How to break a heart
Title: How to break a heart
Pairing: Andy Roddick/Roger Federer
Other character: Mike Bryan
Rating: PG-13
Warning: angst, profanity
Word count: 5,146
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and this is a fiction.
Summary: Life has been hard on Andy, and he has been hard on himself.
Author’s note: The story is in Andy’s POV and set during this May, inspired by ‘How to break a heart’ from Westlife. It’s betaed by crystaleyesd and dedicated to gordos. Happy birthday, dear friend =D
He wasn’t worth it. In the end, he just wasn’t. It was unfortunate that I realized it when it was already too late. How stupid of me.
Don’t get me wrong. He was a great boyfriend, a passionate lover, and a caring friend. But none of those features made it any easier for me to get over him, to accept the fact that we didn’t want the same things. Or should I say, we did want the same thing, but we had different expectations from the world; he was more of a pessimist than I thought and I was more of an optimist than he thought. We were that different. We were that bad at understanding each other.
Then, what did we have in common? What were we good at? Well, apart from our colorful nighttime activities, we were good at making sarcastic jokes. We both enjoyed a big breakfast with toasts, loved the moment our heads hit the pillow, and hated the morning alarm.
Why am I even reminiscing about all this? As I said, it’s worthless. It’s not worth my effort, not worth my time, and clearly not worth my love. I don’t miss him. I really don’t. It’s just that I don’t have anything better to do. I’ve always hated the clay season and… oh hey, that’s another thing he and I had in common. We hated clay with so much passion that we would occasionally make love on a secluded clay court and roll over it. It felt good to do something useful on clay and we both enjoyed that feeling immensely.
“Andy, he got broken again.” Mike tells me in a small voice.
We were watching the Madrid final on TV. Well, technically, Mike was watching it and I was thinking about these stupid things. I hardly watch any of his matches these days, but he’s facing his ultimate rival, so I figured I could take a little peek. I’m not interested in the match, of course. As I said, my schedule is wide open during this part of the season; I have nothing better to do.
“He can always break back. He can make it, you know. If anybody can do it, it’s him.”
I snort. What did he say?
“Don’t get your hopes up, buddy. He’s going to lose.” I tell him without an ounce of uncertainty. At least, I can be sure about that part of him.
“But you never know! He can get the second set and who knows what’s going to happen in the third.”
I let out a sigh. Is he serious?
“I’m telling you, it’s worthless.” I make myself clear.
“But if he can just get into a tiebreak…”
“No, he can’t.”
“But Rafa’s second serve percentage…”
“Mike…”
“But Roger’s return has been…”
“Mike! It’s worthless! Do you hear me? He’s not worth it! All he does is hold onto his fucking girlfriend and tell you he doesn’t have the balls to face whatever’s out there! He’s not going to come out for you! He’s not! Don’t you get it? He’s cruel enough to say it, but he doesn’t love you!”
Mike shuts up and glances at me with worried eyes. Damn, did I just yell at the one friend who has been putting up with all my shit?
“Sorry, buddy. It’s just that… you brought up his name. You know I don’t want to hear it.”
“Sorry. My bad.”
Mike quietly returns to his TV screen and I get up from the couch. I don’t care how much the mini bar overcharges you. I need a strong drink, and I need it now.
The next morning, I find myself in the airport, ready to leave for Paris. I’ve only enjoyed playing in Roland Garros because the city is so beautiful. Like any other couple on tour, he and I had our fair share of memories in the city of romance. We had an amazing dinner on the Eiffel Tower, practiced French kissing under an umbrella on Champs-Elysée, and ran after each other in the forest near the Roland Garros site. I once even rented a private boat on the Seine to soothe his clay nerves. We lay side by side and watched how the stars and the pretty light from the Eiffel Tower mingled in the evening air.
