Football One Shots

Eden Hazard: Blame It On The Alcohol?

My stomach churned when I found nearly twenty missed calls from my best friend, Jelena. I thought maybe they were about my match. I was away in Belgium for a week and while there, Belgium had an important Euro qualifier game. In the 88th minute we had conceded a goal and lost.

I realized the first voicemail was about the match. She offered an apology and her best advice. I could hear her doorbell ring, and she told me that she thought her boyfriend was going to propose to her.

I threw my phone and plopped onto my bed. Jelena is a friend, yes, but I never intended for her to be my friend forever. Eventually I wanted to make her my girlfriend. She seemed so excited by the idea of her getting engaged to him.

I'm so much better for her though.

As the rain outside hit the roof of my home in a pitter patter, and the glass table on the patio was being abused by the heavy drops falling on it. I decided to get up and listen to the rest of her messages.

Reluctantly, I placed the phone to my ear and listened to the next one. It was two hours after her first message. I was readying myself to hear that she was engaged.

Instead I was greeted by a sniffle and that's when I regretted not listening when I got home an hour and a half ago.

As the messages went on, I realized she was hopelessly drunk. That's when I got in my car and continued to listen to them on speaker as I drove to her home. My heart broke as I listened to her talk about everything that bothered her.

She told me some things I didn't know about in each message. They ranged in different vulnerability levels. In one she casually mentioned she was in love with me for two years. That was before she met her now ex-boyfriend. In another, she admitted that she had Cesar Azpilicueta and Oscar helping her learn to play football, so we could play together. In another she admitted that she loves Chelsea. If I ever play for another club she wouldn't be able to root against Chelsea. Or, that she lied when she said I was her favorite player, it's actually Oscar.

Then she got upset and ended her last message with, "I miss you. Don't go away anymore."

I arrived at her home shortly after that. I wasn't sure if she was even there. It sounded like she was as she talked in her messages so I went on a limb. I noted it was about three in the morning and her last message was over two hours ago.

I let myself in and looked in her living room. She wasn't there so I checked her bedroom, which was inconveniently person-less. I doubted her being home as I closed her bedroom door. I walked around her home and looked for her. Back in her living room I sat on her couch and hoped she was okay and would be home soon.

As I sat there I realized there was a person crawled into a ball laying on a lawn chair. Her back was rising up and down and when I opened the sliding door I could hear soft whimpers.

"Jelena?" I said.

She startled and turned to look at me. In the darkness of the night I couldn't see her eyes clearly, but they glistened from the moon with her tears.

"Eden." She breathed.

"I missed you." She whimpered.

I lowered myself to her level and immediately my nose met the stench of alcohol. In her arms, a bottle of vodka. I took the bottle from her. She grabbed one of my hands and held it.

"I called you." She announced in a shaky voice.

My heart sunk at the mention of the voicemails and the multitude of them.

"I just got back, I'm sorry love." I lied.

"I'm sorry you lost, that's what I said." She told me through slurs and stutters.