I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)

26. help.

|◁ II ▷|

coltrane ft. raye — honesty (interlude)

IN THEIR TENSE 30-minute car ride, Maya's eyes had been firmly fixed to look out the passenger window, refusing to even make brief eye contact with Ebén.

Maybe because she thought it would tempt her into changing her mind, or maybe... she was disgusted. Disgusted with herself for the "sins" they had spent all night and all day committing in his bed.

I'm not really interested in getting to know you.

The clip in her tone was final, Ebén knew there would be no coming back from this. For as long as they had briefly been acquainted, Maya wasn't a woman who spoke in riddles or said one thing but meant the opposite. She said how she felt, when she felt.

Ebén felt, at that moment, that he almost died — from her constant rejection and her venom. Though, the man paraded like he didn't care about anything but that wasn't true. He cared about her.

══════════════

[ LONDON CONLEY TRAINING GROUND, 10:47 AM ]

A grey overcast was present and loud in Ebén's chest, and soured throughout the rest of the morning and into training. He used to be an expert in the concealment of his feelings and had a bad habit of using women and sex to dress up his wounds.

They weren't opposed to it, so he wasn't either.

But, time in the company of Maya had resulted in the sudden growth spurt of Ebén's conscience. He no longer wanted to use women who volunteered themselves for their bodies to be misused by him. Instead, choosing to work through the sting of rejection by accepting that he couldn't always win.

Coach's fingers were buried into his windbreaker. He wore a subtle stony face, careful not to allow his true feelings to dominate his entire square face.

His number two, Javí Paragúez, wasn't quiet, barking orders down the muddy touchline, "Stay compact!"

Ebén's body language was foul in contrast to the group who were all vying for a starting spot for tonight's away game to Burnley.

However, Ebén didn't need to face such pressure, given that his starting spot was always assured, as per the terms of his previously negotiated contract.

As the club's franchised player and the face of the league, he was adjudged to a different standard to those of his teammates both on the field and off it.

It was a sticking point that, in time, led to the premature departures of managers and coaches alike who refuted the notion that they didn't have the freedom to choose and field their preferred eleven.

However, Coach Mendes recognised the importance of fielding Ebén in every one of his starting elevens as he had the knack to turn a game on its head.

"Huddle in," Coach gestured at the group.

Ebén bowled over, falling to his knees with the fetid stench of mud and sweat trapped in the underside of his boots. The smell travelled to other noses in the seated huddle, "Cash... your boots stink. Fuck me"

"I ain't got a missus to clean up after me," Ebén said, pensive, as he collapsed on the well-tended grass.

He spoke at himself with visible regret, that because of the sins of his past, he elected to sleep with any woman he set his gaze on instead of building solid, honest relationships because the erraticism of his childhood forced him to become accustomed to the fact that familyhood was nonsensical.