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lucyandalexiafan · 3 months

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Hopeless | reader x Alexia Putellas | part 1

Summary: you’re alone, even though you were part of the Barça team, you were alone. You thought being part of it meant feeling supported, liked, maybe even part of a family, but that wasn’t the case.

Warnings: angst (and fluff in the end)

Words: 4.4k

It's thanks to @muffinpink02 that this fic is seeing the light. When months ago I wrote the first part I was scared to send it to you because I thought it was boring or repetitive, but, from the beginning, you supported and hyped me during the writing process, suggesting ideas and correcting them every time I sent you even just three sentences. I'm so grateful you helped me so much 🫂

You had never really felt part of something.

Of any group.

Of any friendship.

It was as if the people around you found their people, their friendships, their relationships, but not in you.

You were motionless, with nothing and no one.

Football had been a good relief valve.

A tool useful to not think about it.

To not think about how lonely you felt.

About how everyone seemed to treat you as extra, as not necessary.

About how everyone seemed to exclude you when you were least needed or at the first opportunity.

It had been painful at first, you cried and wondered what was wrong.

Why did it always happen?

And it happened in football too, with every team you played for.

With the boys from the team when you were just a kid, who included the other girls but not you; with the first girls’ team and with the first youth teams.

You always seemed to be extra.

To be too much.

You felt too much.

Except on the field.

On the field you were good.

You were really good at football.

You had poured out every bad thought, anxiety, resentment, and self-hatred on the field, chasing those balls and perfection, trying to achieve the best possible performance and the best teams.

The possibility of changing cities, maybe countries, pushed you to play better and better. The hope of finding your place, the hope that that place was elsewhere but findable, had driven you to give your all.

And this had paid off when the Barça talent scout contacted you.

Your parents didn't care much, you were of age, you could do what you wanted. So shortly after, you boarded a plane to Barcelona, a suitcase of clothes with you and many hopes.

But it had been difficult.

Your young age had mainly put you in contact with the youngest of the team, but they seemed so carefree and spoke so little English that you felt out of place.

With the older ones, you were out of place because what did you have in common with them? With the great Alexia Putellas, with Fridolina Rolfo, what could you possibly have in common? They were so perfect, and talented.

So over time, you ended up isolating yourself, reveling in the same loneliness that had always accompanied you, in that awful but familiar feeling of not being in the right place.

You lived alone, so you could drown every tear in the pillow every time you came back from training. You could cry undisturbed at any time of the day, every time you saw your teammates' stories of them going out together and not being invited, having dinners and not being invited.

It was an endless whirlwind you had fallen into. You isolated yourself by refusing any contact, always feeling like too much, and people stopped trying.

In the end, you were good at football, your performances were excellent, and you behaved perfectly during training. What more could they want from you?

Maybe you had hoped that, seeing how they were all so closed off, they would include you, they would fight harder to help you and include you.

But it hadn't happened, or at least you hadn't experienced it that way.

You had spent Christmas alone in Barcelona and so was New Year's Eve. No one to celebrate within your hometown, no one to celebrate with in Barcelona; your parents traveling who knows where happy not to have to spend money on you anymore.

You had burst into tears, into a panic attack, a few days after training started.

Everyone talked about their holidays.

Family dinners.

Family games.

Friends reunited.

New Year's parties.

You avoided those questions, avoiding the conversations as soon as holidays were mentioned.

What were you supposed to say?

You would have just seemed pathetic, lonely, useless. You already felt that way, you didn't need them to know.

Then, the umpteenth time they tried, they managed to ask you what you had done during the holidays.

You lied.

You said you had gone home and everything was quiet.

Then, as soon as lunch was over, you ran out of the room and took refuge in a small gym in an isolated spot in the sports center.

You put on your headphones and started punching the boxing bag.

The music in the headphones and the tears on your cheeks.

Why weren't you like them?

Why was no one with you?

Why were you so alone?

You were wasting so much time of your life because of loneliness that it almost felt like living the same days over and over again.

The same identical routine, the same cycle of actions, every day, all days.

You collapsed to the ground, your body flooded with sobs, your throat contracted by moans of pain.

You felt pathetic, there on that floor crying over a fate that seemed to be yours, crying over a plot already written.

Then the door of the room had opened and you had stared at it in fear.

Alexia and Mapi had entered, a sigh of relief escaping their mouths when they recognized you.

"You're here! Dios we looked for you everywhere! Do you know what- are you crying?"

You huddled against the wall.

Her angry tone, that angry captain's tone that you had only heard once in the locker room, terrified you.

If you were already insignificant to the team, what would happen now with her that is mad?

You tried to please her, to at least feel accepted by her.

You shake your head as you stand up, your hands immediately wiping your cheeks.

Mapi takes you by the shoulders.

“What happened? Are you injured?"

You shake your head again, you move in an attempt to free yourself from her grip.

The only thing that mattered to them about you was football. It was that you could play, that you made the right passes and the perfect assists.

What did they care about how you really are?

"Then why are you crying? - you try to leave, to get away - No, stop! I said stop!"

You freeze in place, eyes fixed on the floor.

That low, angry, warning tone, almost daring to challenge her.

"Now you tell us why you're crying."

You looked at her.

Should you tell the truth?

Admit to the two of them what you really felt?

That storm of dissatisfaction and sadness?

That feeling of loneliness and apathy that hung over your life?

"Can you hug me?" You whispered looking at her, tears covering your eyes, in an attempt to receive, at least once, the love you were seeking so much.

Mapi's arms wrapped around your body without hesitation. Her strong arms held you close to her, your cheek against her shoulder, your hands gripping the edges of her shirt, tears wetting the fabric at shoulder height.

"I'm sorry" you whisper "I'm pathetic."

Mapi hugs you again.

"Don't say that, it's not true. Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

You bite your lip, your eyes now fixed on the window.

"I didn't spend Christmas and New Year's Eve at home, but in Barcelona."

"Did your family come here? Why didn't you-"

"Alone, I don't know where my parents were and I had no one to celebrate with."

There's silence.

An embarrassing, humiliating, silence.

You feel even worse.

Even more pathetic.

Even more stupid.

Why did you admit it?

For what reason -

"What do you mean you had no one?"

"I don't have friends" you answer flatly.

It was true.

You had no one.

"You could have asked us, we-"

"What? Would you have taken a burden like me to celebrate with at your home? - you laugh sarcastically - Don't lie, you're indifferent to me. Whether I'm there or not doesn't change anything for you, just like it doesn't change anything for anyone on the team."

"Don't even think about it" Alexia's voice is dangerously low "You matter to the team-"

"Oh yeah? I see it. You go out without me, you don't care about me, I'm useless if not on the field."

Silence.

Deaf, powerful, silence.

What could they say to deny what you said?

It's true.

They go out without you.

They have fun without you.

They party and celebrate games.

“Listen - you close your eyes to Alexia's voice - I'm sure the situation isn't-”

“Have you saved my number in your contacts? - she looks at you, her eyes widening - do you see it? We've been playing together for months, we're in at least three WhatsApp groups together, and you've never saved my number. Why should you? Like I said, I don't matter, why would you ever feel the need to contact me? And I'm not talking about social media, following me on Instagram or anything, but my phone number, and you're my captain, aren't you?”