It takes a lot for me to say this, but it was damn romantic. With him, anything would have been great, but that evening was pretty special. He looked at me with the stars still in his eyes and told me what I wanted to hear. God, it was amazing to hear those words out loud, and it was incredibly fulfilling to see him repeat them until I shut him up with my well-practiced French kiss. It was foolish, I know, but then only a fool falls for a man who doesn’t even know how to love himself. If he truly cared about himself, he wouldn’t have left me for a girl. He wouldn’t have chosen to hide from his true identity. He wouldn’t have pretended that we would be okay, that both of us would somehow find happiness with someone else, and that I would forget about him someday.
Ha, how dumb did he think I was? He didn’t know that I had an excellent memory? I can still remember the scent of his hair on a rainy morning, the smile on his lips when he appreciates the perfect taste of his coffee, and the glint in his eyes when he looks at me as if I was the most precious thing in the world. Right… the most precious thing in the world that he leaves behind. He would’ve made a great actor in Hollywood. After all, acting is pretending, right? Too bad that bastard’s great at tennis. He should know that he missed out on sixteen Oscars though.
“Attention to… flying AF 265… now boarding at Gate 17.”
I catch fragments of the announcement and realize that the information concerns me. Huh, it’s already boarding time? I’m not sure for how long I’ve been sitting here, but oh well, who cares about time? It’s meaningless when you’re left alone without a heart.
I stand up with my bags and I feel a little light-headed. Ah, I must be getting old. Three bottles of whatever that booze was wouldn’t have affected me a couple of years ago. After taking a moment to breathe in some purified air, I slowly make my way to the gate. Flying has never been my thing. It smells like a drug cabinet inside the airplanes and I could only stand it when he took me on his private jet. Hmm, perhaps I should get one of my own. But then, is that a smart move? I know I can afford it, but I don’t want to find myself doing the interiors the same way as he did. As I said, I have an excellent memory and flying on his jet was the only worthy experience in the air.
Damn, he’s ruining everything. Now I’ll never get a jet because nothing beats your first experience and I want my jet to look exactly like his. Damn, wasn’t it enough for him to ruin my happiness? Or ruin my joy of going back to all those cities we have on the calendar? Did he really have to ruin absolutely everything? Did he not care about me at all?
I sigh and my eyes land on a young lady who looks like she’s ready to take my boarding pass.
“Oh, sorry. Here you go.”
I quickly hand it over, amazed at my auto-walking skills. Apparently, you don’t need much of a brain to find the right boarding gate. It’s inside your system if you’ve traveled as much as I’ve done.
“Thank you, sir. Enjoy your flight with Air France.”
I give her a little smile and follow the way that leads to the plane. Ah, will I still like Paris like I used to? I didn’t have much of a problem last year because I pretty much stayed at the hotel and the practice courts. It oddly made me do well at Roland Garros, but I won’t be able to stick to the same schedule this year. My supermodel wife is working on some unpronounceable island, so I won’t have a good reason to stay in bed all day.
“May I take your jacket, sir?”
“Thanks.”
I take off my jacket and the flight attendant disappears with it. I put my luggage on the upper shelf and sit down on my seat. It’s right next to the aisle and I pray that nobody will sit next to me on the window side. I’ve been in a very bad mood ever since I picked up a stomach virus this week, and my mood only got worse when that moron failed to even get a set in a Masters final. Seriously, why does he want to ruin everything?
Bah, all I want to do right now is to fasten my seatbelt, cuddle up with my blanket, and sleep until someone wakes me up for a meal. I take off my shoes and slip my feet into the slippers before making sure that my seatbelt isn’t too loose. Then, I rip off the bag that contains the blanket and close my eyes, feeling cozy under the warm fabric. Ah, time to get some beauty sleep.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Could you check your ticket please? I think this seat is mine.”
My eyes fling open at the voice that’s coming from nearby. No way. I must’ve fallen asleep immediately and must be dreaming already.
“Thanks, I’m Roger. Nice to meet you. You too, sir.”
