book, a government, a society says, love is not one size fits all. Love is not only between a man and a woman. Love is not only between two people. Love is greater than any mortal, earthbound definition.
* * *
The first thing David is aware of when he wakes up is someone singing horribly off key in his kitchen.
“We are young, heartache to heartache we stand.”
He wipes at his eyes, a layer of dried tears from the night before flakes off. Wiggling his toes and arching his back, he pushes the covers off. The heat must have been fixed sometime during the night, as a wall of frozen air isn’t there to chill him.
“No promises, no demands.”
David recognizes the song, but it’s too early for English.
“Love is a battlefield.”
The clock next to the bed says 10 am; he hasn’t slept in this late in a while. Standing, he leaves his bedroom and shuffles towards the kitchen where Fernando is stirring a pot of what appears to be oatmeal but might very well be toxic sludge.
“Good morning Little Spoon. Breakfast is almost done,” Fernando says cheerfully.
“How long have you been awake?” David yawns and slides into a stool at the kitchen bar.
“Long enough to shower and cook,” He gives the pot another few stirs. “Olalla called and told me she was driving over this way soon. I guess she needed to escape her mother.”
There’s something in Fernando’s tone that gives David a small suspicion that Fernando is either twisting or not telling the whole truth. He doesn’t press it though- it’s too early for suspicions.
“Done! Eat up. A growing boy needs good nutrition,” Fernando says in a sing song voice as he slides a bowl of sludge in front of David. “We wouldn’t want your growth to be stunted.”
“Let me contain my laughter,” David delivers a glare and Fernando just laughs him off.
“What are you doing with your days off,” he asks, sliding onto the stool next to David.
“I haven’t thought about it. Maybe I’ll see if someone on the team wants to do something.” He takes an experimental bite and finds it’s palatable. “I’ll probably just play video games, sleep, and watch the games.”
“Sounds good, I-” Fernando’s cell phone vibrates, indicating he has a text message. Quickly reading it, he turns to David and says, “Uh… Olalla wants to come up and say hello when she gets here.”
“… Okay.” David takes another bite. “I guess I should shower so I don’t make her faint.”
“Wear that baby blue sweater, it looks good on you,” David raises an eyebrow at Fernando’s attempt to be nonchalant. “What? Maybe she wants to go out for lunch. We can find you someone new….”
“I am not wandering the streets of Manchester looking for a date.”
“But… just wear the blue sweater, okay?”
“… Okay.”
David rolls his eyes but doesn’t question Fernando’s sudden interest in his wardrobe. He wants to say something snarky about how Fernando should pay attention to how Sergio dresses. There are just some members of the National Team who should invest in personal shoppers. Perhaps Xabi could shop for them or Alvaro depending on the look you were going for.
Quickly finishing his oatmeal, David puts the bowl to soak in the sink before grabbing some cloths, blue sweater included, and heading towards the shower. Maybe some time outside of the apartment not relating to practice or games will be good for him, though he’s definitely not looking for a random hook up like Fernando suggested.
Today is the first day in a very long time where David has not woken up alone. Even though it’s just Fernando, a friend he feels forever indebted to, it’s a refreshing change to not feel so alone. Perhaps today he can finally turn the last page in his old book and start a new. Maybe today will be different.
* * *
A door is all that is separating the two Davids. But what is a door; a way to shut out the world or an opening to something new and unknown? One man stands on the inside of the Door, building walls made of already crumbled resolve. The other man stands on the outside of the Door, terrified of the unknown he will encounter. The Door is a stalemate if no one enters or exits through it. Sometimes, a door is only a door; a transition from one room to the next. This Door however, is a lot knowledgeable then it lets on.
The Door knows the man on the inside very well. Everyday, the Door sees the strong face that David wears and shows the outside world. As soon as the Door closes and David is safely building broken walls inside again, his façade leaves his body and he returns to being the broken, hollow man. The Door wishes it had arms so that it could hold David when he cries or simply pat his back and tell him everything would be alright with time. The Door is very old and has been here for a long time. It knows that broken hearts eventually heal. Knowing that David will never be able to hear it, the Door must simply be content in keeping its locks strong to protect David from any harm.
The man standing on the outside of the apartment is someone the Door never thought it would see. His picture is in a few of the pictures David keeps on the walls and the Door knows this man is also called David, but referred to as Villa or ‘him’. The Door also aware of the fact that this is the man David cries over and is the reason for his heartache. This man isn’t an evil monster though, but rather reminiscent of a nervous and anxious boy. He has reached up to knock on the Door twice, but faltered both times. The Door knows this human ritual well, having seen it many times in its long installation in this frame. While it is entirely possible that the man has come to apologize to David and fix his broken heart, it doesn’t mean the Door will make it easy.
KNOCK KNOCK