Sofia POV
"Do you already have plans for who you want to invite?" I ask as Pedri enters my house. "Invite? For what?" he says grumpily. I raise my eyebrow and give him a little kiss. Pedri immediately walks into the kitchen and grabs a banana from my fruit bowl.
What's going on with him? Maybe the training didn't go well?
"For your birthday, of course," I say. "I'm not celebrating it," he grumbles. "Of course, you are. You're turning 21," I say incredulously. "I don't have time for that. In two days, I'm leaving for Germany for a week, and then it's almost here. I don't have time to plan a birthday party."
"But I can do it for you? Or you can hire a party planner," I insist. "Fine," the footballer sighs, eating his banana. "If you really want to, you can organize it. I'll hear about the cost."
"How sweet of you, Sofia. Thank you," I mutter. Pedri raises his eyebrow. "Sorry. Thank you," he mumbles.
We lie down on the couch together, and I rest my head on his shoulder. "I can't stay long. I have an early training tomorrow morning, and then I have to pack for Germany," he says.
"That's okay. I'm glad we can still see each other now. I'll miss you for a week," I say. I feel Pedri nod, and I turn on the television.
From the moment he came in, it was evident that something was bothering him. His usual warm and playful demeanor was replaced by a cold and distant air. I tried to engage him in conversation, asking about his day, but my attempts were met with short and irritable responses.
As we flipped through the channels, Pedri's irritation seemed to intensify. He sighed heavily, furrowing his brows at the screen. I hesitated, unsure of what had triggered this sudden change in his mood. Despite my efforts to understand, he continued to snap at me for the smallest things—whether it was an innocent comment or the way I held the remote.
I glanced at him, feeling a knot tightening in my stomach. It hurt to see him so distant, especially when I couldn't pinpoint the cause. I decided to give him some space, hoping that whatever was bothering him would pass.
The minutes ticked by in an uncomfortable silence. I stole glances at Pedri, his eyes fixed on the TV but distant, as if lost in his own thoughts. The tension in the room was palpable, and I struggled to focus on the show, my mind preoccupied with the heaviness in the air.
As the evening progressed, I mustered the courage to break the silence. "Pedri, is everything okay?" I asked, my voice gentle and concerned. Instead of a reassuring reply, he sighed in frustration, avoiding eye contact. No answer.
I bit my lip, my heart sinking. I felt a mix of confusion and hurt. What had I done to deserve this cold treatment? I desperately wanted to help, but Pedri's walls were up, and he seemed unwilling to let me in.
In an attempt to salvage the evening, I suggested a movie, hoping it would provide a distraction. Pedri's response was a curt nod, and we continued our strained coexistence on the couch.
The movie played on the screen, but the emotional distance between us felt insurmountable. I tried to lose myself in the plot, stealing glances at Pedri, who seemed lost in his own world.
As the credits rolled, I turned off the TV, the room now engulfed in an awkward silence. Pedri stood up abruptly, muttering something about needing some fresh air. I remained on the couch, a sense of helplessness washing over me.
The door closed behind him, and I was left alone with unanswered questions and a heavy heart.
After a while, Pedri returns, and I look at him. "Sorry, Soof. I shouldn't have treated you like that. I just have a lot on my mind, and it's so busy," he says.
"It's okay. Don't worry about it," I smile, and he hugs me. We look at each other, and he gives me a kiss on my lips. His perfect, soft, sweet lips. I've missed them.
His hands go under my top towards the clasp of my bra, and his lips move to my neck, leaving small kisses.
"Pedri," I try to stop him, and I try to grab his hands. "Hmm," he mumbles, continuing with my neck. "It can't happen," I say. He doesn't seem to hear me or just ignores me and continues. I feel my bra come undone, and his hands immediately go under my top to my breasts.
"Pedri. Stop," I say, and I remove his hands. Surprised, the footballer backs off. "What's going on?" he asks, in a slightly irritated tone.
"It can't happen today," I say. "Why not?" he asks. "I'm on my period," I mutter. Pedri looks at me. "But you're on the pill, right?" he asks. I nod. "Yes, but you can still get your period," I say.
"Okay. But that doesn't matter. A little bit of blood. I'll just ignore that," he says, and his hands go back to my body. I grab his hands and hold them back.
"I don't feel comfortable with that," I say, biting my lip. Pedri looks at me and then nods. "Okay. Then we're not doing it."
He lets me go and sits back on the couch. His expression looks irritated, and he says nothing. I look at him for a moment and then re-fasten my bra.
"Sorry," I say to him. "You don't have to apologize. You can't do anything about it," he fake smiles, and I nod.
"But I have to go, Soof. I have a busy day tomorrow," he says and then gets up from the couch again. I nod.
"Good luck in Germany. I'll follow everything on television. Be careful," I say, and we give each other a kiss. "It'll be fine. I might miss you, mi princesca," he smiles. We give each other one last kiss, and then Pedri leaves my apartment.
