The Truth Behind The Womanizer

55

Sofia POV
The echoes of Pedri's birthday celebration have faded, and a week has passed since that night of joy and tension. As the mundane routine settles back in, so do the lingering questions that have been gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

It's matchday and we sit in Pedri's living room, I can't hold back the persistent thoughts any longer. The atmosphere is heavy with unspoken words as I broach the subject of Lucía in Hamburg.

"Pedri," I begin tentatively, "about Lucía..."

He looks up from his game, a flicker of impatience crossing his features. "We've been through this, Sofia. There's nothing to talk about."

"But Pedri, I need to understand," I insist, my voice tinged with a mix of anxiety and curiosity. "What happened in Hamburg?"

He sighs, setting the book aside. "We had a drink, Sofia. A drink and a conversation. That's it. There's nothing more to it."

His response does little to appease the storm of doubts in my mind. "It's not just about that night. It's about the fact that you didn't even think to keep me in the loop. I was left wondering, worrying if something had happened to you. How can you have a drink with her after what she did to us?"

Pedri's eyes narrow, and a trace of irritation colors his tone. "I can't be reporting every detail of my life, Sofia. I have my own responsibilities and a demanding schedule. It doesn't mean I'm hiding something from you."

His dismissive words ignite a spark of frustration within me. "It's not about reporting every detail. It's about being considerate, about understanding that a simple message can alleviate unnecessary worry. Is that too much to ask?"

Pedri's patience wears thin, and his voice edges with anger. "I can't believe you're still on about this. It's like you don't trust me."

His accusation hits me like a blow. Trust is the cornerstone of any relationship, and the implication that I lack it cuts deep. "Pedri, it's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I need reassurance, especially when things are unclear. She was the reason I cried so much."

He pushes back his chair, frustration evident in his movements. "Unclear? There's nothing unclear here. I had a drink with someone. That's it. And now you're making it a big deal, questioning me like I've done something wrong."

The tension escalates into a heated exchange, words becoming arrows in a battle of hurt feelings. I feel a mixture of anger and guilt, a toxic combination that fuels the argument further.

"Pedri, it's not only about the drink. It's about the lack of communication. I felt left out, isolated from a part of your life. And you're having a drink with her. I'm not a jealous girlfriend, but having a drink with her makes me very uncomfortable. You should've told me," I confess, the vulnerability in my voice contrasting with the intensity of our disagreement.

His response is sharp. "I can't be responsible for your insecurities, Sofia. I have my own challenges to deal with."

The words hang in the air, a painful acknowledgment of the growing rift between us. As the argument subsides into a tense silence, I feel a heavy weight settle in my chest. Guilt washes over me, realizing the toll my doubts have taken on the person I care about most.

The room feels charged with unresolved emotions, a stark contrast to the laughter and joy of Pedri's birthday celebration. I look at him. "Sorry," I sight. "It makes me mad that you don't trust me," he says. We look at each other in silence.

In the midst of this heavy silence, Pedri's phone buzzes, interrupting the palpable tension. He glances at the screen, his expression shifting briefly before he answers the call. The intrusion adds an awkward layer to our already strained atmosphere.