Fifteen

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Blaise Beck- Day Present

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Blaise Beck- Day
Present

I hadn't been in America for a while.

Two years to be more specific.

Soccer of course had me traveling all over the globe and I would travel anywhere as long as that anywhere didn't involve the country of the united states. I knew wherever I went she would follow and that's exactly what I didn't want.

Until now.

Leaving her was never the plan–and not answering her letters wasn't either. But I knew that if I responded it would only give her the hope of me coming back and I just had to wait a while until I knew it would be good for me to come back.

I just wanted everything to be good for her.

I was put in a difficult position.

My eyes had not once left the window since arriving at my apartment that sat over the edge of campus. "Sir, where would you like these?" I turned my head for a split second to see that he was holding my most valuable possessions.

And I wasn't talking about trophies or medals.

Nothing that money could buy, and nothing that a high profile status in a society could provide for you.

"On the desk, please," I spoke, my eyes back to the window.

Her letters filled those journals. I mean, everything she had ever written me was in there. Everything. Even before I left— every little message she passed me in class, was in there. It was a reminder as to why I left– why I had to leave, why I had to get out of there for the benefit of everyone.

If you had been following online within the last week or reading magazines that had just been published, you probably have concluded that I decided to take a year off from soccer in Paris.

And boy oh boy was it a shit storm. A complete shit storm. I suffered losing five million dollars, which isn't even a dent in my account but still, it's a hefty fine. I thought coach was going to have a heart attack when I told him I needed to go to America for a year to study.

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