Miserable At Best Chapter Six
Villa wipes his hands against his jeans, palms already wet with perspiration. This idea was grand and inspiring a day and a thousand miles away, but in the present, he is scared. His mind is a steady stream of ‘what ifs’ like what if Silva had already moved on, what if Silva hated his guts, or what if Silva just slammed the door in his face? He pulls the edge of his shirt, straightening everything as he hears Silva fiddling with the lock.
“One second,” Silva’s muffled voice comes from within the apartment. “The door doesn’t want to open for some reason.” The door shakes as Silva throws his weight against it in an effort to make the lock budge. “Fernando, is Olalla with you? Sorry, the door is being stubborn.”
“Uh… It’s not Fernando.”
All the movement against the door and the fiddling with the lock stops. David can see Silva’s shadow under the door, unmoving as if permanently painted there. The only noise is of the air systems, humming faintly in the background.
“David?” Silva’s voice is barely audible.
“You said we could talk in person. I want to talk.” Silence. “Please, David.”
“My… my letter was clear about how I feel about… this.”
‘Your letter was wrong,’ David wants to tell him. ‘Because you’re not a whore, you’re worth losing my career over; you are so beautiful and important to me.’ Aloud, he says, “Please don’t make me talk through a door.”
“I can’t ruin your marriage,” he mumbles so softly that David can barely hear him. “I can’t be…” He trails off and never finishes giving voice to his train of thought.
“You’re not ruining my marriage; Patricia knows.” The silence is near deafening. “Please, let me in so I can see you.” David leans his forehead against the door and silently mouths, “I love you.”
The door suddenly clicks open as if David has said a magical password and he half falls, half stumbles into Silva’s apartment. Righting himself, he forgets how to speak as he stares at the object of his ill represented affection. Skin pale from the lack of Spanish sun and a blank look on his face, David grasps that in their months apart, Silva has changed. His face is more angular, he’s lost weight, and David knows he’s more than likely to blame for that. The guilt grows heavier.
“Um… is it okay for me to be here?” David feels dumb for asking when he’s already standing inside the apartment.
Silva closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in and out. David watches as he removes a rubber band from around his wrist and places it on a counter top. Turning on his heel, Silva mutters something under his breath and motions for David to follow him into the living room. David’s eyes pick apart every detail of Silva’s living space but what sticks out the most is the stark whiteness of everything and the fanatical order. Everything has a place and there is no deviation from this order. The apartment is nothing like the warm colorful rooms David fondly remembers of Valencia.
“What are you doing here?” Silva finally breaks the silence once they are seated as far away from each other as possible, David on the couch and Silva in an armchair.
“I wanted to talk to you after last night.” Silva stares at David with disbelief on his face; they both know David isn’t spontaneous enough to buy a ticket to Manchester. “Patricia sent me.”
“Oh.” If possible, Silva pales even more and David worries for a moment that he might even faint. “Did she kick you out?” A frown. “I’m sorry, this is my fault. I-”
“This is not your fault.” David interrupts him and quickly realizes it is going to more difficult to convince Silva of his worth. “She’s known since the beginning, she’s okay with it. She knows we’re both miserable apart and she sent me here to deal with it.”
Silva doesn’t look at David as he shakes his head, a subconsciously gnawing on his bottom lip. It.There isn’t a word to describe what they had, so they must refer to their assignation as ‘it’.
“You can’t fix something that never existed.” Silva finally says.
“That’s not true,” David begins to protest. “David, I lov-”
“No!” Silva snaps, springing up from his seat and crossing his arms defensively. “Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare say it.”
“Please, just listen-”
“No, this isn’t some fairy tale- you’re not a prince on a white horse and I’m not a girl who will fall for this. You should have said it when it would have meant something. Now get out.”
“David, please-” David tries pleading with Silva, but the younger man already has his walls up and they aren’t coming down.
“I want you to leave.”
Silva rarely speaks with such anger and finality in his voice. David knows there is no use is trying to speak with him. David didn’t fly to another country so he could be chased away though, and he is as stubborn as he is miserable. He’s not leaving England until Silva understands just how important he is to David.
