14. Vincent
VINCENT
I'm freaking out and I don't know what to do. I'm trying not to read too much into things, but if I'm honest, I can’t.
I thought that we were okay after meeting with Jules and Tom the other day. I taught myself to hope that Something was happening, that we had the potential to develop into more, and I forgot what we were.
In our time together, yeah, there was sex, but then there was more touches, intimacy, and cuddling than I could have hoped for.
I thought it meant that we might have been working towards something, and then, just out of the blue, he comes out and says that he's going home.
That he's going back to his dad's. Reminding me that there we’re fake, that we have nothing left between us, and that we've got training camp in a few days.
Realistically, I knew that it was coming up, always aware that our time together was coming to an end.
But I didn't expect it to come around so soon.
I thought that I might have had time to have had a conversation with him to have figured out if we're on the same page to figure out what each other wants.
But instead, I'm left sitting here alone in my now empty house.
The house that didn't feel so empty before he came here.
That didn't feel quite so big and lonely until he left.
I moved out of home for years before I even moved here, living on my own since I was drafted, but it never left lonely. If anything, after living in my parents’ household for the first eighteen years of my life, living alone was liberating and peaceful.
Going back to living with someone over the last few months was an adjustment.
So, it's strange to be sitting here now in the vast silence, feeling the lack of his presence.
A fierce longing fills me, wishing for him to just come back and be here.
My mind flicks between the possibilities of what is going on in his head, and what this means for us, and trying not to think too much into it.
If it's going to happen, it's going to happen, and nothing I do or say can change it.
But at the same time, holy fuck, I wish something I could do.
Him saying he's going home just reminded me that the situation was temporary—at least for Tate.
As much as I wish it was otherwise, this situation has always been one sided, and it always had an expiration date on it.
But all this aside, I wasn't lying when I told him that I haven't been preparing for camp. So, pulling myself together as much as possible, I take myself to my office and start preparing for what will possibly be the biggest and hardest training camp of my life.
He's not on my line. He's not my responsibility.
But fuck if that doesn't mean that training is going to be easy with him around.
Fuck if that doesn't mean that seeing him every day, having to watch him put distance between us, having to pretend like we're just mates and that we tried but it's not gonna work out, isn’t going to be one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to endure.
I wish I had more time with him. To convince him of what we could be together.
Hell, to have time for him to fall in love with me the way that I've fallen in love with him.
I know that the possibility is there, as long as he takes it.
But the reality is, he's not taking steps towards me, if anything, he's taking steps away from me.
I'm trying not to be a pessimistic asshole, but I really have no other way to process this.
Pushing my emotions aside, I sit down at my desk and start going through game footage.
I lose myself in preparing plays, analysing details, and reviewing the information about the new players that we're starting this season.
If there's anything that life has taught me is that no matter what comes my way, footy will never change and it will never leave me.
It's a constant that's always been in my life, even when I was injured and unable to walk.
Even when my teammates left me behind, even when my parents kicked me out, no matter what's happened in my life, footy has always been there, and it will still be there for me.
No matter how hard it will be for me with Tate there.
The last three days have gone by in the blink of an eye.
I have barely slept, eaten, or moved from my office.
Not able to focus on anything other than the work that needs to be done to catch up on my time off.
And if I'm being honest, that's just a lie that I'm telling myself.
So that I can process the fact that he's not here, and that he hasn't reached out to me.
He told me he'd text, he told me that we'd still be in contact, but I've had nothing. Nothing this whole time. And all I can think of is why? Why hasn't he messaged? Why hasn't he called? Why hasn't he reached out? And the only conclusion that I can come to is that he's realised he's done with me.
We had a bit of a mateship before the situation between us started, but really, what type of mate can you be when you're a coach when you're a professional on his team?
How can we go back to that with all of the shared orgasms and experiences between us?
How am I meant to go back to chatting every other week when we're about to go on the field?
Fuck, how am I gonna go back to working in the locker room with him?
When he's got his dick out, when he's chatting and joking and slapping the other guys on the arse, and I'm just there like a fucking leper on the sidelines.
Left behind longing for a man whom I can't have, who I can't touch, and who doesn't want me.
I thought at the beginning that having him for a little bit of time would be better than never having him at all.
And I suppose there's a slight part of that that is true.
And at least I know now what it is like to have had him.
But at the same time, having him and then losing him.
It's a fucking hard, bitter pill to swallow.
I don't know how I'm going to be able to see him laughing, dating, or kissing a woman.
I fucking lost it when it was just a photo online and we weren't even together.
He didn't even know how I felt about him back then.
But now he does know, and even with everything that we've shared between us, he'll go back to dating chicks, being the little flirt that he is, and I'll be stuck here, left behind without him, without any friends without any family.
And without the man that I've been in love with for the last year.
I thought that this time together would have been enough to carry me over for life.
Thought that having him for a short amount of time was better than not having him at all.
But now I feel like I've lost a limb. I feel like I'm dying without him by my side.
I'm not able to talk to him, not able to reach out and check in and see how his day is.
Not able to walk down the hall and see him doing his funky yoga poses while he listens to an audiobook in my gym room.
Not able to sit next to him on the couch while we watch the latest action movie that he's been obsessed with.
Not able to touch him. Take him on dates, smile at him.
Kiss him even when I was just pretending it was for the photos.
Losing him feels like losing a part of me.
The only way that I can think to process it is to shut it down completely.
The last few days I've done nothing but work, internalise, and switch off from my emotions.
I've done it before and I'm sorry to say I probably have to do it again.
I was able to push through all of my emotions when my parents kicked me out.
I was able to push through all of my emotions when my team left me behind and didn't contact me after my injury.
I was able to push through it and move on when I went through rehab and the pain of recovery.
When I went through realising that I was never going to be able to play footy again.
So, I'm gonna do that again now. With barely any sleep, from anxiety and tossing and turning. I resulted to sleeping in his bed. To sleeping in his shirt and pretending that even just for a little bit, and I still had him within me, within my grasp.
The last three days have blended together so much that before I know it, it’s time for training camp and we've got a report for duty.
It's all hands on deck. I steel myself, getting ready for work, taking the time to make sure I look my best. There's still a part of me that wants to show him what he's missing out on and pretend to everyone else that this breakup is mutual.
Once I'm dressed in my uniform, hair slicked back, and I've had about three shots of coffee because I've got fuck all sleep from my anxiety, I take what feels like the longest drive in the world to work.
Really, it's only a handful of minutes because I made sure to get a house that wasn't too far from the stadium when I moved to Orlo.
So, the drive takes me less than 15 minutes.
Part of me wishes it was longer to avoid having this day come.
Part of me wishes that this was just over and done with.
So then that way we could move on and get on with our lives.
Not that I see that happening too much for me in my future.
But at least I can pretend, at least I can move on with the facade.
And not have to be waiting around any longer for the dregs of hope that still linger within me, even after all this time.