You shake your head frustrated.

You know you could pay the consequences for this behavior in the future. You're yelling in the face of Alexia Putellas, your captain, in front of another person. Alexia has made your teammates run entire training sessions for far lesser things than this lack of respect.

Maybe you don't care.

Maybe you want her to make you run because it means that someone, somehow, noticed you.

You leave the gym, leaving the two women completely still, thinking.

After that discussion, you went to that room for another technical meeting. As always, you sat at the back, a notebook on the desk and a pen in hand, pretending to be attentive and the chance to keep your head down.

A part of you had hoped that by talking about it, by angrily spitting out how you felt against them, they would do something.

That they would take a step towards you.

That they would include you.

But it didn't happen.

As usual, at the end of the first part of the technical session, you went to get a coffee from a coffee machine, in complete loneliness, and no one approached you.

You went back inside, and sat at your desk, headphones in your ears, until you resumed the meeting.

You usually put your phone on "Do Not Disturb,"

You usually put your phone on "Do Not Disturb," trying to convince yourself that the lack of notifications meant you were unreachable, but in truth, no one was looking for you.

No one wrote to you.

No one invited you out.

You left it on without "Do Not Disturb" all day.

You obsessively checked your phone for any pretext.

The time.

The schedule of university classes.

Exam dates.

Training times.

Making sure that the next day was a day off.

Anything to try to find a notification.

But nothing.

Complete silence.

Had you been wrong to shout how you felt, to open up for once?

You had been pathetic, you knew it, but you couldn't stand this feeling anymore.

This feeling that eats away at you from the inside.

Of this acid that was melting you from the inside.

You couldn't live it anymore.

So you had hoped that by opening up things would change, but, like that day, the next one there were no messages.

No notifications.

No calls.

You had locked yourself in the house.

The fetal position on the bed, the nausea that closed your stomach.

How could you have been so stupid?

Why should they ever do anything?

You had remained curled up since you woke up until dinner time.

Nothing at all.

No notifications.

No calls.

The only time your phone rang, you jumped up on the bed.

The hope that someone had contacted you, the hope of counting.

The hope that what you had done had made sense.

But it was the Barça staff warning you that there was no training the next day.

For the rest, nothing.

No sound filled that emptiness of the apartment, of your body.

Yet you couldn't stop looking at the phone.

Hoping to receive a message, a call, or a like on social media.

Anything.

Any sign.

You fell asleep like that, motionless and in the same position as when you got up.

The emptiness inside that had engulfed you and the whole apartment in a black hole of sadness, resentment, nausea, and fatigue.

What was wrong with you?

The next day you forced yourself to get out of bed, make coffee, and eat something.

Anything to feed that exhausted body.

You struggled to swallow the food, to chew it, to tolerate its taste.

Everything bothered you.

Every taste made you want to vomit.

Every sound irritated you to the point of plugging your ears.

The emptiest, most useless, days of your life.

The bottom that you had finally reached. You had crashed into it, actually, with such an impact that it didn't allow you to move even a finger, not that you wanted to, move it.

The next day you forced yourself to get up, knowing that you had to reach the sports center to go to the airport to play the match.

You didn't want to go there, you didn't want to leave the house, you didn't want to see anyone, let alone play.

But you forced yourself to put on the usual Barça tracksuit that you once were excited to wear and to pick up the bag, the apartment keys in the other, and close the door's house behind you with a dry sound that echoed in the empty corridor.

Had it always been so empty?

You got on the bus with less strength than you had at the end of a strenuous match.

You sat in the same place, always alone and always near the window. The feeling that, as always, no one would sit next to you was strong, it exploded in your chest like your desire to cry, to scream that you were hurt, that you didn't want to continue to live in this way.

And so it had been.

No one had sat down.

On the opposite side of the pair of your seats were, as always, Marta and Caroline. You avoided looking at them, because this would have meant contemplating their silent and shy love, their reserved way of showing love.

Their intertwined hands.

The barely hinted smiles.

The shared headphones.

It was too much.

That love so sweet, so reserved, was too much to observe from afar, from the outside.

It seemed so unrealistic for you, for your life, that seeing it come true for someone else burned inside, wore you out.

Then you had arrived at the airport, got on the plane and got off. Someone from the staff had sat next to you, but no one to whom you attached much importance.

"Okay, the rooms are doubles."

Your nightmare.

The thing you hated most was the double rooms.

You wanted to cry in the shower, groan as the water ran down your cheeks and along your chin, and lean your back and head against the wall in an attempt not to suffer too much from the sobs.

Double rooms prevented you from having that privacy, that vital space, during away matches.

Those matches that until the first week, you had so excited about, so wanted to play, but which now had turned out to be just your worst nightmare.

A mixture of anxiety, anger, and sadness.

“Lucia and Maria, Ingrid and Ona.. you two seem to be the last - Jona had said, the tone almost bored, as he gave the key to your room to Alexia - The rules for away games are the same, double rooms or not. Please.”

Alexia had clapped her hands telling everyone to go to the rooms.

You had followed her with your head down, the whole team in front of you and you behind her. She seemed relaxed, her pace calm and her shoulders relaxed, one hand holding the trolley handle, her hair tied up.

You entered the room, she first, and you followed.

“Which bed do you want? - you look at her silently hoping she expresses a preference - you usually sit facing the door, so I suppose this one is better because from here you can see it”

You stare at her.

Wide-eyed.

How does she know?

When did she notice?

“So? - she chuckles - Is this okay?”

You nod cautiously, hesitantly, looking at the bed. A part of you thinks she'll sit on that one, telling you that she'll take it then, that she'll do it to punish you for what happened.

But she moves to the other one and puts her suitcase in it.

You look at her confused.

"Are you not taking off your backpack?"

You blink a couple of times, getting out of your thoughts and moving towards yours, turn your back to her, and lay it on the bed.

You don't know what to do.

You hear her opening and moving things around.

How many things did she bring with her?

Usually, when there are double rooms, they put you with someone from Barça B, what do people like her do during away games?

Does she go to bed early?

Does she eat in her room after dinner?

Does she watch a movie?

How should you behave?

"Hey - you turn abruptly - it’s okay for you if we talk?" She asks, her voice cautious.

You don't answer.

You just look at her.

Talk about what?

How she'll get you out of the team?

How pathetic are you?

Talk about what?

She sits on her bed slowly, legs crossed, hands on her feet.

You are standing, arms along your body, hands open on your thighs.

You both remain silent.

She looks at you, trying not to show it, but she's nervous, she's agitated.

You already want to leave.

Turn towards the door and exit from this room.

The claustrophobia explodes, and the air seems not to enter your lungs.

Months ago you would have jumped for joy knowing you would share the room with her, with Alexia Putellas, two Ballon d’Or and one of the best players in the world.

You wouldn't have been able to contain your excitement at the thought of spending time with her, even if spending time alone with her.

Now all you want to do is disappear, to escape as far away as possible from her.

"Where do you want me to sit?"

"Wherever you want, on your bed or mine - you look at her, not knowing what to do - Why don't you sit next to me?"

