Soccer/Football Imagines

Holger Badstuber [~] Bumps and Punches

You and Holger had officially been married for three years. Before that you had been dating since you were both sixteen years old. You welcomed a daughter into the world a few years ago; she was now three. You and Holger had never really had arguments in your relationship. Sure, there were disagreements but that came with being in a relationship with someone.

                However, recently, you two had been getting into bigger and bigger arguments. It started out small: not putting away the dishes or leaving dirty clothes on the ground. Then before you knew it, you two were screaming at each other at the top of your lungs. You were both under stress as working parents and small things amassed into battles.

                His teammates and your coworkers noticed, though no one said anything about your crumbling relationship. They did, however, drop hints that they knew about the altercations. You and Holger isolated yourselves from the rest of the world.

                The fighting had never reached a physical stage, until one night. You had just finished a twelve hour shift and came home to a messy house with Holger lounging on the couch, playing FIFA. "What happened in here?" you asked, staring at your surroundings.

                "What do you mean what happened?"

                "I mean that this house is an absolute pig sty, Holger!"

                "That's how it always is," he replied, focusing on his game.

                "Except for the minute detail that I spent all yesterday cleaning up your mess!"

                "I never asked you to do that," he retorted.

                "Well would you rather suffocate from the noxious fumes? Or drown in dirty clothes?" you shot back, motioning to his work bag. "When was the last time you allowed your stuff to air out?"

                "About two weeks ago, why?"

                "Because I can smell it from twenty feet away!"

                "Well then, just set it outside," Holger brushed you off.

                "It's your stuff, Holger. I'm not your mother or your maid!" Holger became immersed even more into his game, and ignored you. "Holger!" No response. "Holger Badstuber!" No response. You had reached the final straw. Your face grew red from anger as you stomped over to the TV. Pulling the plug from the outlet, your husband's game shut off.

                "What the hell! I was in the middle of something!" Holger shouted.

                "I was talking to you," you replied. "And you weren't listening to me because of this stupid game!"