Just like that, I was back in Munich. I didn't speak much, but Jagger had perhaps spoken too much, and I had ended up on the first flight back to Germany with an appointment booked with a therapist and a head full of regret.
My house was just how I left it, neat and tidy. The food and water bowl for my tiny white kitten, Zeus, was half full, reassuring me that my neighbours remembered to come in and feed him.
I sat down on my sofa, still clutching the bottle of water that I'd bought from the airport. I sighed loudly. The worst thing was, I didn't want to be back home. Sure, I hated everyone on the tour and I hated being away from home but I didn't get to play a single minute of football.
Who's fault was that? Jagger's.
She didn't even try to talk to me about it when I had what she called a 'breakdown' on the staircase. No, she went straight to Pep who then told the medics who directed me back home. Apparently I wasn't 'emotionally stable' enough to continue to tour and I needed to get better before the season started. But the way I saw it, I can't get better because I can't change the way my brain is wired.
A little while later, after I'd unpacked everything and felt a little calmer, I decided to go on a walk. My flight had got in early morning for Germany and my body clock was all over the place. I was almost falling asleep as I locked the front door to my house, but I forced myself to stay awake to try and regulate my sleeping schedule as best as an emotionally unstable man could.
I turned right down my street and started walking in the direction of the park a few minutes away from my house. Trees neatly lined the pathways evenly on each side of the road and a slight breeze made the leaves flutter against each other, causing a rustling noise that was unusually relaxing.
"Robert!"
My head turned when I heard my name being called. I could see the park from where I was stood and all I wanted to do was sit down by the lake and listen to little kids giggle as they threw bread down for the ducks to eat, or the splashing as they paddled in the shallow end. I found happiness of strangers relaxing, but happiness of people I knew was the opposite.
"I thought it was you!"
I smiled, actually smiled. For the first time in a very long time, my lips curved into an action of happiness that was genuine and not even a tiny bit forced.
"Klara," I whispered as she hugged me, my body taking a few seconds to react before I wrapped my arms around her ever so tightly.
"Surprised to see me?"
I gasped, laughing slightly as I looked her up and down. She had certainly matured, in more ways that just her height. We were very close friends growing up in Poland, our mothers also being close friends. She and I spent almost everyday together but when we left high school, it was like the cord between us was cut.
"Yeah, what are you doing here?"
"I work here in Munich now. Well, it's only temporary until Christmas but hopefully they'll keep me for the whole year. What are you doing back in Germany anyway? I thought Bayern were somewhere in China?"
"We-they are. I came home early but that's another story entirely."
Klara knew that me avoiding something meant that it was dangerous ground and not to be touched unless I was extremely drunk and wouldn't remember talking about my feelings the day after.
"I was just on my way into the village to get some lunch, you wanna be my date, Lewandowski?"
"Sure, why not?"
She linked her arm through mine, despite my hand being buried in my pocket. Klara was always so cheerful and I was constantly confused as to why someone as happy as her could ever be friends with someone as miserable as myself. My mother always said it was because we balanced each other out and I believed her, it put me off thinking about the fact that Klara was my only friend growing up.
We walked into the village where I, and I assumed Klara too, lived. It was a small and quint town with only a few hundred people and a village square with some small shops, a library and a café. Looking around, I felt happier than I did in China. I felt more relaxed, my shoulders weren't being weighed down any more and my head felt much clearer now I had inhaled the country air rather than living in the middle of such an industrial city in China.
Klara spoke to the waitress, noticing that I was out of focus and in my own little world, like most of the time. She led me to a table by the window and we sat down opposite each other. I couldn't stop smiling whenever I looked at her, she was infectious.
From her bright blue eyes to her dark brown hair that was messily pulled up into a bun, I smiled at her. Looking at her made me feel like I was at home because to me, she was my home. She and my family were everything for me at home, and that was all I had to remind me of Poland. Sometimes it was hard not seeing my family for long periods of time, and maybe that was why I was always so down. At least, that's what I blamed it on. It probably wasn't true, I was probably just messed up in the head.
The door chimed and my eyes were drawn to it. In walked Dylan with a blond haired man wearing a thick jumper and a coat, despite it being summer. It was a small town and I expected to run into her at some point, just not right now, or like this.
"Robert, who are you staring at?" Klara frowned at me, trying to follow my gaze.
"Dylan," I spoke, "My ex...whatever she was. I didn't even know myself."
Klara just disregarded the subject, knowing that it was a topic added to the list of things to avoid bringing up in conversation. She carried on speaking to me, but I continued to stare at Dylan. She was sat with another guy, looking so happy. He was making her laugh, making her smile and blush. I never did that, but Dylan still told me she loved me.
Finally, she noticed me staring. I didn't look away when she locked eyes with me. She just blinked, turning her head away from me and back to the man sat opposite her. Just like that, my heart broke all over again. I didn't know what Dylan and I were, if we were anything at all. But when I looked at her, I remembered her touch, her taste, her smell and the way she would curl into me as we slept. She was so tiny compared to me and the way I held her made me feel so protective over her.
I never told anyone she was my girlfriend, and neither did she. However she was mine, and somebody had ripped that heartbeat from my chest that I held so closely at night, and they'd stabbed it until it was so punctured and wounded that it didn't work anymore, and I found myself not being able to breathe without her.