“I’ll be back,” David tells him as he stands from the couch. “I’m not giving up on us.”
The door doesn’t get stuck this time; it lets David leave so it can once again protect its owner from the outside world.
* * *
Any woman can have a child but there is a difference between having a child and being a mother. Olalla is the very spirit of motherhood and her nurturing extends beyond her daughter and husband to her friends, the family she has chosen. A mother is someone who loves whole heartedly and protects all the members of her family. Right now, members of her family are hurt and she knows as a mother she must do all in her power to make them happy again.
David had returned to the car like a little dog with its tail between its legs. He didn’t need to tell either of them what happened as she could see it in the slouch of his shoulders and the way his head hung. Turning to her husband, she had instructed Fernando to take David back to Liverpool where she had readied a guest room for him in the event that this happened.
So with the boys heading back to Liverpool in Fernando’s car, Olalla had waddled into David’s apartment building and now stood in front of the door. Truth be told, she has never spoken to David Silva for more than a few minutes and she can count the times she’s been in the same room as him on one hand. She knows him through Patricia’s stories of the quiet yet affectionate man. He is a part of their family and he needs to be cured of his demons. As much as Olalla needs and depends on Fernando, she also needs and depends on Patricia. Lately, Patricia has been down due to her husband’s melancholy. When something is wrong with one member of the family, it reverberates through all the others. Her reasons for being here aren’t entirely unselfish; she needs to fix the broken link in the chain.
Reaching up, she rests her hand against the door. Cool and solid beneath her hand, it is somehow calming and reassures her that everything will be alright. Olalla knocks gently, no response. Knocking a bit louder, a shuffling noise can be heard before the door opens a crack.
“Hello David,” she smiles softly. “May I come in please?”
David nods his head slowly; his surprised expression doesn’t escape her. He seats her on his couch, making sure she is comfortable, before offering her a drink and something to eat. Anxiety laces his movements, but she’s not sure if it’s because of the conversation he is most likely dreading or if he’s been in this state for a while. The answer is probably a combination of the two. Unfailingly polite despite his shyness, Olalla quickly understands what it is about David that drew Villa in.
“I’d ask you if you’re okay, but we both know you’re not,” Olalla says gently as he perches himself on the arm of a large chair.
David doesn’t look at her, but down at his hands. He’s slouching in on himself in a defensive posture and Olalla must bite back the urge to wrap her arms around him.
“I know you mean well, but…” David doesn’t finish his sentence and continues to look down.
“You’re shutting people out,” she says ‘people’ when in fact she means Villa.
“I’m doing what’s best for him and his family,” he dares a quick glance over at her before his eyes dart back down. “He might not understand now, but it’s better for the long run. He doesn’t need someone like me ruining his life.”
“David, you don’t ruin his life. I know you don’t see it, but you make him happy and he loves you.”
David slightly twitches as the word ‘love’ and presses his lips together in a thin line. Olalla takes note of this trigger word and comprehends David feels like he is unworthy of Villa’s love. With a sigh, she extends a hand towards him as if she needs help to stand (she does at this stage in her pregnancy) but instead of hauling herself up, she startles him by pulling him down to sit next to her and keeping his hand firmly grasped within her own tells him:
“No one picks who they fall in love with and if you are lucky enough to find someone who loves you back, you should never let that opportunity go.”
“He already found that person; I can’t come in between them.”
“You haven’t come in between them for the past two years, what’s so different now?”
David doesn’t answer her but Olalla isn’t sure if it’s because he can’t answer or he won’t. She’s pretty sure the answer is David realized he was in love with Villa and broke things off before either of them could be hurt and it was the easy way out after they left Valencia. Well, that plan backfired spectacularly as she has never seen two people more downtrodden in her entire life. She wishes Patricia were here now so she could tell David everything was alright. Perhaps she needed to try a different approach.