You nod hesitantly, even though you know it's a rhetorical question.

She moves towards the headboard of the bed, legs crossed.

You sit down facing her, legs crossed, hands on your thighs.

You don't look at her.

You feel her hesitate, sighs that seem to suggest several times that she tried to say something but stopped before making a sound.

"Have you ever been to the Canary Islands?" - you shake your head - "Perfect, what do you think about going out for something to eat together?"

You look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Cap-Jona said that... the rules are the same and we can't go out," you respond hesitantly.

Why is she asking you?

Does she want you to break the rules?

Does she want a reason to kick you out?

Does she want a reason to punish you, to get back at you for three days ago?

You clench the fingers of one hand into the other.

Why is she doing this?

What does she want from you?

She shrugs. "Being captain has its advantages - she smiles a bit cocky, a bit hesitant - No one will find out, I promise," and she moves her pinky towards you.

You look at her confused.

You understand the reference to "Cross my heart," but you can't believe she's actually doing it.

It's also a bit comical, the great Alexia Putellas moving her pinky toward you, swearing that no one will find out if you break the rules.

Never in a million years did you think it was possible.

She withdraws her hand, palm against her thigh. "I know a good place that does street food, you know, fish and chips but also burgers, and they also do vegetarian food and I know you're vegetarian. If you feel like it, we can go."

Her voice is hesitant, and calm, her posture stiff.

Should you trust her?

Not that you have many options and you would do anything to get out of this room, out of this hole surrounded by four walls that you're forced to share with her.

And outdoors she can't do anything to you, right?

You nod hesitantly. "I'd like that."

Almost a whisper, a faint combination of timid and frightened words.

She smiles.

"Do you have casual clothes? Like a hoodie and pants - you nod - Great! Then put them on and let's go."

You watch her as she stands up.

Do you really want to eat with her?

How long has it been since you went out with someone?

You feel the tears in your eyes as you dress.

You put on a simple shirt and baggy jeans, an attempt to hide, to not be visible.

Are you really that alone?

Probably yes, you can't remember the last time you went out with someone.

That you did something other than going to training, games, or grocery shopping.

Why is your life so empty?

If you didn't work, would you have opportunities to leave the house?

Reasons to do it?

People to do it with?

You try to think about it, to think about the last time you went out because you wanted to, because you had to meet someone, but your mind is empty. Your thoughts run through the narrow paths of the labyrinth of your memories, but nothing refers to outings.

You close your eyes.

You can't cry.

Not now.

Not with her.

Not now that maybe you're going out with someone.

Not now that someone has invited you out, has asked you to do something together.

No matter the reason, you know she asked you to talk about what happened, but at least you'll do something together.

When was the last time you ate out with someone?

Has it ever happened on occasions other than team or class dinners?

You bite your lip and walk to the bathroom.

You wet your face with cold water, the vain attempt to freeze the sadness, the anger, the bitterness.

How to erase it?

How can you stop these feelings?

You're wasting your life.

You dry your face, almost scraping it with the towel, almost wanting to scrape away that feeling, that self-hatred.

You leave the bathroom with your head down, still doubtful that Alexia really wants to go out with you breaking the rules.

"Ready? - you nod - Perfect, then let's go."

You put your phone in your pocket and follow her out the door, she closes it and then swipes the magnetic card on the lock.

Are you really going out together?

Is this really happening?

Where's the trap?

"Shall we take the elevator, is this okay for you?"

You nod, your voice seems to have disappeared, left in the room.

She hesitates, looking at you, then turns to the right side of the corridor and walks towards the end of it; you walk behind her, the blue of her jeans the only color in your field of vision besides the awful red of the carpet and white walls.

What will happen?

Was she serious?

You hear a metallic noise and see her walking into the elevator box, you follow her and she presses the zero button.

"Do you do this often, go out during away games?" you ask, your voice little more than a whisper as you watch her adjust her hair in the mirror.

"Usually I leave this opportunity to Irene, when her family travels to the cities where we have games, so she can spend time with them. But sometimes it happens, also because Marta just cares to spend time with Caro, it doesn't matter where they are."

She finishes fixing her hair and inside you the question of 'who do you take with you' is inflamed with curiosity.

Who does she go out with?

How many times does she do it?

The image of that rock-solid captain, rigid with rules and obsessive with timings is suddenly softened by this cocky, rebellious version.

"When María got injured, I went out with Ingrid a couple of times, she was scared of leaving her alone at home and walking was helping her - she smiles when she sees we are almost there - And when Jenni used to play with us, we usually went out to dinner together, but that’s a long time ago now."

You open your mouth, your eyes wide.

So it’s true that they were-

"Come on, let's go before we get caught," she ends the conversation before you can actually speak, a smile on her face knowing she has finally drawn out a reaction from you other than fear, doubt, or anxiety.

She walks quickly to a back exit.

"Can you ride a bike? - you nod - Okay, then let's take these bikes to go to the place I told you about. You're a vegetarian, right? The local tourist guides say it’s the place with the best vegetarian burgers on the whole island."

You bite your lip.

Where did she find out?

You never told anyone, only the staff knows, but you rarely eat in the canteen with them and when you do it’s so rare that it doesn’t arouse suspicion that you eat vegetarian.

"Do you like it?"

You nod while you struggle even to eat a fry.

But it really seemed good, and there were so many flavors and types of burgers, sandwiches, and condiments.

Did Alexia really think of you?

Did she really look it up to bring you here to eat?

You’re sitting on a pier, a somewhat hidden part of the beach, away from the road.

Just you and her.

Alexia had placed your dinner on the cold, damp wood, had taken out the two packs of baked fries and Coca-Cola and then placed them on the paper bag.

You watched her as she did it, the embarrassment of noticing the time she took to do everything precisely.

Is she always like this?

Then she asked you to sit in front of her so you could eat facing each other.

You hesitated but complied.

Then, as soon as your eyes met hers, your appetite, the desire to taste this amazing hamburger, disappeared.

That smell that until a moment ago seemed like the aroma of a great dinner, now only made you nauseous.

You grab the Coca-Cola and try to swallow a few sips, hoping the nausea will go away.

Alexia paid for dinner, fifteen euros and seventy cents each, she didn’t even let you take out your wallet.

You have to eat.

What will she think otherwise?

That she wasted money?

That you’re ungrateful?

You have to eat.

You try to eat another fry, your taste buds sending signals of disgust to your brain as soon as they come into contact with that flavor.

Is it anxiety?

Panic?

Fear?

"How do you feel?" She asks.

You freeze.

How do you feel?

Bad? Good? Sad? Angry? Hurt?

You don’t even know how you feel. That torment, that gurgling, in your stomach doesn’t stop, that flow of negative thoughts and anxieties doesn’t stop attacking you.

Maybe you should tell her you’re fine, that you’re nervous for the game but that everything is fine as always.

Even though nothing has been fine for as long as you can remember.

When has something ever gone well?

When was the last time you felt good?

Maybe when Barça signed you, when you got on that plane thinking another life would begin.

You close your eyes, you can’t cry.

But it’s true. Maybe that was the only happy moment after years of feeling nothing different than a constant state of apathy, of emptiness.

