What if he's not actually injury prone, but instead he injures himself purposefully because he no longer enjoys playing football.
"Thomas. It's time to go."
I blinked a couple of times in surprise. Surely time hadn't come yet. It was impossible, I was meant to be out at least another two weeks! Lucky me, my last injury wasn't as bad as the doctors initially thought. All around me were the faces of my friends, smiling and clapping for me. This was a good moment. A triumphant return. Pique slapped me on the back of the head.
"Oops, hope I didn't ruin your comeback," he said, drawing a laugh from the rest of our team, and even a few of our opponents as well. I let out a small chuckle in response. I felt a small tug on the bottom of my shirt. I looked down, and the little girl I was escorting gave me a strong, determined face, with her hands balled tightly into fists.
"I know you'll do great out there," she said as she failed to prevent herself from bursting out into a sharp giggle. It was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen. Ernesto walked past us as we lined up to prepare the opening ceremony. When he saw me he stopped for a moment and held my gaze. I started to fill with hope. With pride. With
excitement. The butterflies in my stomach began to die off one by one as the pride began to well inside my belly. I am Thomas Vermaelen, and I play for the greatest club in the world! As I began to walk out of the tunnel with my teammates I could feel the goosebumps begin to form along my arms. Along my legs. All over my body except for my hand, which was kept warm by my adorable companion. This time was going to be different.
The cheers from the fans got louder.
This time was going to be
better.
The lights shined down on me as I exited the tunnel and was fully exposed the stadium's atmosphere.
This time was going to be...
nothing.
I was promised at least two more weeks...