“When Fernando first told me about Sergio, I was terrified that he would stop loving me,” she tells him. “But Fernando never has because Sergio and I fulfill very different needs of his. It’s possible to love more than one person.”
“David doesn’t love me,” he tells her flatly. “He might think he does now, but he’s just confused. He’s mistaking missing someone who was easy for love. He’ll get over it. It’s for the better. He’s needs his wife, not his whore.”
“David,” Olalla is aghast that he would belittle himself in such a manner and her heart aches for the quiet man who is clearly suffering much more than is visible, “you are not a whore.”
“Yeah, I guess he never paid me, so I guess that just makes me a home wrecking slut.”
David pulls his hand out of Olalla’s and crosses his arms again. She stops herself from physically cringing at his words. The awkward conversation is lending itself to the tangible tension in the room; it’s nearly suffocating. Olalla knows she can’t do this by herself.
“I don’t think there’s anything I can say that will convince you how wrong you are,” she tells him as she pulls her cell phone from her purse. “So I’m going to let someone else tell you.”
The phone is ringing on speaker before he can stop her. His eyes are large, alarmed, as he stares at the phone, unsure of whom she is calling. David shrinks away from her, trying to disappear into the couch as he pulls his legs into his chest and buries his head in his knees, face burning red with embarrassment. Olalla feels only passing regret; he needs a shock to his system to wake him up from self imposed martyrdom.
“Please please please tell me you’re standing outside the door and you’re confirming they’re humping like rabbits?” Patricia’s voice floats into the room and Olalla scrambles to turn the speaker off but it’s too late. “No wait; tell me you got a picture or video, because that would be hot.”
Now Olalla does cringe as David’s head jerks up from his knees, his mouth just hanging as he stares at the phone, before he flushes bright red, jumps up from the couch, and flees into his room. She feels her face beginning to grow hot with mortification as well. That wasn’t what she wanted to shock his system with.
“Olalla?”
“Uh… Silva just heard that…” She switches the phone off of speaker-mode.
“Oh… awkward.”
“Yeah…”
“So I take it things aren’t going to according to plan?”
“No.” They both sigh. “I don’t know what to do Patricia.”
“How bad?”
“Worse than we thought.”
There are a few moments when both women are silent, contemplating what the next move in this confusing game should be. “Just give him support I guess. See if you can figure out why…. I don’t know, why this is all happening and if there’s… I don’t know. Just do your best.”
“I’ll call you back tonight.”
Hanging up the phone, Olalla heaves another sigh. Sometimes she feels everything in this universe is conspiring to work against the two David’s. Bracing herself, she manages to push herself off the couch (only in two tries, pretty good considering she’s big enough to burst at any moment), and waddles over to David’s room. She doesn’t cross into his room, his safe place, his respite from the outside world. Instead, she leans on the door frame, watching as he tries not to become unraveled.
“It doesn’t make it okay,” he mumbles from where his face in buried into the pillow. “Just because she knows, it doesn’t make it okay.”
“Does that mean what Fernando has with Sergio is not okay?” She prods. He doesn’t answer right away and so she tries another tactic, “David, I don’t understand how you think so little of yourself. Do you think the same of Sergio as you think of yourself?”
“It’s different.”
“I see.” He’s stonewalling her, but Olalla doesn’t give up easily. “Why is it different?”
“Because… because you have someone else too.” He sits up and she sees his eyes are red; he’s trying not to lose control of himself in front of her. “It’s not fair that David gets to have someone on the side and Patricia doesn’t. He’s out cheating on his wife while she raises the kids? It’s not right. And just because she knew but didn’t tell him… that doesn’t make it alright either. ”
Oh. Oh.
“Would your guilt be gone if she did have someone on the side?”
He frowns at her, brow furrowed as he thinks about posed question. Guilt washes over her as she realizes that a great deal of David’s pain has been caused by Patricia and her secrecy over their relationship. Would events have played out differently if the David’s had known about them?
“I don’t know,” he finally says. “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“It does matter,” she crosses that last threshold, into the safety of his room. Sitting next to him, she wraps her arms around him and pulls him as close as her pregnant belly will allow. “Patricia is my someone else.”