It was the only moment when you thought things would change, the last moment, the last time you let yourself hope.

So maybe that’s why you feel so bad now?

"Fine, you?" You answer mechanically.

The same response you always gave the medical staff, the training staff, those few journalists who found it interesting to interview you.

But you don’t look at her, you know she would realize it’s not true.

Empty eyes, rigid shoulders, clear signs of the effort it takes to lie again, for the umpteenth time.

"Can we skip the part where you pretend everything is okay?" She asks, the tone bored, irritated.

You clench your eyes as soon as your mind registers that the tone of voice is angry by your attempt to lie.

What should you say then?

What does she want you to say?

You sigh.

It’s a dead end, isn’t it?

You and her alone on a pier, at night, far from the hotel.

There’s no way out.

"Why do you ask?" You ask, your voice uncertain, a whisper.

"Because I care."

You laugh sarcastically by instinct, unable to control yourself.

That’s what your parents always say when they call you after months of silence, telling you that you’re ungrateful and that they care about you.

Then they don’t call for weeks.

Is there anyone who really cares about how you are?

Who really cares about you?

You don’t think so.

In the end, you’ve lived in many cities, met many people of different ages, experienced things with them.

Did any of them ever really care about you?

No.

Did anyone really want you in their life?

No.

You were just a pastime of the moment, the lady-in-waiting, the entertainment.

"Anxious for the match."

Another excuse, the umpteenth.

Another lie, the thousandth.

You don’t look at her face, you know that if you did, you would cry.

You try to take a bite of the hamburger, but you have to chew it for a long time to find the strength to swallow.

"Why? You’ve been playing as a starter since the beginning of the season."

You know she doesn’t believe you.

Why is she playing along?

You shrug.

"I always feel this way before matches."

"You never told me."

"You never asked."

There is silence.

You bite your tongue.

Couldn’t you keep quiet?

"Sorry," you whisper, scared.

Will she yell? You don’t want her to yell, to get even angrier.

She says nothing, you hear her drink the Coke.

"I get anxious playing with you because you’re the best in the world," you reply.

It’s a partial truth, you’re scared to play with them, not being up to par.

But the reality is you’re always anxious because you know you’re worth nothing to them, so you’re afraid that at the first mistake they will kick you out, bench you forever.

"You don’t have to, you’re really good."

You don’t answer, a compliment thrown to the wind.

She doesn’t really think that.

If she did, you would feel part of the team, right?

If you were that good, they would have included you, you would be part of the group, and not just a marginal ornament.

You eat in an awkward silence almost half of the food.

You don’t speak, she doesn’t speak.

You don’t look at her, she doesn’t seem to look at you.

What should you tell her?

She sighs. "Look at me."

You raise your head but avert your gaze into the void next to her head, pretending to see her without looking at her.

"My eyes are here," she reproaches you, the captain's voice, that gently authoritative tone.

"I would like to talk about what happened, but I know I can’t force you -"

"Yeah, exactly, maybe it’s better not to, forget it," you interrupt her.

You know she hates it when you interrupt her.

She hates being interrupted.

You see her put the sandwich down on the box.

You close your eyes.

"Okay, we can’t continue like this."

You don’t answer.

What should you say?

You don’t understand what she wants.

You don’t understand why you’re here.

You don’t understand anything.

"We need to talk"

"Why? Because we have to sleep in the same room? If you wanted to talk to me you would have done it sooner” you spit angrily.

You attack her.

You don't care about respect, the fact that she is the captain, that she is Alexia Putellas.

What might interest you if you have already hit rock bottom?

What depth can you still reach, that they stop talking to you?

Why, do they talk to you?

Alexia is silent.

A silence so punishing, so tense, it makes you want to cry.

Why doesn't she scream?

Is she bored already?

Do you want to go back to the hotel?

“Maybe we'd better go,” you continue, while placing your hands on the pier in an attempt to get up.

"Sit down"

“Otherwise, what do you do? – you reply bitterly, in the end what do you have to lose? – will you put me on the bench? Will you hit me?”

You laugh sarcastically.

Alexia is silent, so you continue in your attempt to get up.

“I took a few days to think about what happened, about what you said to me and María - she sighs - I asked her not to tell anyone about what happened, so only we and probably Ingrid know, given that María cried all night"

You tense up.

Cry?

Why did she cry?

Does Ingrid know?

Does she really believe you believe her?

Days to think?

“I asked Jona to put us in the room together because I wanted to talk to you but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable and talked to you about two days ago in front of the others, but then I thought it would be embarrassing to do it in the room”

You do not say anything.

What does she want to tell you?

That you're out of the team?

Are you pathetic?

You don't look at her, your eyes fixed on your mismatched socks visible due to your pin-hole shorts.

Anything to avoid looking at it.

“We should have figured it out, how you were doing, what was happening. Instead, we were focused on winning, on the matches, this year the only new player besides you was Ona, but she knew all of us, and we didn't think about the shock and difficulties that playing with us could bring, that moving to Barcelona would cause - look at her - We all made mistakes, me first, and I don't know what to do to improve the situation"

Honesty surprises you

“Sit down, please”

#woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #alexia putellas fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia x reader #fcb femení x reader #woso community #fcb femení #mapi leon #mapi leon x reader

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helen-with-an-a · 3 months

Text

I am an adult pt 6

Hiiiii. I just wanna say thank you so much for everyone's support and love while writing this series - it means so much to me. This part was very easy to write but also emotionally draining ahahaha. Ik I did a poll and a lot of people said they wanted 1 really long fic, but I've split it into 2 halves instead cos it was so long! Also a massive shout out to @lyak12 who helped me a lot with the plot and hyped me up- forehead smooches for u. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Epilogue

Barça Femeni x reader / Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Description: R faces the consequences of her actions

TW: It's very emotional and hints of R's bad mental health

Word Count: 6.6k

You genuinely had no idea how you ended up at the beach. One moment, you were in the changing rooms with your life falling apart around you – your shattered dreams and splintered relationships crashing to the ground. And then you were on a quiet bench near the sea wall, legs tucked under your chin as you sat silently, broken in so many ways.

The gentle breeze carried the tangy scent of saltwater, mingling with the faint aroma of sunscreen and something fried wafting from a nearby snack stand. The waves relentlessly lapping at the shore rhythmically, the repetitive sound a soothing melody to help you drift away in the stillness. Time seemed to blur as you stared out at the vast expanse of the sea, lost in the chaos that was your mind.

You didn’t need to look up when you felt a presence standing next to you. You felt the bench dip as they sat down, not bothering to speak. You stayed silent for a very long time. You had no idea how long you had been there – minutes, hours, perhaps even longer. But as the bright blue sky began to shift into a blaze of fiery oranges, soft pinks, and deep purples, you realised that it had been long enough for the day to give way to the dark blues of the evening. A lone tear trekked down your cheek; you didn’t bother wiping it away.

“They hate me,” you finally said. You heard your companion sigh quietly, a sound filled with empathy and understanding.

“They’re scared,” Esmee countered, her voice soft and soothing. You didn’t respond, the weight of your thoughts drowning out the gentle reassurances offered.