Apparently, the old lady and the old man he’s talking to doesn’t know a thing about tennis. What is he doing here anyway? Is he with his wife and children? What happened to his jet? The pilot had some kind of family emergency? Before I can stop myself, my head turns around and I let out a sigh of relief. He seems to be travelling alone.
Ah, this is pathetic. He shouldn’t have any effect on me by now. It’s been over a year! Shouldn’t I be annoyed that he’s sitting just three seats away in the same row? That there’s only an old lady and her snoring husband who separate us? For my own sake, I shouldn’t be wondering why he’s on the same plane with me and I definitely shouldn’t be thinking that perhaps this isn’t a coincidence. If I’m not dreaming already, I should really get some sleep; hopefully, it will kick away my conspiracy theory.
Half an hour has passed and the plane has taken off, but I’m still failing to fall asleep. I’m a great sleeper on airplanes. What’s wrong with me? And, as if I need additional torture, I can hear him talking to the old lady a little bit too clearly. Is it this easy to eavesdrop on other passengers? Or do French people usually snore their way back home? Does he have a loud voice? Or do I have some kind of super hearing powers?
I take a quick glance at him. Maybe this is a coincidence and he doesn’t even know that I’m here. He looks so laid-back and carefree. Lucky bastard. He’s casually laughing at jokes when I’m thinking of getting a drink that would help me fall asleep. But then, I’m on a plane. They never carry anything strong on planes.
“My dear, maybe it’s just an old woman’s silliness, but I think that fine young man over there is rather fond of your pretty curls.”
My eyes grow wide and I try to hide. It’s too late. He looks straight into my eyes as if he knew where I was and I feel so exposed.
“Haha, I think he was looking over my shoulder. Perhaps he was checking out the beautiful flight attendant.”
“No, no, my dear. I’m fairly sure he was looking your way. It’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed. I understand that it’s the twenty-first century and that a pretty boy can have feelings for another pretty boy. I may be old, but I’m not that old-fashioned.”
“Haha, that’s great. But, I’m not gay, so I hope he was really looking at the flight attendant.”
Bang!
All the eyes rest on me as I notice with regret that I smashed my fist against the handle of the seat.
“Sorry.”
I apologize in case I scared anybody. I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t stand him captured in denial like that. I couldn’t stand him denying everything that we savored together. Why can’t I forget about it? Why can’t I move on? Did I really believe that he was the one who’s going to change my life? Was I that naïve? Did I really picture a future with him? Based on what? On his fake love confessions? On my desperate and pathetic attempt to find someone who would steady the chaos inside me?
Disgusted with myself, I decide to move to the seat next to mine. Nobody showed up in the end. Lucky me. I sit down in the window seat and try to relax. My muscles are all tensed up, but I don’t have my physio on board. What a shame. I could really use some professional hands here. You don’t get to run into your ex-boyfriend on a plane so often; if I’d ever needed an instant massage, it was right now.
I look out the window, doing my best to find some inner peace by watching the clouds under my feet. Bah, it doesn’t do anything. I give up easily and consider listening to some music or watching a film. A very violent, blood-splattering one should do the trick. But, when I reach out to grab the in-flight magazine, I see someone sit down in my original seat from the corner of my eye.
“Hello, Andy.”
Shit! I should’ve seen this coming.
“Hello.”
I mumble quickly and busy myself fumbling through the magazine. Where are the films? Aren’t they always at the back?
“You know, it’s not really nice to read a magazine when somebody’s trying to talk to you.”
What? I zap my head towards him and snap. “Not nice? Do you want to know what’s really not nice?”
A small smirk appears on his lips and I realize that I’ve walked straight into his trap. He didn’t want to offend me. He just wanted me to face him.
“Go back to your seat and get on with your life. Since when do you need to talk to me anyway?”
I go back to my magazine, but he snatches it.
“Roger!”
“Oh, glad to see that you remember my name.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm.