She holds him closely as the tears come. Olalla is, after all, a mother first and foremost, and comforting someone and helping them solve their problems is what she does best. She’s confident that with open communication, this problem will be fixed in no time.
* * *
Liverpool and Manchester are less than two hours away by car and soon Fernando is pulling into the driveway of his house and escorting David up to the guest room to deposit his bag. There is a brief exchange of pleasantries with Olalla’s mother, who is watching over Nora with her experienced eye, before Fernando whisks David back outside again. Olalla gave him the task of cheering David up and trying to distract him. If anyone can do that, it is Fernando’s next door neighbor, who also happens to be one of David’s best friends.
Pepe lets out a whoop of excitement when he sees David, throwing his arms around El Guaje’s waist and spinning him around in a circle. Pepe Reina has a gift for making people forget their woes and it doesn’t even take a minute for the misery to be erased from David’s face and to be replaced by a smile and easy laugh. Pulling them into the house, they are immediately besieged by Pepe’s daughters who are accustomed to Fernando and remember David from their summer holiday. Yolanda greets them as if she was expecting them and neither Fernando nor David would be surprised if she was in on whatever was going on.
Pepe finally pulls them into the home theater and after grabbing a few beers from the fridge, they settle on the couches. Pepe asks him how Barcelona is, a slightly wistful tone in his voice. David tells the keeper that the city is excellent and, with a smirk, adds that anywhere is better than Madrid. This earns a glare and punch to his shoulder from Fernando. They tip toe around the subject of work- David does not want to speak of his nearly picture perfect season in front of his two friends who are having one of the worst seasons Liverpool has seen in a while.
Eventually, they migrate over to the card table while some Bundasliga game plays in the background. One beer turns into many and soon the cards are abandoned as they recount crazy stories from the Euros and World Cup. David remembers those days fondly and those nights even more so- stolen time he is fearful he might never experience again.
“Can I ask you something?” Pepe turns to him as Fernando stumbles towards the bathroom. “Why are you here?”
David is too drunk, buzzed, or confused by the entire situation to fully explain, so he sums it up in one word. “Silva.”
“Ahhh…” Pepe’s grimace doesn’t escape David. “I take it the two of you still haven’t made up?” David shakes his head. “Pity- everyone always said you were nicer after the two of you finally hooked up.”
“What?” To the extent of David’s knowledge, no one had known about their relationship; it was a secret, a poorly kept one apparently.
“Oh come on, you know it’s impossible to keep a secret. That boy trailed after you like a lost puppy and you never let him out of your sight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” David retorts, taking another sip of his beer.
“I’m serious. Do you know how many offers Silva turned down when he was with you?”
“Offers? What type of offers?” David bristles, a scowl coming onto his face as he tries to think of teammates foolish enough to make a move on Silva and think they could get away with it.
“Look, you’re getting territorial right now,” Pepe points out and David just throws him a glare. “And no, I won’t tell you who because we don’t need you getting into anymore fights.” A flush of the toilet is heard faintly. “I take it Fernando knows,” David nods. “Why’d you and Silva break it off anyway?”
That is an excellent question and David still doesn’t have a firm answer for it. He has the letter, wrinkled and creased from the hundreds of time he had now read it, but the letter is only the tip of the iceberg. According to the letter, Silva broke things off because he could no longer live with the guilt of keeping David away from his family. The guilt is a part of the reason but David feels there is more than what Silva wrote. David thinks Love is a big part of the missing picture and that’s why David knows the blame of their falling out rests solely on his shoulders- he never told Silva that he loved him. Perhaps he was afraid to admit to himself that he loved Silva, afraid that it might drive him away or just add to the guilt. David feels stupid looking back on it all.
Pepe is still looking at him with an expectant look on his face. David clears his throat but then shakes his head.
“I treated what we had too lightly because I’m a coward. He felt guilty because of the girls.”