"I fucked up," you admitted after a few too many minutes, the rawness of your confession cutting through the silence. It was Esmee’s turn to be quiet, her expression a mixture of compassion and thoughtfulness.

“We all make mistakes,” she said after a beat, her words a gentle reminder. Well, that was the most Esmee response ever. You turned to look at her, the fading light casting shadows across her face.

“This was more than just a mistake.” you insisted, your voice sounding weak and far away.

“You were hurt. You needed comfort. Something that you couldn’t find in Barcelona.” Her words hung in the air between you.

“I hurt them,” you said resolutely.

“Yes, you did. But I don’t think you meant to.” You could always count on Esmee to offer the truth. Some people thought she sugar-coated things, but you always found that she just said things in a way that was honest yet kind.

You fell back into silence, both of you looking out to the horizon. You had no thoughts wandering across your mind. No voice in your head or niggling feelings. You were just numb. It could have been minutes or hours; you weren’t sure.

“C’mon. Let’s go.” Esmee encouraged, standing up and offering her hand.

“I, um,” you cleared your throat. “I don’t have my keys or anything.” You looked up at her with big, wide eyes.

“That’s ok,” she smiled.

The silence in the changing rooms was deafening, broken only by the sound of shallow breathing. No one dared move. The only noise was the door clicking softly shut behind you.

“Qué quiso decir? Por qué no le renuevan el contrato?” It was Martina who was brave enough to speak up. Bruna looked up from her intense stare at her boots. All of the younger girls' eyes fell on Alexia. She was their captain, and they needed her to navigate these choppy waters. Alexia blinked. No one had mentioned the possibility of the club not extending your contract. She knew you were able to go on a free at the end of this season, but she had assumed you would sign for Barça again, at least for a year or so. When she had seen those pictures of you in Germany, she thought something had looked a little off. Even through the pixels, you looked so … distant. You clearly did not look comfortable there. At first, she chalked it up to nerves about meeting your new teammates and guilt that you were caught in the act. But now … now she wasn’t so sure. There was a tightness to your face, your usually bright and animated eyes looked clouded, and a subtle sadness in your posture.

“N-no sé.” Alexia breathed, clearly dazed.

“Ella no puede irse.” Vicky insisted. You and Vicky had a unique bond, one that often drove the older girls insane with your misbehaviour.

“She doesn’t have a choice.” Kiera reminded her softly, bringing an arm up to comfort the youngster. “A club doesn’t have to offer anyone an extension if they don’t want to, for whatever reason. Y/N has to leave Barcelona if she wants to play football next season.” Keira had always been a voice of reason in the team; she always had an great understanding of the dynamics at play both on and off the pitch.

“Pero … por qué?” Vicky looked around.

“I’m not sure,” Keira answered honestly.

“Ella no se está transfiriendo?”

“Not willingly,” Keira smiled weakly.

It wasn’t until you stepped through Esmee’s front door that you realised you'd never actually been to her place before. You weren’t the best of friends; she usually hung out with Aitana, Ingrid, and Frido – the quieter girls on the team, quite the contrast to the lively bunch you, Cata, Pina, and Ona could be. Her flat was distinctly Esmee: neat and tidy but with a warm, inviting atmosphere. The shelves were littered with pictures of friends and family, and the walls were filled with colourful art. Her couch looked cosy, with a soft green throw draped artistically over the back. “Do you want some tea?” she asked kindly, smiling as she gestured to the kitchen. You returned her smile with a soft nod. Why was she being so nice to you? You had been a raging arsehole and deserved nothing but the harsh words Lucy had hurled your way.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I told the others you’re with me,” she said apologetically, handing you a steaming mug. You nodded again, your heart sinking a little. “They aren’t going to come round, at least not tonight.” Was Esmee a mind reader? How else would she know you were anxious about them coming over?

“How did you find me?” You asked sometime later. It had stumbled across your mind when she first appeared next to you.

“You mentioned that you like to go to the beach to think.” Have you mentioned that? “After training, I drove along the front until I saw you.”

You stared into your refilled mug; the steam curled upwards and danced in front of you. “I didn’t know you knew that,” you murmured. “I didn’t think anyone knew that.” It was true; you don’t think you had ever mentioned the long walks along the beach you liked to take in the early hours when you couldn’t sleep. The fresh air helped clear your mind, the movement of your body helped to get the blood flowing again, and the peaceful nature helped soothe your soul.

Esmee shrugged, a gentle smile on her lips. “I notice people.” Her words hung in the air between you, warm and comforting like the tea you held. You glanced up at her, feeling a flicker in your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered sincerely. She nodded back at you, settling back against the sofa, sipping on her own mug.

Ona was conflicted. On one hand, she was immensely relieved that you were safe. You weren’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere or injured and in a coma, unable to identify yourself to anyone. The scenarios that had been playing in her mind for days were far worse than the reality. She had been losing sleep, haunted by the fear that something terrible had happened to you. Knowing you were okay was a weight off her shoulders. But on the other hand, a heavy sense of betrayal gnawed at her. You hadn't trusted her enough to tell her anything. She thought about all the times you had confided in each other, sharing secrets and dreams and comforting each other during tough times. She was your best friend, the one who had always been there for you. And yet, you ran a thousand miles away without a word, without a hint of where you were going or why.

The hurt she felt was deep and raw. How could you not have trusted her with your plans? Why didn't you believe she would understand or help you through this? Her mind swirled with questions and doubts, each one cutting deeper than the last. She wanted to be happy that you were safe, but the sting of your secrecy made it hard to fully embrace that relief. The bond you shared felt strained, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of abandonment.

And now you had disappeared again. When she finally stepped foot on the pitch, she had thought you would have been there too, waiting for training to start. But you were nowhere to be found. Ona scanned the field, her eyes darting from one familiar face to another, hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Her heart sank with each passing moment. The coach blew the whistle, signalling the start of practice, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't focus, the worry gnawing at her insides. It must have been one of the worst training sessions she had had in a long time.

She had broken one of Alexia’s steadfast rules – no phones at training. Ona checked her phone obsessively, hoping for a message or a missed call from you. Nothing. The knot in her stomach tightened. She wondered if something had happened again or if you had chosen to vanish this time without a trace, leaving everyone behind to worry and speculate. Her phone buzzed.

Esmee: I’ve found her. She’s safe. I’ll bring her back to mine when she’s ready. E

She could have cried. She was fairly sure she had. Relief washed over her, mingling with the painful ache of betrayal. At least you were safe, and that was the most important thing. As she stood there, clutching her phone, Ona resolved to be patient. She would give you the space you needed, but she would also be there, ready to listen, when you were finally ready to talk.

You woke up the next morning in just as much of a daze. It took you a moment to realise you were on Esmee’s couch, the unfamiliar surroundings disorienting you even further. You hadn’t slept well. You tossed and turned as much as possible on the small couch, the spare bedding Esmee gave you tucked up around your chin. When you did sleep, it wasn’t much better; the nightmares that your mind dreamed up made you even more tired than before.

The quiet chatter from the kitchen pulled you from your not-quite sleep. “That’s up to her to say, Mapí,” Esmee said softly. You could imagine her face, the small apologetic smile and pinched eyebrows.

