Destroyed from the inside
Title: Destroyed from the inside
Pairing: Aaron Ramsey/Nicklas Bendtner
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Beta by metafic. Takes place some time relatively recently.
---
He's not your best mate, he's not even the person you're closest to on the team. But he's the person you call at three am when you can't sleep and you're feeling embarrassingly homesick. He never makes fun of you, never tells you you're stupid for acting like a little girl. He just listens, tells you everything'll work out and then you can go back to sleep. You don't know what you're going to do without him.
When he started seeing Caroline, he promised nothing would change. After all, you've got a girlfriend and you can still see him. Still sleep with him, still fuck him in the back of his car. Only not right now, when you're stuck in your flat with a broken leg. You try not to mope and you don't call him at three am. Because while you've been recovering, he's been moving on. He has a life and it's not his fault and it's definitely not your fault.
The thing, the thing that breaks your heart, is that you know he's never stopped loving you. The problem is that he loves her more. You want to hate her, you want to hate him. You want to pretend that he's a horrible asshole, that the press are right when they say he only thinks about himself. Except it's all lies, at least off the pitch. But that doesn't make it hurt any less, because you have to do what he can't do.
You close your eyes, fingers curled around your phone. All you have to do is dial and it's over. You think about the last time you saw him, the way his fingers combed through your hair. The way he kissed you, on the mouth, on your jaw, all along your chest. The way he took care not to hurt your leg. But then he'll talk about Caroline, about her children, and you know you've lost. Not that this was going to be happily ever after, you're not stupid. But you never expected him to fall in love with someone else.
Though maybe it's your fault, after all, you never expected to fall in love with him. He was everything you weren't and he was the person you wanted to spend all your time with. He cared about you. He cares. Even now, when you're staring at his number without dialing. When your eyes fill with tears you'll never shed. You know he'll protest, he never goes down without a fight. But you've got it all figured out.
When he moved in with Caroline, you knew it was the end. You could see by the way he was so excited, the way his eyes lit up. You don't think he ever talked about you like that, if he even talked about you at all. You didn't mean to fall in love, you hadn't even meant to kiss him that first time. But something happened and then it was too late to turn back and now it's all over. You know his voicemail message by heart. The way he says his name, the number of seconds until the beep.
Except he answers the phone.
It's harder than you ever imagined. You expect him to protest more, but he barely says anything. You expect to feel something, but you're numb. You explain that it's better this way. That he belongs to her now, that you're just getting in the way. When he speaks, you can hear the hitch in his voice, the tears he'll never cry. He promises, like he always does, that everything'll be all right.
You tell him, for the first time, that you know. You're met with silence, with the heavy weight of the end of the world hanging between you. You want to touch him, you want to press your fingers against his face. You want him to gather you up in his arms, you want him to hold you the way he did when you were still in hospital. You want to take back everything, to say you're sorry, that you were wrong.
But you can't. Even if it wasn't too late, you can't. You can hear the relief in his voice, mixed with the pain that matches what you're feeling. Except when you hang up, he can go to Caroline and you'll go to your empty bed. He tries to keep you talking, to pretend everything's fine, but it doesn't work. Your conversation's filled with lulls it never had before. You feel like you're never going to be able to breathe again and you cannot listen to him anymore. It's breaking you apart and you're the one ending things.
It was all planned out in your head. You'd leave a message, explaining everything. He'd move on and by the time you came back from your injury, either everything would be fixed or one of you would be on another team. Except it wasn't late enough and he picked up. You've ended things before, but you've never destroyed a relationship. Now you have and you think you don't want to love anyone ever again.
You know you'll get over it and after you say goodbye, after there's nothing but the silence of your flat, you try to make yourself believe that this is the for the best. You limp to bed, too tired to stretch your leg out properly. You shower, but it only works to mask the tears you're embarrassed to shed. In bed, the flat is too quiet and you can hear the sound of your heart beating. The thud inside your chest and you wonder if it's not beating, just breaking.
The sleeping pills the doctor gave you, when you first got out of the hospital, to prevent nightmares, sit in a bottle on your nightstand. You didn't take any, preferring to face your fears head-on. But you can't face this, it's worse than breaking your leg. Because at least you know that will heal. A glass of water later and you're staring up at the ceiling, waiting. You count sheep, stars you can't see. You count backward from one hundred.
Then you're asleep, dreamless and empty. And when you wake in the morning, it all comes crashing back. It's as if you never slept at all, the hole in your heart you can only pray time will repair. You touch the stitches in your leg and wonder if you've made the worst mistake in your life.