Pepe nods but doesn’t offer up any sage advice. David is thankful because he doesn’t need to hear anymore sage advice. He knows what he needs to do; he just needs the chance to do it.
* * *
Olalla is home by the time David and Fernando stumble back from Pepe’s, the sun already long gone from the sky. Nora is already tucked into bed and Olalla’s mother is asleep in one of the guest rooms. Olalla is sitting on the couch, grimace on her face and hand on her swollen stomach.
“Your son seems to think he’s already on the field,” she says, throwing a glare Fernando’s way. “He’s been kicking all day.”
Fernando just smiles, a mixture of pride and sheepishness on his face as he bends down and kisses his wife on her cheek and rests a hand on her stomach. He is still for a minute before his eyes widen and he laughs.
“Yeah, you laugh; you’re not the one whose bladder gets kicked,” she mutters but without malice. “Fer, will you check on Nora?”
That’s his cue to leave the room and he ambles towards the staircase, his wife’s fond gaze on his back. David knows he and Fernando are blessed to have such lenient and understanding wives. Most women would either empty their husband’s bank accounts or be screaming for a divorce and speaking to the tabloids in their situation dealing with these affairs. But David wouldn’t label what was occurring as an affair as affair implied a secret and apparently this whole series of events was visible to nearly everyone. What would you call a relationship where people had multiple partners? Polyamory he supposes, but that doesn’t sound right either. Maybe Love just is what it is.
“It’s not going to be easy,” Olalla tells him after a few minutes of silence. “But I know you can make him see reason.”
“Will he let me talk to him?”
“Yes, you’re due there at 11 tomorrow.” She sighs and props her feet up on the coffee table; her ankles are swollen.
“Thank you,” David reaches towards her legs and gently begins to massage her ankles like he did with Patricia when she was pregnant. After a minute, he adds, “I can’t thank you and Fernando enough.”
There’s no response; Olalla has fallen asleep, her head lolled to the side resting on her shoulder, mouth slightly ajar. Carefully turning her so she is fully on the couch, he places a blanket over her so she stays warm. David understands why Fernando and Patricia love her and the quiet woman has earned his highest respect and undying gratitude for all that she has done for Patricia, Silva, and him.
* * *
For the first time since he’s moved in, the Door sees a hopeful smile on David’s face. The smile is not large or even all that noticeable, but it is there nonetheless, hiding behind nerves and anxiety. What’s more, there is a bit of color in the previously stark white apartment. The pregnant woman made David leave what she called his ‘hiding hole’ and ‘hermitage’. When they returned, they were carrying a few bags and the Door was pleased when it discovered the bags were filled with new things to fill the apartment, and none were white. Light blue curtains, a dark blue throw on the couch, sea green picture frames, and even a few art prints of the ocean; the Door knew David missed the waters of home. The Door was grateful for the pregnant woman and despite its earlier dislike of him, the Door also appreciated the pregnant woman’s husband, or ‘freckled bringer of fried foods’ as the Door liked to call him.
The hands of the clock are nearly pointing at eleven and David’s nerves are clearly visibly. He is pacing the room, wringing his hands as his eyes occasionally dart towards the window and street below. The Door wishes he would sit down and calm himself but also knows that is not possible. All there is left to do is wait.
KNOCK KNOCK
David’s head snaps up as two heavy knocks reverberate through his apartment. It’s an out of body experience as somehow his legs carry him to the door and he’s letting Villa into his apartment. He can barely believe it when he hears his voice asking if Villa wants something to drink and suddenly they’re in the kitchen as David boils water. This is as close as they’ve been in months. Standing this close to him- being able to see him, smell him, hear him, and stand in his intense but scared gaze is almost too much. David wants to run away, to hide behind previously written words and retreat like a coward, but he can’t. It is time to face this mess before them.
“I’m sorry,” Villa breaks the silence between them as they wait for the kettle to boil. “I’m sorry I never told you that you mean something to me, something that I could never put into words. I’m sorry that I made you feel that I was only using you for sex- you mean so much more to me than that.”