“Pero... sólo quiero saber, por qué? Ella de dijo algo anoche?” Mapí implored further. Of course, Mapí would be grilling Esmee. You could see her arms moving around as she spoke.

“Min skjønnhet, stop bugging Esmee” Ingrid cut in. You could envisage Ingrid’s soft smile and gentle hand moving comfortingly across Mapí’s shoulders.

“No, mi corazón. Necesito saber por qué se fue del puto país en lugar de hablar con nosotras.” she all but shouted, a guilty look flashing across her face as she registered her volume.

“María.” You didn’t need to be in the room to see Ingrid’s unimpressed look.

“Mapí, I’m not going to betray her trust like that. I found her, I took her home, she stayed the night. Ask her yourself.” You had never heard Esmee sound so tough. Your heart swelled at the thought of her protecting you. Sitting up slowly, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and listened more intently.

Mapí sighed, the sound of a chair scraping back as she sat down. “Aunque estoy muy enojado con ella. No creo que pueda hablar con ella sin gritar.”

“I know,” Ingrid reassured her, her voice softer now but still firm.

You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to finally face them. The floor felt cool beneath your feet as you walked towards the kitchen, the soft murmurs of their conversation growing louder. As you entered the kitchen, three pairs of eyes turned to you. For a moment, no one spoke. The air was thick with unspoken words and raw emotions. Mapí stood up, her movements hesitant. “Por qué te fuiste sin decir nada?” Her voice was trembling, and you could see the effort it took for her to keep her tone steady.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “I...” you took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just needed out,” you confessed.

“Y pensaste que desaparecer sin decir una palabra era la mejor manera de hacerlo.?” Mapí’s frustration was evident, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. You had no words. You had no reason, no excuse for your behaviour.

Ingrid stepped forward, her face a mask of disappointment. “Do you have any idea what you put us through? We were worried sick, thinking something terrible had happened to you.”

“No puedes simplemente huir de tus problemas y dejar que nosotros recogamos los pedazos.” Mapí added

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at each of them, their disappointment bearing down on you, crushing you. You had never felt so small, so utterly ashamed of yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible through your tears. “I never meant to hurt any of you. I was just... overwhelmed. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“We understand that you were struggling, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. We’re your friends, and we deserve better than to be left in the dark like that.” Ingrid sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We care about you, but you need to understand that your actions have consequences. You can’t just expect us to forgive and forget.”

“I don’t expect you to.” You refused to meet her eyes, gaze fixed firmly on the tabletop. “I really am sorry,” you whispered out, blinking rapidly to try to stop the tears. Feeling the weight of their words settling heavily on your shoulders, you knew you had a long road ahead of you, one filled with apologies and making amends.

Alexia couldn’t allow herself to feel all the emotions she was feeling. She had to be the strong one, for the team, the one who held everyone together when everything seemed to be falling apart. But deep down, behind the facade of strength she presented to the world, she was crumbling. Fear, anger, and grief churned inside her, threatening to consume her whole. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at the unfairness of it all. But she couldn’t. She had to keep it together ... for the sake of those who depended on her.

Her training was one of the best she had ever done. She focused solely on the ball at her feet. Her passes were stronger, her shoots were faster, her tackles harsher. Each movement was driven by a mix of determination and frustration. Yet, no matter how much she threw herself into her sport, the ache in her heart remained. The weight of your absence hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the betrayal she felt. You had received some terrible news. News that had blindsided you into fleeing the country. And you hadn’t confided in her. That was what made her the most … angry wasn’t the right word. Sure, she was so incredibly angry with you for running away. Even when you had all the legal trouble last year, she had never been this angry with you. But now that anger mixed with pain. You had begged her, pleaded with her to treat you more like an adult. And the first thing you had done when times had gotten tough you had acted like a child. Rather than asking for help, reaching out to those around you … those who loved you like family … you had fled. No word, no explanation, no nothing. You left. You left the team. You left her.

As she sat in the solitude of her car, the weight of your actions bore down on her like a heavy burden. The betrayal cut deep, slicing through the layers of friendship and trust she had built with you over the years. She wanted to understand, to offer you comfort and support in your time of need. But the hurt ran too deep, leaving behind a bitter taste of resentment and disappointment. How could you have kept such a monumental thing from her? Had she made you think you couldn’t come to her? Why? Why? Why? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered and unresolved, adding to the confusion already in her heart.

Esmee graciously drove you back to the training ground to retrieve your belongings. Grateful that it was only an afternoon session, you silently thanked the heavens for the deserted car park. It was eerie, walking through the silent corridors and into the empty changing rooms. You tried very hard to not think about the events of yesterday, focusing on the speckled flooring and the wooden benches as you dug through your bag to get your keys. You would be back that afternoon, so the kit could stay in your locker for now. Your phone was dead, unsurprisingly, but you knew Lena would have spammed you in the meantime.

Returning home felt surreal. Evidence of someone's presence lingered—dishwasher humming, blankets neatly folded. The thought of Ona or Alexia, perhaps tidying in anticipation of your return, tugged at your heart. The house, once brimming with life, now felt suffocatingly empty. Each room echoed with your absence, the memories of laughter and warmth now hauntingly distant. Moving through the familiar spaces, you felt like a ghost, your steps muted by the plush carpet beneath you. Every corner held a fragment of the life you would have to leave behind, each one a bittersweet reminder of what once was. Yet, as you moved from room to room, a sense of disconnection enveloped you, as if you were a stranger peering into a life that no longer belonged to you.

Your phone buzzed, and buzzed, and buzzed. Lena’s texts were coming through.

L💚: How was it?

L💚: Did u speak to them?

L💚: Is everything ok?

L💚: Schatz?

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Helloooooooo

L💚: Schatz?

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Ur really scaring me

L💚: Schatz ????

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Please

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Bitte

Missed call from L💚

L💚: WHY THE FUCK HAS ALEXIA JUST TEXTED ME TO TELL ME U DIDN’T TELL THEM U WERE IN GERMANY????????

L💚: PLEASE TELL ME U TOLD THEM U HAD LEFT THE FUCKING COUNTRY

L💚: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Missed call from L💚

L💚: Y/N !!!!!!!

Missed call from L💚

L💚: ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE

Missed call from L💚

L💚: PHONE ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!

The last message dated from only 30 minutes ago.

Incoming call from L💚

“Schatz, what the actual fuck?” Lena almost shouted down, the Facetime picking up her distress.

“I … I …” you felt a tear escape. “Fuck,” you said, harshly wiping it away.

“This makes me look so bad. Do you get that?” You did get that. To the team, she was now the girlfriend that aided and abetted your horrific actions. “I know. And I’m so, so sorry, Leibe,” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell them?” she questioned again.

“I wasn’t thinking. I needed … out. I needed to get away. And it was all so fast and …” your explanation trailed off, a weak defense against her justified questioning.

"That's not good enough, Schatz. They're your friends. Did you think they wouldn't care? Did you think they wouldn't help? I'm trying to understand," Lena's tone softened slightly.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I fucked up massively. And I have no explanation for any of it.”

Lena let out a frustrated sigh, her features creased with concern. “You can't run away from your problems, Schatz.”

