𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙫𝙚, pedri

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❝ you deserve prison, but you won't get time. ❞
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

I throw my phone away right after reading this, causing it to hit the wall and it hits the floor, cracking the screen

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I throw my phone away right after reading this, causing it to hit the wall and it hits the floor, cracking the screen.

I couldn't care less though, I just keep it on the floor and walk away. What the fuck is people's problem anyway!? What do they gotta do with my relationships!?

They're what got me in this mess in the first place. And now, they're just gonna follow my every move, trying to find out what's wrong with me and Olive.

I just got back from training, and not because it's over, but because I got sent home. Why did I get sent home? Good question. Maybe because I punched one of my teammates.

Why did I punch one of my teammates? Another good question.

"So, you gonna tell us what happened with Olive or...?" Joao asks as we warm up, running laps around the field.

"I don't wanna talk about it." I mumble, avoiding any mention of her name before I go crazy.

The panting of our breaths gets heavier as we reach our ninth lap. Joao doesn't insist, respecting my privacy. Yet, Jules doesn't.

"What? You cheated on her?" He assumes boldly. I know I might have a bad reputation with girls, but if I ever made a promise to one of them I would never cheat, then I wouldn't. I still have some dignity.

I gulp, ignoring him at first. He repeats himself though. "Oh my God! You did! What a piece of ass!" He rolls his eyes.

"No, I didn't. What happened is none of your goddamn businesses so drop it." I hiss before jogging faster, leaving them further behind.

Training is where I usually clear my mind, cool off and have fun. I do not enjoy being investigated about my ex fake girlfriend.

They let it go as I isolate myself from them for the rest of my warm up, trying to cool down and keep calm. As I feel myself ready to start busting my ass and at least try and regain some respect after that mess of a match yesterday.

We may have won, but it definitely did not feel like one for me. Especially when Lamine scored and dedicated it to my Olive. My fucking Olive. Something I'd usually do.

As we group around, around seven of us in a circle, waiting for Xavi's commands, I don't engage in any of the conversation.

"¡Hola señor Pedri!" I find Ansu trying to snap me out of my mind, his hands dancing in front of me.

I frown and raise an eyebrow. "What do you want?" I ask bluntly. It's clear that I am not in a good mood. I haven't been for the past days. It's just that now, I'm extra mad and it's starting to show.

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄,  pedri gonzálezWhere stories live. Discover now