Taking My Penalty

22: Scarred

REECE

Everything was so fucked that she didn't talk or look at me for the past week.

Matter of fact, she was dodging me altogether.

I had already been accustomed to not always being in Natalia's company but this time was painfully different. No waves, smiles, peeks or talks. I was merely just air to her.

With that, I discovered her absence was not a nice feeling. I didn't like it at all.

After the blurry events of Spencey's party, I saw Natalia for the first time again on Monday in the hallway on the way to Spanish. 

I was walking with the usual boys, Spencey and Finch, who were on either side of me, waffling on about how insane the party was.

That was until I saw her, also with her friends.

Usually, that never stopped her from a smile, especially when Spencey was around – they'd talk a little.

However, her attention kept on the ground that she walked on. She didn't look up once.

Spencey, just as surprised as me, followed up Natalia's blanking with, "What's up with her?"

I had a pretty rough idea what was wrong with her but I said fuck all for obvious reasons.

I wasn't going to tell him that his cousin and I had practically said we liked each other while she was abso-fucking-lutely wasted and all I did was turn her down.

Yet again, she was rightfully pissed off at me because I couldn't do the right thing. Pretty obvious now that I really was clueless for shit on how to treat a girl but I was learning my lesson and in the hard way.

Well, actually, I told Zoey about it since she's the only person who knew about it all.

Yes, that's right; I opened up, again. This time wasn't necessarily warranted by my own sane will.

Turns out that Spencey had his new girl, Maeve – I never got to see her face – make a phone call to Zoey to take me home.

Apparently, I was insistent that I drive myself home while unable to barely stand, which is obviously not the right condition to be in for a driver.

So, before I could even get my keys, turns out that Zoey had taken the tubes all the way from our house in North London to Spencey's at two in the morning so she could take me home.

After a generous amount of drinks, I didn't have all those events, or any events at all, remembered on my own. I had to be given a rundown the morning after via a manic phone call from Finch, hearing Spencey throw up in the background.

It was nothing hard to believe.

I was just told the typical 'you drank all the whiskey then went mad' sort of thing and wasn't surprised by any of it.

But everythung I did was no fucking good for me the next day.

I went to the match with a shitty hangover and the need to throw up after.

Coach Bailey noticed how sloppy I played and gave me a chat about it post-game. I'd never heard him so genuinely concerned until then. He was worried about keeping my chances with the scouts so I do get to play in the Premier League in the summer. He's never had to worry that before.

But of course, I learned that Coach Bailey wasn't the only one with concerns of my play at the match.

Dad.

Even though I managed to sneak past him on the night of the party, that never meant I was getting any more luck on the next day.

Especially considering the fact I couldn't hide my hangover for shit with how different I played that day. There was no chance someone like Dad with his outrageous ability to accuse me of anything.