“I know,” you said, the guilt weighing heavily on your heart. “And I promise I'll do better. I'll make things right, I swear.”

“Wirst du das tun, wenn wir jemals streiten? Wirst du auch einfach verschwinden?” Lena's voice trembled with uncertainty, her fear palpable.

“No, never,” you replied immediately, the sincerity in your voice echoing through the connection. “I won't ever leave you. I promise, Lena. I love you.” Lena scrutinised you for a moment, searching for truth in your eyes. Finally, a glimmer of hope flickered in hers.

“Okay ... just promise me you won't shut me out like that. We're supposed to be a team, remember?” Lena implored. You nodded earnestly. “And make this right with the team. You can’t leave like this, especially not with Ona and Alexia.”

Lucy's fury surged like a tidal wave, threatening to engulf her and everything around her. Never before had she felt such a consuming anger, a tempest of emotions raging within her. How dare you, she seethed inwardly, her clenched fists trembling with unrestrained fury. The words reverberated in her mind like a relentless echo, each syllable fuelling the fire of her indignation.

The betrayal cut deep, slicing through the bonds of trust with surgical precision. How could you drop that absolute bomb of information on the team and then just leave? The question echoed in Lucy's mind, a refrain of disbelief and betrayal. Her chest heaved with the unspoken words, the air thick with the tension of unresolved anger.

Every fibre of Lucy's being screamed for justice, for retribution against you, who had callously shattered their trust. The image of Ona’s face burned in her mind like a brand, a scar etched into her memory. She had looked so scared, so fragile and raw. But beneath the raging storm of anger, there lurked a profound sense of hurt, a painful vulnerability that threatened to consume her. How could you do that to everyone? Did they mean nothing to you? Did Ona mean so little to you? The wounds of betrayal ran deep. Lucy found herself adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions, struggling to make sense of the chaos that had engulfed their once-unified team. The anger burned hot and fierce, a relentless inferno that threatened to consume her from within.

The changing rooms didn’t hold their usual pre-session chatter. There wasn’t a loud, bright atmosphere as people greeted each other and slipped into their workout gear. There was no gentle undercurrent of excitement for the day. Instead, it was spookily silent. A few low murmurs were uttered here and there as people passed, but there was no conversation, no high-fives, or laughter.

You had arrived at training early, hoping to avoid any awkwardness. As you entered, the stillness was almost suffocating. Mariona was the only other person there, her cubby positioned directly opposite yours. You both went about your routines in an awkward dance of avoidance, her presence a constant reminder of the tension that now defined the space. Seeking refuge, you slipped into the bathroom, deliberately taking longer than usual. The routine tasks of washing your hands, tying back your hair, and applying suncream felt almost meditative, a brief respite from the silence that awaited you.

Moving like passing ships in the night, you and Mariona drifted around each other, the silence punctuated only by the rustle of clothes and the soft thud of locker doors.

“Entiendo,” Mariona said suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm but firm, and your head whipped up in surprise. Her words hit you with the force of a confession, their gravity making you feel like she had just admitted to something far more serious. “I understand … I’m terrified, and I’m leaving voluntarily.” The admission hung in the air, starkly contrasting the heavy silence from earlier. “I can’t imagine what it's like for you.” A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to find the right words.

"I didn’t mean to hurt anyone," you whispered, your voice barely audible. The weight of your words was palpable, each syllable a testament to the regret you felt.

Mariona’s eyes softened, but the tension remained. “Yo sé eso.” You nodded at her words. Your mouth opened to say more, but you were interrupted by the door swinging open and Irene, Marta and Caro walking through the door. You snapped your mouth shut, dipping your head down and turning back to face your locker.

The trio's arrival brought with it a fresh wave of awkwardness. Their conversation, though low and cautious, filled the room with an attempt at normalcy. You focused on your locker, trying to steady your breathing, feeling the weight of their glances. Irene, always perceptive, gave you a fleeting look of concern but said nothing. Marta and Caro exchanged glances, sensing the tension but unsure how to address it.

Slowly, the rest of the team trickled in. It was obvious that you would be participating in this session in silence. No one made a move to talk to you, to even greet you. Not until they had the all-clear from Alexia. You waited until you were one of the final few in the room. Turning, you caught sight of Ona and Lucy whispering in the corner. Ona’s face was still slightly puffy, her eyes still red as she picked at her nails. Lucy’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line, the corners turned downward in a scowl, her eyes flicking in your direction occasionally. Her body was taut, every muscle seemingly coiled and ready to spring. Shoulders squared and rigid, she stood with a stance that was both defensive and confrontational. Her hands balled into tight fists and trembled slightly with the force of her suppressed rage. Her breath was measured as if she was struggling to maintain control and not let the anger consume her entirely. You hurried out of the room, rushing to leave the couple to their conversation.

The training session was one of the most awkward and painful things you had ever experienced. You stood quietly, tucked away at the end of the line, as Jona started the warmups. Trying to avoid drawing any attention to yourself, you focused intensely on the basics: placing one foot in front of the other, the rhythm of your breathing, the movement of your body. You hoped this would keep your mind occupied and distract you from the palpable tension around you.

When it came time for partner work, you found yourself lingering silently, waiting for a few uncomfortable moments before turning to the trainers. With an odd number of outfield players, someone had to be paired with one of the staff. Today, it seemed like that someone would be you. It wasn't the arrangement itself that bothered you; rather, it was the underlying implications. There was an air of exclusion that hung heavy in the atmosphere, making you feel like an outsider in what was supposed to be a team activity. The most unbearable part of it all was the not-so-subtle looks being thrown your way. It was clear that people were talking about you during the water breaks. Jana would frequently glance in your direction, only to be slapped on the arm by Pina as if reminding her to be discreet. Vicky appeared to take a tentative step toward you, possibly to offer some form of solidarity but was quickly redirected by Bruna, who nudged her in another direction. These interactions left you feeling isolated and self-conscious. Every whispered conversation, every sideways glance, seemed to amplify your sense of alienation. You could almost hear the silent judgments. This wasn't just a training session; it was a stark reminder of your outsider status, of how much damage you had done.

The scrimmage at the end was no better. Thankfully, Jona had made the teams for the final 7 v 7. Was it karma that he had placed you on the left wing with Lucy as the opposing right-back? Maybe. But you couldn’t deny that you deserved every shove, every tackle that she gave you. She seemed to be toeing the line between unprofessionalism carefully. She never left a lasting mark on you, but you could tell each push was personal.

As the exercise progressed, Lucy's aggression became more evident. She was relentless, pressing you harder than she did anyone else on the field. Each time she shouldered you off the ball or slid in with a perfectly timed tackle, you could feel the underlying animosity. It wasn’t just about winning the ball; it was about sending a message. If it were a normal day, a day when you hadn’t messed up so unbelievably badly, you would have shoved back or shouted a little. But you couldn’t do that. Today, you were paying for your mistakes, and Lucy was more than willing to collect.