“Don’t be a jackass.”
He flinches at my choice of word and I use the opportunity to get my magazine back.
“Andy, please. I need to talk to you.”
“No, you don’t. If there was anything on your mind, you would’ve wanted to talk to me a year ago. Bye-bye, fellow player.”
I even kindly wave at him with my left hand - of course, my eyes are still on the magazine - but he doesn’t appreciate my kindness and grabs my wrist.
“You’re hurting me. Let it go.” My voice drops. This isn’t fun.
“Let go of me. Now.”
“A fellow player? That’s all I am to you?”
“Oh, come on. What do you want me to call you? A rival? A former friend? A boy toy I used to fuck?”
I wince at my own words, but I’m willing to do anything to send him back to his seat.
He has left as I wished. I thought I would feel much better if he left me alone, but I’ve been feeling nauseous ever since he returned to his seat without another word. Maybe it’s karma. Bob and Mike always talk about how karma works like magic. I guess if you call someone a boy toy, you get nausea as a payback.
“Excuse me, sir. Are you all right?” The flight attendant who took my jacket earlier is looking down at me with a worried face.
“Yes, I’m good.” I don’t think there would be any treatment for nausea on this plane unless I can get off it.
“You’re sweating, sir.”
“I am…?”
I lift my right hand and touch my cheek. I am sweating.
“Do you need anything, sir? I could ask if there’s a doctor among the passengers if you need one.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I just haven’t slept much these days, that’s all.”
I give her a weak smile and unfasten my seatbelt. As I get up, the world spins for a second. I take a deep breath and head to the toilet. I have to throw up.
Alas! Another huge failure! I can’t throw up! Doesn’t a toddler even know how to do this? Shoving my finger in my throat doesn’t work. Neither does banging my own back. I’m screwed.
After a few more attempts, I give up and settle with splashing some water on my face and rinsing my dry mouth. I open the door to go back to my seat, but there’s someone blocking my way.
“Could you get out of the way please?” My words are nice, but my tone isn’t.
“Sorry. I don’t want to.”
He pushes me back inside and closes the door behind him. I’m trapped between him and the sink now. Crap. This can’t be good.
“Relax. I just want to talk.”
“Oh, really? Yeah, that’s exactly what this looks like.”
“Could you drop the sarcasm for a minute?”
I make eye contact with him and see something unfamiliar in his eyes. Huh. And, here I thought I knew every single emotion that could come across his face. Has he changed that much during a year? Has he become unfamiliar to me?
“Andy, please.”
“Fine. Let’s talk.”
I turn a little to the left, so I wouldn’t have to face him. It’s getting really uncomfortable, trapped in such a small space with someone you once knew.
“How have you been?”
My head snaps up and I give him a death glare.
“How have I been? That’s what you want to talk about? Geez, I don’t know. If you’re that curious about my everyday’s life, you’re welcome to follow my Twitter!”
“What happened to dropping the sarcasm?” He takes a step towards me as if there was any space in between.
“Stay right there.” I warn him in a hurry.
“Or what? You’re going to make more sarcastic comments?”
He’s now pressing against my body and this is not right.
“Back off, Roger.”
Why can’t I call him by his last name? Well, that’s not the imminent matter right now, so I put my hands on his chest to push him back. The only problem is that I can’t really push. Did I drink too much last night?
While my sleep-deprived, alcohol consumed brain plans the next move, he’s got a hold of my hands, overlapping his hands over mine. Great.
“How have you been?”
Oh, not that question again. I let out a wounded sound and hope that someone bangs on the door soon, so I can get out of this mess. I try to pull my hands out of his grip, but he’s too strong. Okay, whoever’s out there, now would be a really good time to knock!
“Don’t worry. I put an ‘out of order’ sign on the door. We’ve got plenty of time to talk.”
Now I just want to bang my head on the wall and lose consciousness. I know it’s not the manliest plan out there, but I’m that desperate.
