THIRTY ::

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It had seemed that life had returned to usual.

Apparently Quentin the puppy was fine; the surgery had been successful, according to Granit.

At the next training session which happened two days prior, Granit and I had broken out into a verbal- and eventual physical fight. I won't go into details, but it resulted in both of us sitting on the bench against West Ham that Sunday afternoon.

If you heard the things he said, you'd wanted to punch him too.

Granit said something along the lines of his ex-wife having better some things than her- whatever those somethings were- I've always hated comparisons that shamed her.

I rushed up to him and took him out blank; shouting at him to say it again and I'll punch him flat out again- which he threatened to mess with me, and all of the whimsical sentences just faded along with my teammates' yells for us to stop.

She phoned me that night, while I was watching a Netflix show in my living room, drinking a glass of Riesling to calm my worries.

She asked why I did it- her voice full of concern and said that she was worried for me. She said that I had never done that while we were together.

I couldn't talk to her anymore. I didn't even explain that I was defending her from Granit's harsh remarks; for that, she'd never know.

I was afraid that if I spoke to her two seconds longer- the tears would fall all over again and I'd complain about how she's not here beside me.

God.

How I fucking love her.

And now I lost her.

.

is Granit a bad guy

#TeamAaron or #TeamGranit?

sorry for not updating

x

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