Bloodsport

chapter 58

On Monday, Coach Abrahams approached him at practice. After a second glance at Harry’s sleep-deprived face, he told him he hadn’t received any news from Manchester.
“Fine,” he said. “Then I’ll go to Chelsea. After the championship match, you can tell them yes. If they want me, still.”

“Of course, they still want you, boy.”

“All right, then.”

It felt horrible. He didn’t know what to feel towards Chelsea anymore, specifically, but everything was horrible.

That week started off worse than the previous, because the week before, Harry still had some kind of hope. This week, he was heartbroken. He ignored Louis at practice with a vengeance. He didn’t talk to Liam, and Liam didn’t say anything back. Harry was kind of sorry about his behaviour, but he wasn’t ready to embrace that sentiment and apologise yet. Anger lingered, but it mingled with sorrow.

After school on Tuesday — another excruciating day — he stood in his bathroom, in front of the mirror. He stared at his naked chest. Louis’ last love bites had faded, and his skin looked clean and untouched. It had been over a week since Louis last kissed him, and it felt like years. He was so used to his presence that he felt empty each morning he woke up.

As he stood there, staring at himself, hating the lack of signs he was Louis’, his mind wandered. He looked more muscular than he had six months ago, and it had to be down to all the footie training and Louis’ five-day protein, two-day pizza cycle. In just a few months, he’d have a nutritionist and personal trainers making sure he was fit enough to be a professional athlete.

The thought that in a few months he’d be in a whole other town, playing for a whole different club, made his legs shake. He sank down on the rug that wasn’t purple, and fell back against the side of the bathtub. His hands ran into his hair, squeezing around his curls in painful twists.

He’d be gone. Away from Donny. For years, it was all he had ever wanted, and there he suddenly sat, despising the very idea of it.

Why? he asked himself, begging to understand what he already knew. He shouldn’t have hated it! He should’ve been allowing that other feeling to flourish, the one that said his relationship with Louis was over anyway, and he might as well stay the fuck away.

So, why? Why?

It meant leaving him.

                                   *

On Tuesday, he spotted Louis outside of school. Harry was heading to the Rover to grab his washed training kit when he saw him walking out of the main building. Niall Horan was next to him, easy to recognise by his blond hair and loud laugh. They were talking and smiling. Harry detested admitting it, but the sight of Louis smiling made him feel for him. Louis had been miserable for so long, missing his best friend, and it appeared he’d gotten him back somehow.
He slammed the door to his Rover shut. Fuck that feeling. He was supposed to be angry, because he still was. He was furious that Louis had let Jasmine touch him, and he was pissed that he’d done it in front of him. He wanted to shout at him, bang his fists against his chest, and tell him how ruthlessly brutal it had felt.

The image of them made him sick.

But… deep down he also wanted Louis to apologise. To say he was sorry, hold him, promise that he loved him and that none of it had been what it seemed.

Everything hurt all the fucking time.

It wasn’t until the day after that he accepted defeat, and decided to apologise to Liam. He’d seen Louis and Niall again, smiling and chatting, and it affected him enough to think of apologising. Moreover, Zayn had spent days trying to convince him that Liam was only innocently caught in the middle of trying to be a good friend to two people standing on either end of a problem.