“What do you want to know? I had a stomach virus, but I’m fine. Happy now?”
“What’s with the dizziness?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Answer me. Please.”
I shrug my shoulders in defeat, hands still awkwardly lying on his chest. “I don’t know. I still don’t enjoy flying and I guess I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“How are things going with Brooklyn?”
My jaw drops at the intruding question and I find the power to get my hands back.
“Don’t you dare say her name.” I growl in my lowest voice.
“Why not? You’re not making her a happy girl? How could she not be happy when she has married Andy Roddick?”
I push him towards the door and he frowns in pain. That’s another good example of karma.
“Do not say her name. It’s none of your business whether she’s happy with me or not.”
Wait. Did I just say that? Wouldn’t it have been more convincing if I lied and said that she was the happiest girl in America?
He looks at me as if he can see right through me. I’d really like to leave now. Maybe it’s even time to land. Yay, Paris! I’ve always loved this city, but it has never brought me this much joy before.
“Mirka’s only happy because she’s got two kids.” He stutters out as I try to get past him and reach the door.
“Well, too bad for her. Give her my best condolences.” I manage to get hold of the door, but his body is still in my way.
“Move. Now.” I don’t feel like being polite anymore.
“Ah, weren’t those my favorite words when I used to fuck you like a boy toy?”
Excuse me?
I throw a punch towards his belly, but he defends himself with his arms. Well, I guess I shouldn’t have said such a thing in the first place. Ah, the sweet taste of my own medicine. This time, I try kicking him in the shin, but he sees that one coming too. Damn!
Soon enough, we start wrestling with each other. He pushes me against the sink and I slam him against the door. What is he trying to prove? That he can’t make his wife happy and I can’t do the same either? What’s the point? How many wives in the world are truly happy anyway?
“I was a coward.” His voice is thick with regret, but it’s not my problem.
“Too bad for you.” I say half-heartedly, because it’s really not my problem. I just want to get out of this toilet and out of his sight.
“I really wish things had been different.”
Now this is getting way beyond annoying. “Forget about it and move on with your life. Don’t the twins keep you busy enough?”
He looks a little surprised at the coldness of my voice, but seriously, what did he expect? I wriggle a little so that I can use this opportunity and get out of his life, but he keeps me in place, grabbing my waist forcefully.
“What do you want? I’m tired. I feel light-headed, remember?”
“I’d like to know if we could be on speaking terms again.”
Ha. Is he serious? I want to chop him into little pieces every time he says something so cruel with such a sad face. Does he even have the right to be sad? He was the one who couldn’t handle it! I became a better man to stay with him! I even took anger management courses! I gave him everything I could think of! But after all that, he still couldn’t handle me! He still didn’t love me… After all those years, he couldn’t love me.
All of a sudden, I feel extremely nauseous. I push him and drop down on the floor, throwing up in the toilet. If I had any bit of strength left in me, I would’ve refused his helping hand. I would’ve smacked that strong hand that dares to rub my back so soothingly. Ah, I must be really ill.
“Are you okay?”
His voice sounds gentle and I nod even when I’m clearly not okay. But hey, I’m Andy Roddick. I’ll live after throwing up in an airplane. No big deal.
“You’re obviously not okay.”
He keeps rubbing my back until I manage to flush whatever I had for breakfast down the toilet. I guess it wasn’t smart to drink when the stomach virus wasn’t done with me yet. Huh, I wish he was the one who’s not done with me. Wait. Did I just say that? Nah, that wasn’t me. It was the virus talking. But I was fine yesterday. Maybe viruses come back if you’re under too much stress. But then, why would he stress me out? He’s out of my life. I don’t care about him anymore. Ah, whatever.
“I can stand up on my own.” I tell him in a weak voice after rinsing my mouth with water. Too bad I had to stumble a bit and end up grabbing his arm.