Pairing: Aaron Ramsey/Nicklas Bendtner
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is not real, this never happened. I don't know them and this is all fiction. Made up stuff.
Author's Notes: Beta by metafic. Takes place some time relatively recently.
---
He's not your best mate, he's not even the person you're closest to on the team. But he's the person you call at three am when you can't sleep and you're feeling embarrassingly homesick. He never makes fun of you, never tells you you're stupid for acting like a little girl. He just listens, tells you everything'll work out and then you can go back to sleep. You don't know what you're going to do without him.
When he started seeing Caroline, he promised nothing would change. After all, you've got a girlfriend and you can still see him. Still sleep with him, still fuck him in the back of his car. Only not right now, when you're stuck in your flat with a broken leg. You try not to mope and you don't call him at three am. Because while you've been recovering, he's been moving on. He has a life and it's not his fault and it's definitely not your fault.
The thing, the thing that breaks your heart, is that you know he's never stopped loving you. The problem is that he loves her more. You want to hate her, you want to hate him. You want to pretend that he's a horrible asshole, that the press are right when they say he only thinks about himself. Except it's all lies, at least off the pitch. But that doesn't make it hurt any less, because you have to do what he can't do.
You close your eyes, fingers curled around your phone. All you have to do is dial and it's over. You think about the last time you saw him, the way his fingers combed through your hair. The way he kissed you, on the mouth, on your jaw, all along your chest. The way he took care not to hurt your leg. But then he'll talk about Caroline, about her children, and you know you've lost. Not that this was going to be happily ever after, you're not stupid. But you never expected him to fall in love with someone else.
Though maybe it's your fault, after all, you never expected to fall in love with him. He was everything you weren't and he was the person you wanted to spend all your time with. He cared about you. He cares. Even now, when you're staring at his number without dialing. When your eyes fill with tears you'll never shed. You know he'll protest, he never goes down without a fight. But you've got it all figured out.
When he moved in with Caroline, you knew it was the end. You could see by the way he was so excited, the way his eyes lit up. You don't think he ever talked about you like that, if he even talked about you at all. You didn't mean to fall in love, you hadn't even meant to kiss him that first time. But something happened and then it was too late to turn back and now it's all over. You know his voicemail message by heart. The way he says his name, the number of seconds until the beep.
Except he answers the phone.
It's harder than you ever imagined. You expect him to protest more, but he barely says anything. You expect to feel something, but you're numb. You explain that it's better this way. That he belongs to her now, that you're just getting in the way. When he speaks, you can hear the hitch in his voice, the tears he'll never cry. He promises, like he always does, that everything'll be all right.
You tell him, for the first time, that you know. You're met with silence, with the heavy weight of the end of the world hanging between you. You want to touch him, you want to press your fingers against his face. You want him to gather you up in his arms, you want him to hold you the way he did when you were still in hospital. You want to take back everything, to say you're sorry, that you were wrong.
But you can't. Even if it wasn't too late, you can't. You can hear the relief in his voice, mixed with the pain that matches what you're feeling. Except when you hang up, he can go to Caroline and you'll go to your empty bed. He tries to keep you talking, to pretend everything's fine, but it doesn't work. Your conversation's filled with lulls it never had before. You feel like you're never going to be able to breathe again and you cannot listen to him anymore. It's breaking you apart and you're the one ending things.
It was all planned out in your head. You'd leave a message, explaining everything. He'd move on and by the time you came back from your injury, either everything would be fixed or one of you would be on another team. Except it wasn't late enough and he picked up. You've ended things before, but you've never destroyed a relationship. Now you have and you think you don't want to love anyone ever again.
You know you'll get over it and after you say goodbye, after there's nothing but the silence of your flat, you try to make yourself believe that this is the for the best. You limp to bed, too tired to stretch your leg out properly. You shower, but it only works to mask the tears you're embarrassed to shed. In bed, the flat is too quiet and you can hear the sound of your heart beating. The thud inside your chest and you wonder if it's not beating, just breaking.
The sleeping pills the doctor gave you, when you first got out of the hospital, to prevent nightmares, sit in a bottle on your nightstand. You didn't take any, preferring to face your fears head-on. But you can't face this, it's worse than breaking your leg. Because at least you know that will heal. A glass of water later and you're staring up at the ceiling, waiting. You count sheep, stars you can't see. You count backward from one hundred.
Then you're asleep, dreamless and empty. And when you wake in the morning, it all comes crashing back. It's as if you never slept at all, the hole in your heart you can only pray time will repair. You touch the stitches in your leg and wonder if you've made the worst mistake in your life.