Journey || Erik Durm

♂

ERIK:

                   "SHE was the one, wasn't she?" Ciara asked as I twisted the lock on my door, my emotions straddling between bewilderment and sheer awe. Assumptions had fueled my decision to resist, the assumption that time remained, time for Lotte and I; time to ward off the perplexities that lingered ubiquitously all-the-where within, and time to decipher the labyrinth that was Lotte and Marco's relationship.

Because the way it was supposed to go, it was not her and me; it was her and him.

I just needed time to bring them together again, somehow.

But I knew that I had none left.

I cleared my throat, a gesture to combat the growing lump in my throat.

"It's pretty obvious, you know," Ciara continued, sitting up on my bed. She took off the jersey that she had been wearing, revealing her tank top that remained faintly damp from a drink spill earlier in the afternoon "And she got the wrong idea when she saw the two of us. I bet she thinks we fucked."

"Good."

I too knew that Lotte had gotten the wrong idea. Ciara and I hadn't done anything sensual, or anything at all, to be quite honest. When we had returned to the hotel room, she had collapsed onto my mattress, laying flirtatiously with tousled hair and plump, coquettish lips, in a fixation that should have aroused me.

And I wanted nothing more than to want to want her.

But I didn't.

Instead, I wound up pouring out my sob story to this absolute stranger, and she had nodded, understanding and accepting of everything. She told me that it was a strange thing to happen, but that it was completely reasonable and later, Ciara—in a clumsy rush—had accidentally spilled a glass of caffeine onto her shirt, and I had given her mine to wear temporarily.

That explained my shirt on her body.

It clung to her skin in a way that should have driven me crazy.

But the whole time, I wondered how Lotte would look in it.

God, I was so fucking whipped.

But bros before hoes; it was predetermined—had always been—where my loyalties belonged.

"It's not good, Erik," Ciara scoffed. "I can see the way you look at her."

"I don't look at her," I argued, but she raised a hand, demanding that I not speak.

"Denial seems to be a commonality nowadays. What's the problem, anyway?"

"Problem?" I retorted, wondering where to begin. "There are too many fucking problems."

"Your best mate?" Ciara questioned incredulously, raising her eyebrows. "He's the problem? Seriously, Erik, what the fuck? He obviously didn't care about your feelings when he fucked Emilia. Now's your chance to get revenge but with will."

"But—"

"No."

I faltered. "No?"

"No! The truth is that you were with Emilia at the time and he betrayed you. It doesn't matter how much he liked her. He can't fuck every girl he likes! And he hid it from you, god fucking bastard. Don't you see the fault in that?"

"The fault wasn't in him."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. it was all my—"