“Easy there. I got you.” He wraps an arm around my waist and helps me get out of the toilet. Ah, finally.
A guy who’s been waiting in front of the other toilet glances at us and gives me a knowing smile. No. That’s not what happened, mister. I’m not feeling weak in the knees because I was enjoying my mile-high club. Jesus. I just hope he didn’t recognize our faces.
I leave his side and slowly make my way back to my seat. The first thing I do after wrapping myself in the blanket is to ask for a glass of fresh water.
“Right away, sir.”
She comes back as soon as my eyelids start to get heavy. Am I finally going to fall asleep? But aren’t we going to land in about half an hour? I gulp down the glass of water and let drowsiness take over my body. I suppose that nice flight attendant will wake me up if I have to get off the plane.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. We are…”
I hear the faint sound of the announcement, but I don’t really care. I have my seatbelt fastened and both my seat and table are in the upright position. Aren’t I a great passenger? I just wish I was a great boyfriend too. All this time, I’ve been thinking about what I did well and what he did wrong, but am I sure that he is the only one to blame? But if I can’t even blame him, how am I going to live through all this pain? How am I going to survive without him?
Should I have tried harder to kick some sense into his thick skull? Or did I scare him off? Should I have been more patient and give him more time? Did I rush him into a decision and make a fatal mistake? Am I really ready to admit that it wasn’t his entire fault? What good is going to come out of it? Isn’t it easier to blame him, and him only?
I decide to stop thinking about such useless stuff and throw myself into deeper sleep.
Hmm, this is nice. I’m dreaming about taking a nap on a cozy, little cloud. Its surface is softer than anything I’ve ever laid my hand on and it reminds me of the warmth I used to feel when he had his arms around me. Oh great, is this how my dream going to be? I finally managed to stop thinking about him by falling asleep, but he’s going to haunt me in my dreams too?
I try to get up from the cloud. I don’t need this kind of warmth. I’m stronger than that. I try to move my feet, but they suddenly feel so heavy. Okay, let’s move my upper body then. I should be able to sit up.
“Andy…”
I hear his voice out of nowhere and it makes me go weak again. I drop back on the cloud and stare up at the sky. Do I still miss him? Why can’t he stay out of my life? It didn’t seem to be such a hard job for a whole fucking year! Why would he want to mess with me again?
“Andy…”
Stop calling me, damn it! Which part of ‘Get the hell out of my life!’ do you not understand? The cloud envelops my body, but I resist and manage to stand up. See? I’m stronger than that.
But the moment I take a step forward, I find myself falling through the cloud.
“Ahhh!!”
I flail my arms and legs, but I keep falling. I guess I don’t have wings in this dream.
“Help!!”
I cry out, hoping that somebody will save me. But then, I’m in mid-air. Who can possibly be there for me?
“Easy there. I got you.”
He catches me with those strong yet soothing arms and l let out a sigh of relief. Does he have wings? I take a look around and notice that we’re sitting on top of his jet. Ah, how I’ve missed this jet. I close my eyes and rest my head against his shoulder. It’s really warm and nice here. One of the best dreams I’ve had in a while.
Please tell me that this is a meaningless dream and that it has nothing to do with reality. Tell me that he’s still sitting in his seat with the nosy old lady and that this warmth is all coming out of this marvelous blanket.
“I really wish things had been different, Andy… so that you and I would still be speaking to each other.”
He can’t shut his mouth even in my dream, can he? As he puts me down safely on the ground, I decide to answer him honestly for once. It’s a dream. Nobody’s going to get hurt in here.
“Roger, I need more than just speaking to you. You know I’ve always wanted more than you did. You were a realist and I was an idealist. I’m just like that. I don’t know when to give up, so I keep heading forward…”
Chu.
He presses a kiss on my forehead as he holds me in his arms. Wow, it feels like a real kiss. But then, I do have a history of dreaming vividly. I now realize that all those years we’ve spent together were nothing more than a vivid dream.