lover boy

Chapter 34

Jude Bellingham

For 98 days, 426 minutes, and countless seconds, I haven't seen Cecilia. The breakup shattered something inside me, leaving a void I couldn't fill. My heart has turned to ice, my emotions locked behind an impenetrable wall. The pain wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake it off.

Now, I'm in England, preparing for the European Championship. It's supposed to be the pinnacle of my career, but I can't shake the numbness that's settled over me. The rain pelts down relentlessly as we train, mingling with the sweat dripping from my brow. Each drop feels like a sharp stab, but I push the feelings away, just as I've been doing for weeks. The ground is muddy, every step a struggle, but I don't care. I need the distraction; I need the pain to remind me I'm still alive.

The other guys are joking around, getting ready for the session, but I'm trapped in my own thoughts. Over the past few month, I've tried to drown my sorrows with various girls, hoping to numb the ache. But it was all meaningless, every touch, every kiss—like playing a part in a movie where I felt nothing real. None of them could replace the space Cecilia occupied in my heart.

"Hey, Jude, you alright?" Bukayo Saka calls out, slapping me on the shoulder. His grin fades when he sees the look in my eyes. I give him a terse nod, unable to offer anything more.

"Ready for some drills?" he asks, not really expecting an answer. The training begins, and we throw ourselves into the exercises. It's grueling, intense, but that's exactly what I need. The rain makes everything harder, but I welcome it. It gives me something to hold onto.

"Come on, Bellingham, put more into it!" the coach yells as I charge into a tackle. The opponent is tough, going all out, but I feel nothing but the cold inside. We collide, and for a moment I lose my footing, but I regain it quickly. The ball is all that matters.

Suddenly, a flash of anger surges through me. In a moment of carelessness, my opponent rams into my side, and before I realize it, I've already shoved him to the ground. The coach's whistle pierces the air, cutting through the rain. "Bellingham, what the hell was that?" he shouts, but I barely hear him. My heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"What the hell, Jude?" the player gasps as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger. But I feel nothing but emptiness. The coach sends me off the pitch, and my teammates throw confused and concerned glances my way.

As I walk off the field, the rain intensifies, mirroring the storm inside me. Images of Cecilia flash in my mind—her laugh, her touch—and it hurts because I know I'm the one who destroyed everything.

I stand on the sidelines, rain pouring down my face, and for a moment, I let the mask slip. The pain is overwhelming, and I wonder how much longer I can keep this up. How much longer I can hold on before I completely break.

The European Championship is looming, and I know I have to go to Germany. It won't be easy being so close to her yet so far. The possibility of our paths crossing weighs heavily on me. I wonder if fate has it that way, if we're meant to meet again. Or if it's better for us to stay apart.

But one thing is certain: the coming weeks will be crucial, for my career and for my life. I have to figure out if there's still a chance for me to break free from this coldness and open my heart again.

The rain continues to pour as I walk towards the locker room, each step heavy with the weight of my thoughts. The guys in the locker room are buzzing with excitement about the upcoming championship, their energy a stark contrast to my own brooding silence. They talk about the matches, the strategies, the anticipation of facing some of the best teams in Europe. I try to tune in, but my mind keeps drifting back to Cecilia.

"Jude, you good, man?" Bukayo asks again, a hint of concern in his voice. He's been one of my closest friends on the team, always looking out for me.

"Yeah, just... a lot on my mind," I mutter, forcing a half-hearted smile.

He pats my back. "I get it. Just remember, we're all in this together. We've got your back."

I nod, appreciating his support but knowing that the battle I'm fighting is mostly internal. I change out of my soaked gear, my muscles aching from the brutal training session. As I head to the showers, the hot water does little to wash away the coldness inside me.

Later, back at my apartment, the emptiness is almost unbearable. The place feels cavernous and lonely without Cecilia's presence. Every corner, every piece of furniture holds a memory of her, and it's suffocating. I grab a beer from the fridge, hoping to dull the edges of my pain, but it barely makes a dent.

I sit on the couch, staring at the TV without really watching. My mind keeps replaying the events of the last night I saw her. The look of shock and hurt on Cecilia's face when I hit her friend. The anger, the disappointment. I was warned about becoming this type of person, the kind that lets rage and jealousy consume them. And now, here I am, living out that nightmare.

In the past few weeks, I've had meaningless flings with girls whose names I can barely remember. Each encounter leaves me feeling more hollow, a desperate attempt to fill the void that only Cecilia could truly fill. But no doubt matter what I do, I can't escape the emptiness.

I check my phone, half-hoping, half-dreading a message from her. But there's nothing. Just a void where our conversations used to be. I know I messed up, pushed her away when I should have been pulling her closer.

As I lie in bed, the weight of my actions presses down on me. I stare at the ceiling, replaying every mistake, every moment of anger and regret. I know I need to change, but I'm not sure if I even know how anymore.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The next morning, the alarm blares, pulling me from a restless sleep. I drag myself out of bed, knowing I have to face another day. As I get ready, the upcoming trip to Germany for the championship looms in my mind. The thought of being in the same country as Cecilia, possibly crossing paths, fills me with a mix of hope and dread.

At training, the rain has cleared, but the field is still wet and slippery. Coach has us running drills, pushing us hard to prepare for the tournament. My teammates are focused, determined, but I struggle to match their intensity. My mind keeps drifting, and it takes everything I have to stay present.

During a scrimmage, I go in hard on a tackle, my frustration boiling over. The guy goes down, and I feel a flicker of satisfaction. But it's short-lived, replaced by a gnawing emptiness.

"Jude, you need to control that temper," Coach warns, his eyes narrowing. "We can't afford to have you losing your head on the field."

I nod, swallowing back the anger that threatens to spill over. But it's a constant battle, one I'm not sure I'm winning.

As we finish up, I grab my stuff and head out. The other guys are chatting, making plans, but I can't bring myself to join in. My mind is elsewhere, stuck in a loop of regret and longing.

I know I need to fix this, to find a way to make things right. But I don't know where to start. All I know is that I can't keep going like this. Something has to change, and soon.