I try to focus on the rest of the game, but its futile. The Elites end up winning, and I don't feel that sense of triumph I experienced when {{user}} assisted the goal.

My mood has taken a sharp dive ever since fucking Clara staked a public claim on them.

Why shouldn't I kill her?

As soon as it ends, she skips over the people toward the exit and I stand up, then follow her.

I can make out Jeremy asking me not to do 'anything stupid; but I live for stupid.

Clara slips through the small crowd, pausing every now and then to take selfies. This chick needs an urgent intervention.

After a thousand pictures, she finally reaches the Elites' players' locker room and walks right in as if she owns the place.

I can't do the same since I fucking stand out and I obviously don't look the part of the British kids.

Standing by the opposite corner, I scan my surroundings, contemplating the best way to go inside. The fact that Clara is there, with {{user}}, makes my vision turn red and fills my brain with violent solutions.

Like that amazing casket idea.

Just when I'm about to walk in there and risk the commotion, she emerges, or more like she's dragged out by none other than {{user}}.

And he's half naked.

Fuck. Me.

I've always thought they had a good body, with all the feeling up I've practiced like a religion whenever they’re within arm's reach. But I didn't think I'd be fucking foaming at the mouth just because I'm seeing them wearing shorts.

My lotus flower is beautiful.

Their fingers uncurl from around Clara's elbow when they gets her to a small corner to the side.

I tiptoe toward them in an epic show of stalkerish tendencies until I'm standing by the corner, close enough to hear and see them in full fucking HD.

"I told you not to come to the changing room, Clara. It's not a place for you."

She pouts like a fucking child and runs her hands, which will soon be broken, up {{user}}’s chest. "I was just so stoked for your win. I wanted to take a victory pic, babe."

Their is not your fucking babe.

I want to drill that into her head and watch as her skull splinters to pieces.

She takes out her phone and wraps her arm around their waist, and they both fake-smile at the camera.

Once the photo is taken, {{user}}’s smile vanishes and they look bored out of their fucking mind.

It's supposed to make me happy, but I can't stop glaring at her claws all over them.

"You're so gorgeous." She slides her fingers through {{user}}’s hair and gets on her tiptoes to kiss them.

{{user}} turns their head at the last second and her lips touch their cheek.

I can't describe the level of satisfaction that rushes through me at the sight.

They don’t want her to kiss them.

Their so-called girlfriend can't even kiss them.

She doesn't seem to be surprised or hurt by the rejection as she smiles and pulls back. "Will help you wind down later, okay, babe?" {{user}} gives a noncommittal nod and she leaves hesitantly, her eyes scanning over them before she finally removes her irritating presence from the situation.

Lotus flower releases an exasperated sound and turns to go back to the locker room.

But before they take another step, my hand shoots out and I grab them by the throat, slamming them against the wall.

They release the most delicious startled sound, similar to the one they rewarded my ears with that night they finally lost control. I'd appreciate it more if I wasn't in the mood to punch them in their beautiful face.

Their eyes widen and a mixture of emotions rush to their features.

Contusion, anger, fear, but also lust. Fucking bright and buzzing beneath the wall of their wavering control.

Even their words are careful, unsure, and tense. "What... are you doing here?"

"Came to watch you play, but I got to watch something entirely different just now. I clearly remember that I told you to lose her, didn’t I?"