lover boy

Chapter 38

Jude Bellingham

When we arrived at the club, the atmosphere was electric. The line outside was packed, but we breezed past with our names on the guest list. The club was everything I had imagined—vibrant, crowded, and filled with a palpable excitement. The pulsating lights and booming music were a welcome distraction from the intense preparations for the championship.

As my friends and I entered, the attention of the crowd shifted towards us. We were immediately aware of the buzz we created—people turned their heads, whispered among themselves, and tried to get a glimpse of who was coming through. It felt exhilarating to be at the center of that attention, the energy of the night amplifying our excitement.

We made our way to a spot near the bar, and I was starting to let go of the day's stress, allowing myself to get lost in the rhythm of the music. The night was meant to be a release, a chance to enjoy ourselves before the pressure of the games took over. I was just starting to unwind when something stopped me dead in my tracks.

Amid the chaos of flashing lights and the pulsating beat, my eyes fell upon a familiar figure.

Cecilia

My heart leapt into my throat. There she was, moving through the crowd with an effortless grace that made everything around her seem to fade away. The black mini dress she wore clung to her perfectly, and her blond hair falls softly over her shoulders in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. She is more than gorgeous. She is captivating, a rare blend of beauty and grace that leaves an unforgettable impression.

The sight of her was like a punch to the gut. I had tried so hard to move on, to bury the emotions we once shared, but seeing her like this brought everything back with overwhelming force. She looked even more stunning than I remembered, a vision of beauty that seemed to surpass the memories I had of her. It was as if the months apart had only made her even more captivating.

My heart pounded as I watched her, trying to process the unexpected turn of events. As I looked in her face that showed a mix of shock and something else—distress, maybe?—as she realized who was in the club. I could see her struggling to maintain her composure. Before I could move, she abruptly pulled away from the conversation she was having and started heading towards the exit.

"Cecilia, wait!" I shouted, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd and the relentless thrum of the music. I pushed through the throng of people, desperately trying to reach her. My mind raced with a tumult of emotions—regret, longing, and a deep, aching sense of loss.

Seeing her again, and in such a setting, felt surreal. I wanted to bridge the gap between us, to speak to her, to explain. But as she moved quickly towards the door, my efforts felt futile. Her distressed expression was heartbreaking, and each step she took away from me was a painful reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

By the time I reached the entrance, she was already outside, the cool Berlin night air starkly contrasting with the heat of the club. I stood there, the emotional weight of the encounter settling heavily on my shoulders. The night, which had started as an escape, had turned into a painful confrontation with my past. The sight of Cecilia disappearing into the night left me with a profound sense of loss and a deep, unresolved longing that I couldn't escape.

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

The next morning, I woke up with a pounding headache and an overwhelming sense of disorientation. The night before had been a blur—fragments of conversations, flashing lights, and Cecilia's face replaying in my mind like a haunting melody. The images were jumbled, but the most vivid memory was of Cecilia, looking more beautiful and distant than ever.

I groaned as I shifted in bed, the pain in my head making every movement feel like a herculean task. I tried to piece together the fragments of the previous night, but all I could remember clearly was the shock of seeing her and the heartache of watching her leave. The rest was a haze of club lights and half-remembered conversations with friends.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stumbled towards the bathroom. The cool tile against my feet was a welcome relief, and I turned on the shower, letting the steaming water cascade over me. I needed to shake off the remnants of the night and prepare myself for the day ahead.

Under the shower's spray, I tried to focus on the task at hand: training. It was a crucial day, and the intensity of the upcoming matches was weighing heavily on me. My mind kept drifting back to Cecilia, though—her elegance, her surprise, and the painful reality of her departure. The lingering regret of not being able to speak to her, to clear the air between us, gnawed at me.

I finished my shower and dressed quickly in my training gear, pulling on the familiar uniform that felt almost comforting in its routine. The physicality of training was exactly what I needed right now—a way to channel my chaotic thoughts and the emotional turmoil of the previous night into something productive.

After a quick breakfast, I made my way to the training facility, my head still throbbing from the remnants of the previous night's excess. The cool morning air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the club, but it was refreshing and helped clear my mind, if only slightly.

The training ground was abuzz with activity as players warmed up, coaches shouted instructions, and the rhythmic sound of footballs being kicked filled the air. I joined my teammates, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue and focus on the drills.

The warm-up session began with a series of stretches and light jogs. I moved through the exercises mechanically, my thoughts drifting back to Cecilia. Her face haunted me, both a source of profound regret and an unexpected ray of light in the midst of the chaos. I couldn't shake the image of her from my mind—her grace, her beauty, and the way she seemed so out of reach.

As we transitioned into more intense drills, I tried to immerse myself in the rhythm of the training. Passing drills, tactical exercises, and fitness routines were designed to push us to our limits. Each movement, each sprint was a way to push the memories of the night before out of my head. The physical exertion provided a temporary escape from the emotional turbulence that had clouded my thoughts.

Despite my efforts, Cecilia's presence loomed over me. During a particularly grueling fitness drill, I found myself lagging behind, my mind preoccupied with her sudden reappearance in my life. My coach's voice cut through the fog, reminding me to focus, to push through the pain, but the distraction was persistent.

The team huddled for a break, and I tried to center myself, shaking my head to clear the lingering thoughts. I focused on the camaraderie around me—my teammates sharing laughs, the camaraderie that had always been a comforting constant. I joined in, forcing myself to be present and engaged.

Yet, every time I closed my eyes, I saw Cecilia—her face illuminated by the club's lights, her eyes reflecting a mixture of shock and pain. The memory of her running away, the sight of her disappearing into the night, was a weight on my shoulders.

As the training session drew to a close, I was drenched in sweat and physically exhausted. The fatigue was almost welcome, a distraction from the emotional turmoil. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself, knowing that I had to focus on the upcoming matches and the challenges ahead.

But as I left the training ground, the thought of Cecilia lingered, an unresolved thread that I knew I would have to confront eventually. For now, I had to push forward, to channel my feelings into my performance on the field. In two days the first match starts and I have to focus.