"I HATE YOU RYAN!" I say as he slams the door shut and walks away.
I'm sick of this, I'm sick of all the arguments.
I know its not just your fault. I'm to blame as well. We aren't perfect, and I know that. But your imperfections and your flaws just seem perfect to me.
I'm sitting on the staircase now, hugging my knees, head tucked into my arms to muffle my quiet occasional sobs. I listen as your car drives away, the gravel path crunches against the tyres of your Ferrari and rolls onto the concrete road. I push my hair from my face and look up and glance out the door. I know you've gone but I can't help but check, it doesn't seem real. I can't believe you've actually gone, you've left. This can't be happening. Me and you are solid, we have a bond that nobody can put into words. You're like my boyfriend, my best friend and a brother, rolled into one. You're the one who understands me more than anyone, you're the one who looks into my eyes, hugs me when I tell you 'I'm okay' because you know I'm really not. You're the one who I can be real with, who I don't have to calm down because you know my weirdness and my randomness off by heart.
You've been gone about three minutes but I'm missing you more than ever because I know you're probably not coming back. It's as if we are conjoined at the hip and we can never be apart. Even when you're playing a match I'm there, waiting for you, waiting for my sweaty hug and kiss to congratulate you at half time and full time. I'll go out of my way just so I'm there when you come off to see the beautiful smile that lights your face up to know I care. I'm there for you, proud of you no matter what result because it won't stop me loving you, if you lose a match or you miss a tackle. It makes me love you more for being human.
It's been seven minutes now and I take it you're not coming back. I can't blame you, I think as I get up and stand in front of the mirror in the hall. I smash my fists against the glass, getting a sudden anger filling me. It cracks, but only a bit as I'm not focused enough to take my best shot. I stare at myself, the mess I am, my mascara running down my face, my hair messed in clumps and the crack in the mirror running through my reflection. I smooth my hair and wipe my make-up of before slumping against the wall and sliding on to floor. I sit leaning against the wall, my face buried into my hands.
I fall asleep eventually. I wake up about an hour later and go to lie on the sofa. I press the TV on as a background noise and go to my recordings. I click on a folder of football matches and click on a Stoke City match. I play it and see you smiling, your hair sitting perfectly on your head, your eyes beautiful and shining. The opposition shoot at Begovic but you block in and dribble it up the field before the other team get a chance. You have you're team mates behind you to pass to but you continue to dribble and dribble, the other defenders eventually catch up with you but they cant tackle you. You shoot at their keeper and it smashes into the net. You're team cheers and surrounds you but you come over to me instead. You hug me and spin me into the air before kissing my forehead. There we are on TV in an embrace.
I fall asleep again, wrapped in the warmth of my blanket. I'm lying there in the Stoke top you brought me that says Shawcross on the back. It makes me feel so proud to wear it so everyone knows I'm yours... or was yours.
I can't help but wonder where you are, even in my dreams. I worry that you've hurt yourself, crashed the car into something, or you've got lost. I cry, thinking I may never see you again. I cry in my sleep, blubbering.
I wake up when I'm in the middle of a deep nightmare. I'm shaking. I press the TV on again and watch some cringey film. I struggle to concentrate, drifting back to sleep when the key is slotted into the door. The sound bolts me awake, I wrap myself in my blanket and stand in the hall door. I see you standing there, at the front door, you're eyes are red and you look weak and tired. You look at me, and flash me an apologetic look before looking at the floor. You're just standing there, and so am I, in silence, but I drop the blanket and throw myself into your arms. I'm crying again, on your shoulder and you hold me tight.
"Ryan," I begin. "I'm so sorry!"
"It's not your fault, it's mine and I was stupid to go. I didn't mean what I said, you're my world, my life, and I don't want anything to change that."
That starts me off again, the tears flood out of my like a waterfall, gushing and flowing from my eyes and down my face.
"I love you so much Ryan," I just about get out.
"I love you to beautiful" you smiles with that perfect smile I missed for the few hours we were apart.
You lift me up into your arms and carry me to the sofa where we sit snuggled up. You tug at my top and grin feeling pleased that I'm proud to wear it. I smile at you and you smiles back. You kiss me gently and we break off, both of us smiling. We laugh and I hug you, we end up wrestling each other, rolling around and trying to pin each other. We eventually collapse into a hug and laugh.
"Please don't ever leave me again" I whisper.
"I promise, as long as you promise me something. Please don't ever let me leave again" you whisper back.
"I promise Ryan" I say, looking into your beautiful eyes.
You smile at me and for once I realise how lucky I am to be with such a wonderful guy. You see, I'm not with you for the money or the fame, I love you for who you are and if I have to share you with the media, and your manager, I'm fine with that as long as I have you. Because, you, Ryan Shawcross, are everything that matters to me, you are my world. You mean everything to me.
You notice me staring at you.
"What?" You say with a laugh.
"Sorry, I can't help it, I can't believe you've come back," I say. "I thought you'd gone forever..."
"I would never leave you again, I was stupid and wrong. I'm sorry for worrying you so much, words can't describe how angry at myself I am for leaving-"
"You don't need to apologise" I interrupt. "It's not all your fault, it's mostly mine and I'm just glad you're back"
"It doesn't matter. I need you to know I'm sorry," you say, "I'm taking you out for dinner"
"What now? It's four in the morning!" I laugh.
"No, tomorrow beautiful. I'll buy you a dress and everything, it needs to be special," you tell me.
"You don't need to buy me a dress baby, I have dresses and I hate accepting money from you, it makes me feel cheap and people spread rumours that I'm just with you for the money and all crap like that. It's not true Ryan, I love you more than anything. I don't need you to buy me anything"
"I'm buying you a dress and you can't stop me." You laugh, "I don't care what anyone thinks, I know you're not with me for the money, I can see it in your eyes you love me"
I close my eyes and squeeze them tightly and laugh at you. You laugh back and kiss me again.
"I have to play a match tomorrow, then you will go home and I will go and buy you a dress. I will go and make reservations for a table at about 7pm" you say getting up and getting your phone out.
"Hello?" You say into the phone. "I'd like to make a reservation please,"
"Table for two, under the name Shawcross"
"Yeah thanks and erm-" you walk out the room and close the door. "I'd like a dozen roses on the table, is that okay? Yes please. And I would like your finest champagne upon arrival. Thanks. Goodbye"
You walk back into the room and I'm staring at you confused.
"Why did you go in the other room?" I ask, baffled.
"Just needed to speak privately." You say, sitting back next to me on the sofa. I wrap my hands around your skinny waist and hold you tight. I pull the blanket over us and switch off the light next to me.
"Night gorgeous" I say to you.
"Night beautiful, sweet dreams"
I fall asleep hugging your perfect, athletic body, breathing in the smell of your gorgeous aftershave. You stroke my hair, curling few strands at a time around your fingers and stroking my face until you fall asleep. We lie there in a perfect embrace, enveloped in the darkness.
TO BE CONTINUED...
DUN DUN DUUUUUUN...
(random)
ANYWAY- TO BE CONTINUED IN PART TWO