David is leaning with his back against the counter, subconsciously gnawing the corner of his bottom lip and looking everywhere but at Villa. He hears Villa sigh and has to stop himself from pulling back as Villa takes a step closer and awkwardly pulls one of David’s hands into his own. It’s the first contact they’ve had since Argentina.
“I hate being away from you, and not getting to see you every day. I hate that I can’t even talk to you anymore, but I think I only have myself to blame for that.” David finally looks up at Villa and is surprised at the depth of self loathing and guilt he sees in those dark eyes. “I want you to see that I care about you, that I think you’re beautiful, and that…” he pauses and sighs, “that I love you and don’t want to lose you any more than I already have.”
David opens his mouth before shutting it again. He doesn’t trust his voice to not shake- he already looks weak, he has no desire to sound weak too. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. Here they are, standing in his kitchen, two lovers parted by miscommunication and a thousand miles, waiting for a tea kettle to boil. It’s the first time someone has confessed to loving him and luckily enough, David loves him in return. David has come to grasp something: love must be lived in the present. Their love might not last forever, but their love is here now and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life regretting he had not been brave enough to silence the negative voices.
“Okay,” he finally says with a slow nod, hand tightening around Villa’s.
“Okay?” Villa questions and David smiles at the out of place and rare expression of uncertainty on Villa’s often stoic face.
Inching forward, David elevates himself high enough on his toes to press a soft kiss to Villa’s lips. The kiss is nothing more than a chaste peck, but it’s enough to alleviate some of the tension between them. Villa lets go of David’s hand and pulls the younger man tightly against him and buries his face in David’s soft hair. For his part, David is content to simply be held in the arms he never thought he’d feel again, breathing in the familiar smell of the man he loves, and taking the first steps to finding a semblance of inner peace. The voices of negativity aren’t gone yet, but they are far more silent than they have ever been.
“Please never run away from me again,” Villa’s voice is every bit as shaky as David was afraid of sounding.
Something wet falls on the side of David’s face and as he pulls back, he is shocked to see Villa has tears on his face. Reaching up, he gently wipes the tears away but before he can remove his hand, Villa stops him, cupping David’s hand and holding it against his face. Villa moves David’s palm over his mouth and kisses it before planting another kiss on the inside of David’s wrist. The gesture is both innocent and erotic; David feels a familiar tightening and curl of heat in his lower belly, but works hard to suppress the feeling. They aren’t ready for that yet.
The forgotten tea kettle chooses that moment to release a piercing whistle that has Villa dropping David’s hand as he nearly jumps in surprise. The moment, as sweet as it was, is broken and gone, and David laughs quietly at the wide eyed expression of Villa’s face as he removes the screaming kettle from the heat.
“Let’s go get lunch,” David suggests, ignoring the boiling water. “I know this great Italian place.”
Holding hands is both conspicuous and not something either of the David’s would normally do anyway. However David doesn’t miss how Villa manages to open every door for him and how his hand often rests on David’s lower back. Opening his car door for him is a bit much and David must inform Villa that while the gesture is charming, David is not a girl and is also quite capable of opening his own car door.
“You’re going to have to translate the menu for me,” Villa states after they are seated and he reaches for a menu.
“You know, the Italian language stays the same whether you’re in England or Spain,” David tells him with a cheeky grin, delighting in Villa’s slight embarrassed blush as he realizes what David says is true.
They’re sitting in the back corner, the maitre d’ recognizing David and affording them some measure of privacy. David is glad for the dim lighting and long table clothes; no one can see the blush on his face caused by Villa’s knee pressing against his own. The gesture is as close to hand holding as either would ever dare in public. It is so easy to fall back into their old pattern of quick and subtle glances and touches, but this time David tells himself those actions have a deeper meaning than pure physical attraction, that there is emotion, love, behind them. He has to keep reassuring himself less the voices of doubt returns.
“I have something for you,” from his coat pocket Villa pulls out a folded piece of paper- a card. “Zaida made it for you.”
