~𝗠𝘆 𝗟𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗻 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿~

26

Bukayo knew, deep down, that he had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

From the second that he placed his lips on Sabrina, to blowing her another kiss, to arguing with Afya. He had done something horribly wrong.

It had been just yesterday when he found out that Sabrina was with Zain, and honestly, he wasn't heartbroken.

However, it therefore made him feel worse to know that the only person that had shown some signs of genuinely liking him was the one he had turned away.

He regretted his words, all of them. He wanted to take them back so badly, but of course, you can't change the past.

It felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, as Bukayo walked up to take the penalty. And it didn't help to know that his previous teammates had missed - now it was all down to him to see if he could change the game.

Bukayo thought taking the penalty would be easy, just a normal thing and it would be over and done with. But his mind wasn't there.

It was all Afya.

Placing the ball on the ground, the young boy wondered if thr girl was watching, knowing of course that today was the day that she would perform. Walking backwards to begin the run up, he mentally cursed at himself for being such an idiot and pushing his girl away. He wasn't true and loyal as he should have been, which are him up from the inside out.

All these negative thoughts consumed him to the point that he couldn't take it anymore.

So when the whistle blew, he put all of his anger and frustration towards the ball, instead of focusing and making the goal.

As expected, the ball didn't make the goal, and Italy had just won Euro 2020.

Bukayo was in shock, literally. The second he saw that the goal didn't go in, he still didn't stop thinking about Afya. But other thoughts, scary and intrusive ones began flooding into his mind, bringing him back to reality. This penalty had been the make or break.

And he'd just fucked up. Really, really badly.

The poor boy wasn't able to stop the tears flowing, which was unusual seeing as how he was normally not that emotional - they seemed to flow effortlessly now.

Bukayo didn't want to face his teammates: he was sure they would hate him. He was sure as hell that he wouldn't pick up his phone until about next year, because he wasn't prepared for the racial backlash he, Marcus and Jadon were sure to receive.

The only person he wanted to see did not want to see him.

All the England players looked dejected, as they saw their rivals celebrate their win. It was more to do with the imperfections of England than the triumphs of Italy that had won them the title.

Alas, the damage had already been done.

The Gaffer himself walked up to Bukayo, and gave him a reassuring hug, patting him on the back softly.

"You'll be alright," he said in a soothing manner. "What you just did was amazing, and required a lot of bravery, so you should be even prouder of yourself! The same goes for Jadon and Marcus!"

Bukayo couldn't listen, he couldn't process it.

They had lost. And he felt it was all his fault.

He needed to see Afya and apologise.

"Where's Afya? I need to see her, I really need to, please."

Gareth looked confused. "Who-"

"She's gonna perform in, like, 10 minutes," Jude mumbled, walking over to his friend to give him another hug. "Hey, hey, less of the tears, alright? Think about what you've done for all those young black footballers at home. You've shown them that they can make it to your level!"