Stress

I walked through the cold streets of Naples. It was late in the evening and nightfall was coming sooner or later. The sunset lit up the streets. I wandered in the alleyways, because I was afraid of the cameras catching me in the streets. Art was common, though I've seen more outside of Naples than here surprisingly. There weren't any lights in the alleys, and though it was probably the most unsafe place to be after 6, I was going to stay until about 7 or 8, or something.

I walked through slowly, watching the people close to me. There were people chatting about and on their phones. Mine hadn't died yet, but it's battery life was coming to an end soon enough. Then the smokers and the drug dealers. This alleyway seemed too popular not to be raided by police.

There were a lot of drug dealers—like a lot of them. One man was looking me up and down. I tried to keep my gaze ahead, but he made me feel so uncomfortable walking by him. I wanted to try my hand walking around or keeping an eye around him because surely I seemed foreign. "You ever been around here so late kid?"

Kid. He called me a fucking kid. I was pretty sure he'd be friendly and call me a drug dealer like he seemed to be, but I didn't respond. I never thought I looked 17, considering how when I was kicked out I had red, dry eyes and I was also sleep deprived. He came closer and I wished I wasn't even here, so I didn't need to feel this at all. He was a little taller than me—6'1 or 6'2—and quite bulky. I hadn't realized until recently that I had lost about 6 or 7 pounds off of me and I felt slightly ashamed.

I could feel his breath against my chin and neck, warm but not comfortable. Maybe if it were my wife's instead— I can't think about her now. "Doesn't seem like you have." He says, and the voice he uses is crazy low. Almost as if he was trying really hard to be seductive, but comes out more of a pedophile rather than someone looking for a long-term relationship.

I don't answer him again. I think by now he thinks I'm either mute, or super fucking stupid. Or uninterested in this weird shit. He takes one of my hands—which I had to my side—and rubs it, readying for a close grip on it. I was skinny, maybe too for my own good, but I was skinny and could run fast. Advantages of playing football for a living. Well, before yesterday at least.

"I hope you aren't a mute." He starts and loosens his already 50% loose grip on my hand. "Because I'd love to hear you scream." That's my queue. To get the fuck away. Before he could react too much, I had broke away from his grip and ran down the alleyway, with him shouting about something. I had ended up on a dead street. There was barely any people and the people there were sitting in cafés or in their cars.

I wandered around the street until it was very dark. Probably far past 8. The thoughts started coming into my head. Some of the streetlights on the street were out, so it gave me some protection from noisy cameras and media. I sat down in an alleyway for a bit. Should I go back, try to explain myself like I did before? Should I just quit trying to help Napoli?

I decided to turn on my phone and check the groupchat. Reading the texts were hard. I doubted anyone was even on it, but I wished I could speak to Kalidou or maybe even Josè, because after my last little speech—which I was pretty sure was a sleep deprivation-motivated speech—he seemed worried. About my health, probably.

I read how many of the players—even Dries, my greatest friend—hated me. Called me things. Said that I was De Laurentiis' little dog. Or pet. I'm not reading well and I'm tired. I wished they'd understand, I didn't have a choice. My last ever texts were depressing. They showed, my lack of respect for De Laurentiis and how I was forcing the players to leave. Or telling them it's the best choice rather. They, obviously, misunderstood. It inspired me. Tomorrow, will be gold for them.

I felt so weird and if it were earlier in the day where I actually felt emotion, I'd be crying. But I felt nothing. As if they were needles against my skin. I felt numb. Cold and surely numb. I turned off my phone and placed it on the concrete. I wasn't going to take it with me. Not with all the hate on it, it's— it's far too much. So much as to inspire me to never see my family again. Never see Martina, Lucas, Christian, my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, everyone. Never see them again.

I started to walk on the mostly dark street. Barely any cars were out here. I'd see why. It's so fucking cold and I wished I was inside. Probably inside my own home because I was sure that if it were someone else's it wouldn't be clean to my standards— which are fairly low. I walked slowly, coming to a crossing. I waited for the light to turn green so I could walk, but I didn't feel the want to walk. Where would I go? It's too cold outside, I might just get hypothermia like this. Or something a little less.

The light turned green and I decided not to turn back and keep walking. But it happened so fast— the bright lights and the truck. I remembered how it hit me. I could feel the air as I was flung high. I felt one step closer to the sky but so dazed, like I didn't know what hit me. But when I fell back to the ground, everything turned black and the cold I once felt became nothing. I was one step closer to the sky after all.

STRESS : STRESS : STRESS : STRESS : STRESS

It felt strange to hear a knock on the door. Was Marek back after all? I regret what I said and I was sure he'd leave— but not so soon, what will I say? I didn't know how to feel. I was the only one awake in this house, unless maybe Lucas can't sleep without his father around. It's happened before and it can happen again.

I decided to open the door after the second knock. It was a policeman there and my heart skipped a beat. Or maybe a few. In the TV shows the police always came to the family's doors but... no. No. I bit my lip, hoping he had only earned himself an arrest and this is why the police is here.

"Are you Ms. Hamšiková?" The policeman asked first, and I nodded, silently waiting for the bad news that was the only thought in my head. It still surprisingly wasn't hitting me.

"I'm sorry to say that your husband has been fatally hit by a large vehicle. I and the rest of the police force, are dearly sorry for your loss." The policeman said. Still nothing. It won't hit me now, but soon. Very soon. I won't want go to sleep without it hitting me. I nodded, emotionless.

"Thank you. I hope he's in a better place." I whispered, barely being able to say anything. The policeman only took off his hat and bowed his head, hat in his hand by his chest. After he turned around and left for his cruiser. I wonder how it felt, to be in his position. Telling people their loved ones will never come back.

How will Lucas handle this? Or even Christian? It hurt me. It'll hurt them too. Now I have to live life on as a widow. I closed the door and decided to call it a night. I needed to move on. Marek wouldn't want me to dwell over his death for the rest of my life anyways.
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Of course, this has never happened. All part of my weird imagination. Thank you for reading this!