Will began his day as usual. He woke up very early in the morning and then he went to the park to continue with his training routine. When he was done with that, he showered, ate and then went to the Middlesbrough Academy training facilities to attend the usual group training.
The training sessions consisted of a defensive organization drill followed by a set piece practice followed by a few five-v-five games. Will did very well in the defensive drill, his position a key attribute that improved quite a bit lately as well as his ability to read the game. He also did very well in the set-piece drill and in the five on five games, he did very well.
After the training session was over, Hargreaves called everyone together and had a few words with them before dismissing them. Will went with Marcus into the locker room, and the pair were laughing and bantering with each other as they changed back into their normal clothes.
They were packing their bags, and preparing to leave when the door to the locker room when the door opened, and a blonde hired man that looked to be in his late thirties walked inside. He was Dave Peel, the academy administrator.
"Will. Brian Fowler wants a word with you in his office".
Will felt his stomach drop immediately he heard Dave speak. Brian Fowler was the director of the academy. He was in charge of recruitment of talent that got into the academy and the talent that was already in the academy. In spite of his role, he rarely interacted with the players and only spoke to them when it was something very very bad.
"Don't worry man". Marcus said while patting Will on the back. "It can't be that bad".
Will released a sigh to help him calm his nerves. "I hope so man". He said as he slung his bad above his shoulder and walked inside.
Brian Fowler's office was adjacent to the main changing room corridor. It was a standard office, it had a desk, two chairs, a monitor and a window that overlooked the car park. It had the faint scent of coffee mixed with the powerful smell of the air freshener.
Brian sat behind the desk, with his hands flatly on the surface of it. He looked at Will with a neutral expression as the anxious seventeen year old walked into the office.
"Sit down, Will".
Will sat immediately.
"Will, there's going to be a bit of a squad revision tomorrow. Unfortunately you didn't make the cut and you won't be with us next season. I wish you good luck with your career, but it's just not going to be with us".
Will didn't react immediately to the news. It was as if he was too shocked by the news. It was only after a couple of seconds that he managed to get himself.
"I understand". Will said, while nodding slightly.
"Your attitude has never been an issue, Will. Your commitment to work has been evident throughout. The decision has been about performance levels against what we need at this stage".
"I understand". Will said again, then he sighed. "Thank you for telling me directly".
"Of course". Brian said, then stood up, indirectly telling Will that it was time for him to leave. "I genuinely wish you well".
('Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!').
Will's mind was a mess as he walked outside of the office. He used his hands to rake through his hair in order to keep him calm and stop himself from crashing out on the spot.
('Released! How the fuck could they do that?!). Will kept rubbing his hair furiously. ('I fucking gave my all for this! I did my fucking best! I'm up before everyone, I'm always the first to arrive, I'm always the last to leave, I did all that and for what?!').
Will kept inhaling large chunks of air and then exhaled them almost immediately. The corridor. The corridor he was standing in was the same as it had always been, but it felt smaller, and smaller, and smaller. It was like it was a box containing me.
"Fuck!" Will finally said out loud, barely stopping himself from punching into the nearest wall.
He continued walking until he was a few meters away from the exit, and then he stopped and took a few deep breaths in order to calm himself before stepping outside.
Marcus was leaning on the wall outside when Will stepped outside. He behind for him so that they would ride home together as they usually did.
He looked up when Will came out.
"I'm fine". Will said when he felt Marcus' gaze linger for a couple of seconds.
His face was perfectly still as he said this, perfectly neutral. It was almost as if nothing happened in Brian's office.
"Yeah". Marcus nodded slightly. He still didn't move from the wall.
"I'm fine, really". Will smiled slightly as he spoke.
"I know, I know, you've said it twice already". Marcus said while raising his hands. "Do you want to walk?"
"To my bike?" Will raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. I'll walk with you to your bike then". Marcus said.
Will shrugged and the pair walked the length of the car park in silence. Will unlocked his bike, then he stood with the lock in his hand for a few moments, just fiddling with it.
"I really should've seen this coming". He said finally. "I always knew it might happen"
"I know"
"I've been shit si-"
"Will d-". Marcus didn't get to finish his sentence.
"Don't fucking 'Will' me, like I am not saying the truth". Will spat. "I've been a bum for a while now, they just took so long to release me cos they thought I was going to be the next Ozil or something a year ago. I can't fucking decide on time! I can't fucking beat a press! I can't fucking do anything! But I was trying.. and I was trying so fucking hard to improve! Why couldn't they fucking wait for me to improve!"
"Will". Marcus said again, this time stepping in front of him slightly. "You don't have to explain yourself to me".
"It's not fucking over". Will whispered. "I will be back. This isn't the only academy in the world. I'm not finished".
Marcus stared at him, then nodded slightly. "Yeah, I know". He said. "I know you're not"
Neither of them said anything much after that. Both of them rode home together, Marcus making it a point to get Will home in one piece before he rode back to his own house.
Will opened the front door to his house and stared at it, in all it's glory. He liked coming back home and having the house all to himself after training. He could recover properly and think cos of the peace and quiet and the silence.
But at this particular moment, the silence was deafening. He'd give a lot to have his mom around at that particular moment.
He went into his bedroom and sat on the floor with his back against the bed and his legs out in front of him, and then stared at the ceiling. The streetlight wasn't yet turned on so it was still the early evening, that period where there was still a bit of daylight and darkness had been creeping in but hadn't fully taken over. In simpler terms, it was a few minutes past tan.
He looked around his room and his eyes paused on a couple of things. The Juninho poster and the Sir Alex Ferguson book. He quickly turned away from them, not wanting to look at them as his anger was suggesting a couple of bad thoughs.
Will thought about calling his mom, but immediately decided against it. She would be so worried, and he didn't want to give her that much stress, at least not in the middle of her shift where he was sure that there would be a patient stressing her as well.
But she had to know. She had raised him alone for the past eight years, she had carried his football career on her chest alongside her work and amidst her tiredness. So she needed to know what was happening.
Will's mind went to the training session from the previous day, to Jordan. His quick fake movement, and then the pass that followed.
('Really football is bitch. It's not like I don't know what I'm lacking or I'm not willing to develop it or I'm not working hard enough at those things, but I still got released. Is there really a future for me if even my boyhood club decided to release me than have enough faith in me to improve')
He then remembered what he told Marcus by his bike earlier in the day, and then he chuckled.
('I lied hermano. I really might be washed').
Will didn't eat. He laid on the floor until the midnight, and continued staring at he ceiling. Eventually he slept after focusing his gaze on the Juninho poster, and convincing himself not to give up on his football dream, even if he already knew that he was going to give up,
He didn't cry, he couldn't cry, because while he was still in Denial. If he cried, it meant that he accepted the reality and he couldn't do that to himself at least not yet. What he needed to do was understand what was next. Once he did that, he could plan how to move forward.