The paper is pink (do other colors exist in the Villa household?) and the front is an explosion of crayon scribbles and a giant lopsided heart. The heart is the same shade of orange as the Valencia kit and the small attention to detail brings a smile to David’s face. Opening the card, his eyes trace the lovingly drawn house and five stick figures. Everyone is labeled: Patricia is holding the hands of a tiny Olaya while Zaida has drawn herself on the swing set. His stick figure is standing in a bunch of flowers while Villa is right next to him. David has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing at her artistic license in making her father’s soul patch blue. He doesn’t miss the big, red smile on the Villa stick figure nor the writing ‘please come home so Daddy will smile more’.
“How are the girls doing?” He folds the card and places it in pocket (he’ll put it on the fridge after Villa leaves).
“They’re getting bigger everyday.” The proud smile on Villa’s face is nearly blinding. “Olaya’s going to be walking soon and Zaida’s too smart for me to keep up with.”
“How does Patricia like Barcelona?”
“She’s adjusting; she’s made friends with a few of the other wives. Busy with the girls mostly though.”
The conversation halts as the sommelier approaches with the wine list and David, in his slow but understandable English, orders them a bottle. A silence descends over the table- both have too much to say but are unable to give voice to their thoughts. The sommelier returns with their bottle, and after making sure it meets their expectations, leaves them. David rotates his glass a few times before taking a sip of the red liquid, a small sip- he’s not out to get anything close to tipsy as he wants to be in total control of his actions.
“So…” he finally says, “Olalla and Patricia. That’s kind of…. Unexpected.”
“Yeah,” Villa agrees. “It was right in front of me, I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” He sets his glass down carefully. “I guess that’s a bad habit of mine.” Pause. “Fernando hasn’t figured it out yet.”
David snorts loudly.
* * *
“It’s only temporary,” David tells Villa as they return to his apartment. “I’ve been meaning to look for a house in the suburbs. The city is loud and busy.”
“It’s not Valencia.”
“No,” David’s smile has a touch of wistfulness to it. “The people have been very nice though.”
They remove their coats and shoes; moving into the living room. Villa notices that a few changes have been made since yesterday, something he had been too nervous to notice before. The room isn’t as white as it was; there are a few new items that bring color to the room, as if spring had come to the room as it woke from winter. David grabs the remote and turns on the TV- Real Madrid is playing, but Albiol is on the bench so neither has an interest in watching. The TV is off as soon as it was on and they’re sitting in silence.
“Would you have gone to Madrid?” Villa asks. “There were rumors and Albiol’s there.”
“No,” David shakes his head. “It felt wrong playing against him last year. I couldn’t play against Valencia. I didn’t want to play against Alexis at Sevilla. I wouldn’t want to play against you either, in blanco and blaugrana; it doesn’t seem right.” He sighs. “I didn’t want to leave.”
“We did what we had to do,” Villa takes David’s hand, running his thumb over David’s knuckles.
David leans against Villa. The two men are comfortable in the silence that overtakes the room. They are content to enjoy the company, the simple mere presence, of the other. Villa releases David’s hand to wrap an arm around the smaller man’s waist and draw him closer; David rests his head on Villa’s shoulder. To an outsider it would seem sweet that the two are finally reunited and about to have a moment like this, soft and sweet, again. The truth is they’ve never had a moment like this before. With any luck this won’t be the last one.
The two men spend the night pressed against one another on the couch, locked in a silent and satisfied embrace. Villa wakes up every time David shifts, afraid the younger man might run away from him again. But no, there is a small smile on David’s lips as he sleeps soundly through the night and Villa just holds him closer, unwilling to let go. They aren’t fixed, far from it, but they are no longer completely broken. All that matters is that they now know they can fix what is still broken.
Villa’s back is pressed against the Door when David kisses him goodbye in the morning. It’s a little closer than the Door would prefer to be but the Door is happy at David’s satisfied smile as Villa promises to call as soon as his plane touches down in Barcelona.
Yesterday the Door was a way to shut out the world. Today the Door is the beginning of something new.