So, you took it. Every time you were sent to the ground, you didn’t question it. You didn’t wait for the whistle to be blown or hope that someone would extend a hand to help you back up. Instead, you popped back up, shook yourself off, and continued like nothing was wrong like your whole life wasn't crumbling around you. Each time you hit the grass, the sting of the impact seemed to echo your emotional bruises. But you refused to show it. You forced yourself to remain strong. You could break down again later. You pushed through the scrimmage with grim determination, aware of the eyes on you, aware of the judgment, but unwilling to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you break.

Despite the bruises and the rough treatment, you managed to stay on your feet more than you had thought you would do. You moved through the motions, running up and down the small pitch, crossing balls into the box, and tracking back on defence. But every action felt hollow, your mind a swirl of what-ifs and if-onlys. The final whistle came as a relief, yet also with a sense of dread. You knew the real battle was far from over. As Jona dismissed you for the day, you helped the trainers collect the equipment, hoping to delay your return and allow the others time to leave peacefully.

As you walked through the main doors back into the building, you noticed Alexia. Standing strong and unimpressed, leaning against the wall. You went to speak but thought better of it, nodding once and smiling uneasily instead. As you moved to walk past her, she stopped you, a warm hand wrapping around your wrist.

“Nosotras necesitamos hablar.” Her voice was sharp, a firmness that was hardly ever directed at you … not since the trouble from last year. You nodded, your voice unable to work.

You followed her through the maze of corridors until you reached a seldom-used meeting room. Was it a coincidence that it was the same room you had the meeting with the State Officials in and first told them about Lena? Maybe, but you wouldn’t put it past Alexia to have chosen it specifically. “Sentarse.” Her voice held a harshness to it that cut through you like a knife. You deserve this. You deserve this. You hurt her. You hurt everyone.

“Since you wanted to be treated like an adult, we will talk like adults.” You nodded. God, why couldn’t you speak? It wasn’t like you hadn’t been in trouble before. Maybe it was because this was such a personal mistake. When you hadn’t completed the forms on time, yes, it had been your fault as you were the person responsible, but there was a somewhat clear-cut way to fix it. It was laid out for you. But this … this was something you needed to navigate like an adult. No one was going to help you this time.

Alexia pointed to a chair, and she pulled out her own. “Explicar.” Her command was simple, really. But where could you begin? Where should you start? You were clearly taking too long. Alexia huffed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at you. You sank into the chair, feeling the weight of her gaze bearing down on you. How could you explain the mess you had made? The knots in your stomach tightened as you struggled to find the right words. Despite your best efforts, your breath quickened, and your fingers had a mind of their own as they started to pick at the dry skin around your nails.

"I... I don't … I don’t know … where to start," you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Alexia's expression softened ever slightly, but her impatience was palpable. She had never seen you look so young. Even when you were in the hell that was the legal trouble last year, or the wide-eyed teen that turned up on her doorstep at the request of the club, with a single suitcase and a dream.

"Just start from the beginning," she urged, her tone imperceptively gentler now. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves.

“I got a phone call from Paul … my agent,” you swallowed, staring harshly into the table, refusing to meet Alexia’s eye or even look in her general direction. “He said he had just got back from a meeting with the club.” You stuck to the facts, no emotions, no elaborations, just facts. You couldn’t … wouldn’t … cry if you stuck to the simple facts. “He said they couldn’t afford to keep me next season.” You stopped.

It was clear to Alexia that that was as much as you could say about the situation without breaking. You were so similar in that way. Both of you refused to cry in front of someone else, not unless you were truly comfortable and perfectly safe around them. Did you not feel safe around her anymore? Had she broken your relationship? No, she stopped those thoughts in their tracks. You had broken the relationship, you, not her … then why did she feel like she was to blame, at least partially?

Alexia watched you carefully, her heart aching at the sight of your pain. She wanted to reach out ... to comfort you. No. She held herself back. She knew that now wasn't the time for softness, not when there were hard truths that needed to be faced. “What about Germany?” Her voice was still icy, cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. What about Germany? Germany was where Lena was. Germany was safe. Germany had Lena. You took another steadying breath, pushing down everything that was threatening to overwhelm you.

“Lena phoned me. She said either I went to her or she came to me. She had the Pokal final, so I went to her.” Another pause. “I needed to think. To breathe. To …” you trailed off. You let out a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Todavía no entiendo.” She admitted after a moment. You nodded, biting your lip so hard that you started to taste blood. A tear plopped onto the wooden table in front of you, another one joining quickly afterwards. “Por qué … why didn’t you tell someone? Anyone?” Alexia's question pierced through the haze of your thoughts, demanding an answer you weren't sure you had. Why hadn’t you done that? You honestly had no explanation for it. You just needed out. Out of your house. Out of Barcelona. Out of Spain. Every time you looked at your phone, all the emotions came flooding back like a tsunami. So, you didn’t look.

“I don’t know,” you croaked, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat.

“Eso no es lo suficientemente bueno.” Alexia's words were severe, a reminder that there would never be a good enough reason to justify your actions. You knew that. You knew that there would never be an excuse that could erase the hurt you had caused. You nodded. “Mírame,” she demanded after a moment. Your head remained down, but your eyes drifted up.

Alexia looked in pain. Not the physical pain – you had seen the uncomfortable look she had when she had tweaked her knee again or the scrunch of her eyebrows when an opposing player left her mark on her. This was different. This was emotional pain, etched into the lines of her face, shadowing the brightness of her eyes. As you watched her struggle to contain her emotions, the guilt pierced your heart tenfold. Your actions had caused her pain ... had shattered the fragile peace she had worked so hard to maintain. “Por qué no viniste a mí?” Once she asked that initial question, the floodgates opened. “No querías que te ayudara? I could have done something. I could have spoken to the club or something, anything. Em culpes?” She finished her sentence in Catalan. She thought you blamed her? You didn’t know what to say. The dam broke. Hot, fat tears rolled in a steady stream down your face.

“Never, Alexia. Never. I never, ever blamed you. I promise. It’s not your fault. It’s on me, it’s all on me. I’m not good enough for the club. For anyone. Of course, they want to renew you and Lucy over me. You deserve it so much more than me. This isn’t anyone’s fault but mine.” It was a mismatch of languages. Some sentences in English, some in Spanish and Catalan, and others in German. “I fucked up so badly. I don’t even know what I was thinking. I … I couldn’t ... I needed to … I don’t even know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You don’t deserve any of this. I fucked up so horrifically.” Alexia had never seen you so upset. It was clear she needed to intervene when she noticed your breathing quickening. You were hyperventilating now, apologies still streaming from your mouth. With a gentle hand, she reached out and placed it on your trembling shoulder. She didn’t think you even noticed it.

“Cariño. Breathe.” She instructed. Eventually, you slowed down, your breathing and heart rate returning to a more normal level. “Thank you for apologising,” she said when you had fully calmed down. “I’m not going to lie and say that I’m not hurt. And I’m not quite ready to forgive you. But I think there is more to this story than just you. You should not have been blindsided like that by the club. But your actions …” You nodded.

“I truly am sorry, Ale, um, Alexia.” You really wanted to hug her, but you knew you weren’t quite forgiven enough for that yet. She stood, offering a weak smile to you as she left the room, leaving you to your own thoughts.

I hope you enjoyed <3<3<3<3

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