Journey || Erik Durm

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idk what this chapter is but i'm so happy right now and life just feels so amazing asjfnsjgsfaskfj
random q.o.t.d. guys how are you feeling & why???
also hayley made me the trailer on the side ahhhhhhhhhh i love her so much

ERIK:

           "WHAT the actual fuck?" Mario drawled, the brash shrapnel of his voice shattering my cataleptic trance. I revived into reality as one does when detaching from their most serene daydreams, with reluctance, and examined the football that had flown past me into our goalnet.

Then when my eyes wavered, I caught a sight of Schweinsteiger jogging to where I was. "Erik, are you feeling okay?" he pressed in concern. That was when the reality of the situation finally dawned on me. "You know that Manuel kicked that ball from the goalie box on the other side of the field, right?"

Coach Löw stood expressionlessly on the sidelines, examining us with intense concentration, and it was just a little later that he parted his lips to say: "Benedickt, take Erik's place and resume the game. Erik, you come with me. We need to talk."

Spitting on the grass, I complied, jogging to where he was standing. I gave Benedickt a weak high five before meeting Coach.

"Erik," he implored. I occupied the space next to him to be met with silence. We let it pass in currents between us as we discerned the game. When he parted his lips to speak, he did it in dismay. "I understand why you're so distracted, you know?" he murmured sadly.

"Herr. Löw," I hummed, a distinct sadness prominent in my own voice. "Please."

"We are all witnesses to death, Erik," he continued. "My father died when I was only seventeen, after all."

I nodded, holding back my tongue.

"The blow struck the most when I turned eighteen," Jogi continued. "That was when I realized that I was older than my father ever would be. Back then, all I would think about was how mother's love hadn't been vivacious enough to save his life. If only she had loved a little harder, I would think, if only she had held him a little closer, maybe he would've decided to stay. Maybe he wouldn't have rushed off after an argument and gotten himself done with."

I closed my eyes as I digested his words, his tender empathy, feeling pathetically uneducated for not knowing the words of consolation he deserved then. I parted my lips in silence, waiting for him to speak on. At last, he did. And it had all been long overdue.

"But I was wrong, son, because my father couldn't help himself. Emilia—" Löw's voice droned endlessly after he took her name. My mind numbed, racing in circles, unable to grasp the premise of anything other than her. Instead of tuning into him, I drowned deeper in thoughts of Emilia, wondering why it was that she had held me hostage. Why was it that I was held captive by thought of her? "—but it's all fine," he finished. "Because she's up there and we're all going to see Emilia in heaven one day."

I breathed in through my nose, swallowing the excess saliva amassing in my mouth, realizing just now that Löw had taken her name. Emilia. The six-lettered cause of my euphoric melancholia.

"Her name is not a disease, Erik," Jogi murmured. "You shouldn't be so hell-bent on avoiding it."

I swallowed. "It's hard," I told him, realizing how short the word "hard" fell in describing the extent of my situation. "Hard" wasn't powerful enough to convey the agony that had accompanied Emilia's demise. Because "hard" didn't delineate the countless nights spent in grief, unable to escape the lavender sheets that she had notoriously given me as a gift. Because "hard" didn't convey the tragic tale of how through her death, Emilia had taken a part of me that I had senselessly taken pride in: the part that craved seeing other people happy.