mélancolie | giroud

-onze-

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Why am I even doing this? I could spend my time on more useful things than this.

Every single muscle in my body seems to be tensed as I inhale the familiar smell of several different desinfactions while crossing one corridor after the other.

Deschamps who ironically banned me from joining the practise until I've got my unexplainable emotions under control, made me visit the therapy lessons nevertheless.

A strange kind of fear floats my every vein as I stop infront of the door to my therapy room, my hands shaking terribly while my fingers curl around the cold material of the metal knob.

First when I had gotten the message to attend this therapy lesson, anger had controlled my body and had made me oblivious to all the risks that this meeting actually brings with it.

Then after a few hours of me fuming and smashing expensive porcellain plates that had belonged to Sofie's grandmother to the ground, I felt helpless and if I was about to cry until I finally did.

Now, my curiousity fights against the urge to slap Elenie across her cheek and the will to curl up into a ball and simply cry silently in a corner.

I don't really get the pleasure to decide what to do because suddenly the door is being opened from the other side and reveals none other than Elenie's father, Monsieur Dorant whose amused grin never seems to leave his face.

"Monsieur Giroud, how lovely to see you"

He doesn't even try to hide the deep sarcasm in his voice that should probably give me the feeling of being worthless and not welcome here but surprisingly his words don't seem to bother me even one bit.

"Monsieur Dorant, what a pleasure" I reply in the same kind of way like he did and fake a quick smile.

"I am going to be your therapist for the day because my daughter is on vacation for the week"

I have to contain myself badly not to let any scoffs leave my lips as I raise my eyebrows and think about her arms wrapped around Antoine's neck.

Of course she would accompany him to the friendly matches that aren't held in France.

I haven't called back Antoine for the past three days. I wasn't in the mood to put up with a sorryful and utterly confused Griezi who is surely not the one to blame, neither with Elenie who I just don't want to ever lay my eyes on again.

How should I react to her when I see her again?

The question is still remaining unanswered in my head and as long as I doesn't have to find a response, I am good.

"Lovely" I simply reply, not even trying to fake the slightest bit of interest.

Monsieur Dorant gestures me to sit down at the wooden chair infront of his desk before taking a seat right after me. His eyes pierce into mine with full force as if he wants to get rid of me as soon as possible but I don't break the eye contact.

Monsieur Dorant might be a man you don't really want to have any contact to because he's plain rude, only able to answer to your question with sarcasm and innerly laughing about you.

But his daughter is worse, my mind reminds me and brings back memories that make me feel nostalgetic.

My therapist clapping into his hands lets me snap out of my little daze, his amused smile playing on his lips again.

"How is it going Olivier?"

"Nothing but good, thank you"

I am still not quite sure how these meetings are actually supposed to help me and if Elenie hadn't been there for me, there wouldn't have been any success with the therapy.

Elenie.

Soft hands roaming my body freely, delicate fingers caressing the outlines of my face, plump lips tracing from my ones to my neck.

Goosebumps spread my skin as I wait for Monsieur Dorant's answer, basically praying that he's as unambitious as I am today.

"So there's no reason why you're not travelling with the nationalteam right now?"

My hands ball themselves into fists as the anger builds itself up in my tensed body, my jaw clenched.

This here is supposed to help me and calm me down, not to make things even worse.

"The coach didn't choose me, what's so special about this?" I hiss, my fingers tapping impatiently against the wooden surface of the desk.

"I don't know, but you're one of the common players for the nationalteam. A whole country is wondering why you, the great Olivier Giroud, is not attending those matches"

I squeeze my eyes shut and count to ten slowly, inhaling and exhaling slowly. This man is not going to reach his sick goal of seeing me freak out completely, I am not going to give him this pleasure.

"Look, I have more important things to do today. I will return when there are serious problems alright?" I say through gritted teeth, mentally preparing myself on sarcastic laughter.

"Olivier, wait" my therapist sighs deeply and pushes his glasses up a bit to rub his eyes tiredly, "I know everything"

It's like my heart froze in my chest as soon as my brain begins to realize what he just said.

No. Freaking. Way.

"I know that my daughter and you" his eyes travel up and down my body appraisingly, "had an affair. And I also know how she betrayed you with your teammate"

It feels like a huge and hurtful slap across my face to hear those words so direct and without any force to make it sound better. Somehow, I am even thankful for his reaction because all the other still behave around me as if I was a raw egg.

"My Elenie is a good girl, she doesn't want anybody to be hurt or to feel bad about anything"

I can't hold back the inappropriate snort that escapes my mouth but I couldn't care less, no matter how Monsieur Dorant may react to my action. Surprisingly, he sighs deeply and leans back in his seat instead of insulting me and throwing me out of the therapy room.

"But she can't really stay with only one man, that's the sad truth"

My laugh sounds more like a loud cough as if I was close to empty my stomach on the carpetened floor.

"I don't really like you Monsieur Giroud and I know that you can imagine by now" the doctor sends me another one of his amused grins which I actually return this time, "but I must really say, getting your heart broken is a feeling worse than losing football matches or simple jealousy"

Monsieur Dorant clears his throat awkwardly as if he was as surprised as I am about his sudden empathy towards me.

"No need to get so emotional, I can't get my work done if you're in such a bad condition"

I actually didn't realize the tears were rolling down my cheeks until the doctor made me notice the drops of salty liquor.

"I can't believe I am saying this for real" I laugh briefly and wipe my tears away quickly, "but thank you Monsieur Dorant"

"Pas de problème" he answers calmly, moving a hand of his through his unstyled hair, "do you want to return tomorrow maybe? Officially, we discussed all your problems and you are better, of course"

"Yes, that would be absolutely fine" I exhale in relief before shaking Monsieur Dorant's hand and leaving the room.

I first start to wonder about my doctor's sudden change of mood as I already leave the parking lot infront of the local hospital.

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dedicated to franckribery may💖