FIC: Fracturado (Part 3)
Title: Fracturado
Summary: Stevie meets a decision. Xabi has to learn to live with it.
Part: 3/4
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst
Author's Notes: First of all, many thanks to
indigologic and
paularinaa for all their help with this! Second, neither the boys nor the lines in italics are mine; the boys, of course, only belong to themselves, while the lines are taken from Gustav Mahler's "Songs of a wayfarer", 3rd song, which you can listen to here. Comments are love and very much appreciated!
Xabi doesn’t know anymore how he managed to get home on that day, in his semi dazed condition, without getting on the wrong side of the street and having a crash. Why he didn't drown himself in the showers straight away. He doesn’t understand how he survived the night, the following day, the following week. How he could maintain his role, act as if nothing had happened. How he could go to training each day and put on a friendly mask towards all the others. How he could stand in the dressing room next to Stevie each day, listening to him talking about the new baby.
On the outside, for the others, everything seems all right. Aside from the fact that Xabi always manages to be far away from Stevie when the coaches want them to do one of the stretching exercises in pairs. That he tackles the captain so hard one could think he wants to hurt himself. Or Stevie. That he hasn’t got any time for their evening activities anymore, except when Stevie stays at home with his family. That he nearly always keeps away from the celebrations after a goal.
Xabi has always been a good actor, has never had his heart on his sleeve. But slowly the corners of his mouth start hurting from the forced smile he wears all day.
I have a red-hot knife,
A knife in my breast.
O woe! It cuts so deeply
Into every joy and delight.
And inside him, it aches so strongly that Xabi sometimes thinks it will tear him apart any moment. Every time he sees Stevie, the pain shoots through him again, like the blade of a knife pressing against his heart. He itches to go and just start hitting. The other one. Himself.
He would never have thought that something that started as pure fun, as two young stars' thoughtless, drunken one-off, a crude flirtatiousness, could hurt so much in the end. That he would feel so very empty without Stevie at his side.
So terribly lonely.
Alas, what an evil guest it is!
Never does it rest or relax,
Not by day or by night, when I would sleep.
O woe!
At night, when he is all alone in his stylish flat, sitting alone on his designer sofa, next to him the den where Stevie's favourite place used to be, then he can give free reign to his pains. Read some old notes again and again - Stevie loved leaving him messages on small slips of paper anywhere. Delete all the saved mails and texts and to regret it only a short time later. Throw away the photos since he has a big lump in his throat every time he sees them.
Cry.
Go in circles like an imprisoned carnivore, round and round the coffee table.
Scream out his grief, at midnight, when everything else is silent.
It isn't clear in his mind how he survives at all. He feels as if he would snap any moment, collapse, but somehow he works, like a machine. He doesn't have any appetite anymore, even Pepe's wife's culinary art only worms out a tired, half-hearted smile of him. He can't sleep anymore, wallows night after night in his bed while the memories of Stevie are coming back. Instead he sits in front of the TV, watches American comedy series with loads of false laughter, foolish shows that aren't able to fill the emptiness inside him with their pointlessness either.
Shoves crisps and chocolate into his mouth until he is nearly sick.
Drinks definitely too much, but the alcohol is the only thing which promises him a calm night.
Lets off steam in training and yet has more and more difficulties in concentrating on the sport, has to fear for his place in the starting XI more and more. The passes aren't as accurate as in the past anymore, the tackles considerably harder instead.
And everything he does reminds him off Stevie.
When I gaze up into the sky
I see two blue eyes there.
O woe!
The bed where they used to lie together so frequently. The sofa where they used to spend so many beautiful hours. His green sweater that Stevie was so fond of. Freshly pressed orange juice, Frosties with cinnamon, fried eggs.
His entire flat.
When I walk in the yellow field,
I see from afar her blonde hair
Waving in the wind.
O woe!
The locker room in Melwood. The third broom cupboard on the left in the long hallway where they kissed for the first time. The red jerseys that hang next to each other at Anfield. The stadium. The pitch. Even the balls.
Everything brings back memories of him.
Because for Xabi, Liverpool is Stevie.
When I start from a dream
And hear the tinkle of her silvery laugh,
O woe!
At night, when he has finally fallen asleep, he dreams of the other one. Wallows uneasily while he relives their relationship once again, the first, shy, awkward advances, the initially clumsy kisses that got more intense the longer they were together.
Though every time, during the most beautiful moment, the Stevie who looks at him affectionately and runs his fingers through his unruly hair turns into the Stevie who pushes him away and explains to him that it is all over.
Then, Xabi wakes up, soaked with sweat and breathing fast, feeling around for his friend, but no one is there anymore.
And the pain multiplies so that it feels as if it nearly tears him apart.
Would that I lay on my black bier -
Would that I could never again open my eyes!
When he lies in his bed then, his hands cramping around his pillow, fighting for his self-command, he sometimes wishes that it would simply be over. Everything would be better than having to feel this pain, day after day, again and again.
On the outside, Xabi may seem strong and calm, but on the inside he feels himself crumbling day after day.
Breaking.