I sit in the window sill and see how quickly he gets into his car and drives away. I wonder what's wrong with him? Something must have happened, right? Everyone has a day when they are grumpy, so I understand that. And that he's not getting sex now will surely not play a role in his mood.
I'm a bit disappointed that we say goodbye in this way. I won't see him for more than a week, and this is not a pleasant memory.
Pedri POV
The door slammed behind me as I entered my house, frustration boiling within me. A mix of exhaustion and irritation weighed on my shoulders. Football practice had been intense, the continuous buzzing of my phone had added to the day's annoyances, and Sofia. I needed a moment of peace.
As I tossed my keys onto the table, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure through the window. Lucía stood outside, nervously biting her lip. I furrowed my brows, wondering what on earth she was doing here. We hadn't spoken in months, and I had made it crystal clear that I wanted nothing to do with her after our terrible club night.
Reluctantly, I opened the door. "What are you doing here, Lucía?" I asked, my tone colder than I intended.
"I need to talk to you, Pepi," she replied, her eyes searching mine for some sign of mercy.
I sighed, almost amused at the audacity. "We've said all there is to say, Lucía. I don't want to hear it."
"Please, just give me a chance to explain," she pleaded, her voice carrying a hint of desperation.
I hesitated, torn between shutting the door in her face and hearing her out. Against my better judgment, I gestured for her to come inside. Lucía entered cautiously, as if stepping on a minefield of emotions.
We found ourselves in the living room, an awkward silence hanging in the air. "Would you like something to drink?" I offered, more out of habit than genuine hospitality.
"Sure, thanks," she said, taking a seat on the couch.
I poured two glasses of whatever I had in the liquor cabinet and joined her. As we sat there, the tension thickening, I finally spoke. "Explain. Quickly."
Lucía took a deep breath, her eyes avoiding mine. "Pepi, I know I messed up. I know I hurt you and I hurt Sofia, and I regret it every day. I was immature, selfish, and not okay. I should never have kissed you and I crossed the line."
I scoffed, unable to conceal my bitterness. "You think acknowledging your mistakes now will magically fix everything?"
"No, but I owe you an explanation. I've been going to therapy, trying to understand why I acted the way I did. I hurt not only you, not only Sofia but myself too. I'm trying to change, Pepi, to become a better person," she insisted.
I studied her face, searching for sincerity. "Why should I believe you now?"
Lucía sighed, frustration evident in her expression. "You don't have to believe me, but I needed to tell you. I want to make amends, even if you never forgive me."
The room fell silent again, the weight of her words sinking in. "Why did you come here, Lucía?" I asked, my voice softer.
"Because I needed you to know. I needed closure, even if it means you hating me forever," she admitted, vulnerability breaking through her defenses.
I leaned back, contemplating her words. The wounds she left were still fresh, but a part of me wanted to understand, to find closure myself.
As the night unfolded, Lucía and I found ourselves wandering through the labyrinth of our past, unraveling memories buried deep within the crevices of time. The conversation led us back to when we were just fifteen, navigating the precarious terrain of a fleeting teenage romance.
"Do you remember the first time we went to that small café near the park?" Lucía asked, a wistful smile playing on her lips.
"Yeah, I do," I replied, the corners of my mouth twitching with the remnants of a nostalgic grin. "You spilled your hot chocolate, and we both laughed until tears streamed down our faces."
Lucía chuckled, reminiscing about a time when our connection was unburdened by the complexities that later defined our "relationship". You can't call it a relationship, we were teenagers. And we kissed a couple times and had sex for the first time. But it wasn't a real relationship. I was not in love as I am now. The night became a tapestry of shared laughter, stolen glances, and the sweet innocence of youth.
"You were my first love, Pepi. I messed up, and I'm sorry," Lucía admitted, her eyes reflecting the sincerity of her words.
I took a deep breath, realizing that forgiving her wasn't just about absolving her sins but liberating myself from the weight of the past. "Lucía, I've moved on. I'm happy now, genuinely happy," I confessed.
Her eyes met mine, a mix of emotions swirling within them. "With Sofia?"
I nodded, "Yeah, with Sofia. She's incredible, and she makes me feel something I never thought I'd experience again."
Lucía's gaze softened, a bittersweet understanding passing between us. "I'm genuinely happy for you, Pepi. You deserve that."
As the clock ticked away, I found myself uttering words I never thought I would. "Lucía, I forgive you."
Her eyes widened, surprise and gratitude mingling in her expression. "Pepi, I don't deserve—"
"I'm not doing it for you," I interrupted, a newfound clarity in my voice. "I'm doing it for myself. To let go of the anger and resentment that have been holding me captive."
Silence enveloped us, the weight of our shared history gradually lifting. It wasn't a declaration of unconditional friendship, but a recognition that forgiveness was a stepping stone toward personal freedom.
As Lucía left my house, there was an unspoken understanding between us. She is picked up by a taxi and taken to her hotel. The past couldn't be rewritten, but its grip on our present had loosened. I closed the door behind her, feeling a sense of closure that had eluded me the past months. Meanwhile it is already very late and I really need to go to sleep.
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