Cooking With The QB ✔️

T W E N T Y S I X - "What's wrong?"

SURPRISE!! Merry Christmas to you all! To celebrate the holidays and it being Christmas, I've decided to do an early update!

There will also be another chapter this Friday!

This chapter is dedicated to @mylittlemochi1013 for voting and commenting! Thank you :)

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A X E L ' S   P O V

My anger burns through my veins, like smoke clogging up my brain.

My hands clench into fists as I remember her words.

It's like I don't even know you.

Drag you into a relationship.

We have a break.

Each word she said drove a dagger into my heart and poured fuel over the fire that is my anger.

As I walk away, my body seems to go into lock down.

Usually as a footballer, you're trained never to be shocked. To never give up, always be expecting next move. I thought there was nothing that my mind or body couldn't handle.

Yet, here we are.

I'm totally fucking thrown.

Over some stupid fight with a girl.

But as I walk away, her cries seem to be the only thing I can hear. Despite me being on a busy street with club music playing thirty meters away from me. They shoot through me, her cries like the wind extinguishing my rage.

I turn around for one last look, I can't help myself. I want to see her smiling and laughing her eyes lighting up in joy.

Because this could be the last time I see her for a while.

I've broken her and in the process, I've broken myself

Her small frame is being comforted by my best friend who I've never been so jealous of.

That should be me.

Only then does it occur to me why I'm so thrown, it's because she's not just some girl.

She's the girl of my dreams.

And I've fucked it up.

••••

The lights of the city seem to blur, the cars seem to go unusually fast and I feel like I'm falling.

Reaching my breaking point, tears clog up my throat, my anger completely diminished.

Reaching my apartment, I unlock the door only to want to walk straight back out.

She's everywhere.

The table which we ate the food that we made together, not quite chef level yet, but edible all the same.

The couch where we've laughed, watched films, kissed a fuck ton and I've gazed at her more times than I can count.

Every single fucking piece of furniture makes me want to cry.

Get it together, I scold myself.

But I can't, it's impossible.

Biting my lip in the hope that it'll keep the emotions at bay, I head to my bedroom.

Lying down on the bed, I cover my face with my hands. The tears that I've kept at bay seem to creep forward. However, I only allow a few to slip past me. I can't let myself be destroyed like this.