Alexia doesn't remember. She practically struts onto the plane, and I can tell she doesn't remember. I hope she feels my eyes burning into her. I wish looks could kill.

Usually, I sit next to Ingrid, but Alexia is far too close to the row I would be on, and so I seek out Keira and Lucy. With Lucy happily swapping so that she's sitting with Mariona, I easily get myself situated next to Keira. She always has episodes of Friends downloaded, and watching something in silence will take my mind off how stupid I have been over the past few days. How does one person make so many mistakes?

I fall asleep during the flight, but Keira shakes me when we land. "Lucy and Mariona took pictures of you because you snuggled into me like a little puppy," she says, patting my shoulder. "Oh, and apparently Alexia is hungover, so when they say her name, they're talking about that." We share the struggle of trying to understand the gossip, but Lucy seems to translate most things to Keira.

"Mapi was just saying that it's weird how she never drinks during the season, but every time you come," Lucy's index finger points accusingly at my chest, "she's hammered. You guys must really hate each other."

It clicks into place.

Alexia doesn't remember we kissed because she was so cocky about how much she could drink, surpassing her limits to the point of blackout. Yet another time her utter arrogance has been displayed to the world, and only I have the clear sight to see it. That woman thinks that the universe revolves around her.

"She's the worst," I reply, tired of this kind of conversation. I change the topic. "Have you two met my sister? She's going to stay with me next month."

They tell me that they have, and we spend the rest of the journey discussing how on Earth she and Leah Williamson ended up together. It's a bit of a mystery. Jaimie is normally one to stay away from relationships, but whatever. She's quite cryptic when it comes to the true details of her own life.

Jonatan starts me, and, surprisingly, holds Alexia on the bench for the first half against Alhama. She looks pale, but there is a fire in her eyes the minute she sees the line-up. This is the first time I will play on the left for Barcelona, and I think she leaves the changing room during the team talk to punch a wall.

I use this opportunity to add to my highlight reel. Jonatan needs to remember that I belong here, on this side of the pitch. It feels so impossibly good to have La Reina make way for me.

We win 2-0, and I'm awarded player of the match. They attempt to conduct my post-match interview in (broken) English, so Mapi steps in to translate. I'm asked what I think about switching to the right in the second half.

"I don't like it as much as my actual position, but La Reina gets what she wants, and she wants to play on the left. I can do both, but she can't. It is a compliment from Jonatan at times, I'd say." Mapi rolls her eyes, and I know she isn't saying exactly what I said.

"Congratulations," the interviewer says, grinning. I nod to her, turning to leave once the camera has stopped recording. She grabs my wrist to stop me. "Can I have your phone?"

It takes a moment for me to realise what she's trying to ask me, but when I do, I smirk. She's pretty, and I can't shake the guilt of kissing her so maybe I should just learn to live with it. The more people I kiss, the less everything will affect me, right? Scarlett would rather me sleep around than get into a loving relationship. Not that I can see one of those in my future.

"Would you like my shirt, too?" I ask her, tugging at the fabric of the Barcelona away kit. It's not my favourite colour, so I don't mind giving it away. She blushes and nods. I pull it over my head, handing her the shirt in exchange for her phone to type in my number. While I decode the Spanish, she stares at my sweaty body.

Suddenly, the phone is snatched out of my hand, thrust back towards the interviewer, and I am being marched down the tunnel. Alexia's tight jaw makes her very recognisable, along with the overpowering smell of her shampoo. I mean, she probably didn't sweat much considering I did all the work this game.

Her hands grip my shoulders so tightly that I'm sure my skin will have even more marks on it than it did the last time she was allowed this close to me.

"What the fuck?" I protest, pushing Alexia off me. She stops us outside the door to the changing room, eyes hard and determined, examining me. It's a good thing I managed to rub away the hickeys.

I almost kid myself that she is going to kiss me again. At her failure to explain, I push past her, my chest flush against hers for a moment. "You are such a psychopath," I say, going to join the girls in their post-win celebrations.

━━━━━━━

María takes me to get my car.

Oli comes with us. It's a pivotal moment of my life in Barcelona, after all.

It's black with a blue trim, and the shape is sleek and stealthy. Papa says it looks good, but that Jaimie's i8 is better. My car is electric, so I tell him he's wrong.

"This is a proper footballer's car," I mutter, running my fingers along the smooth metal. "I'm so cool, María."

We unleash Oli in the backseat, and he curls up comfortably in his cat carrier once he's explored. I'm glad he approves. Now I can go to and from training without having to third-wheel Mapi and Ingrid or suffer in silence with the poisonous company of Alexia.

I drive home, get my stuff, get Oli's stuff, and then go back to María's house. She is disappointed that I'm not resilient enough to stay in my own flat, but I'm sure she secretly loves that I'm using her as my hiding spot. That way, Alexia and I never have to see each other outside of work.

I'm beginning to hate her so much that I can't stop thinking about her. I fear I will strangle her if I'm near her for too long.

We fall into an easy routine. Carlos and I go to the bar every evening; he makes me order in Spanish; the bartender tries to get the words 'força barça' out my mouth. I help María in the kitchen, and she threatens to use Oli as the meat for the next evening when he jumps onto the worktop.

It's getting harder and harder for me to sleep. I end up going on late night jogs, running through the streets of María's neighbourhood with tears welling up in my eyes. There's a drum constantly pounding in my head, and I find that my eyes ache when I look at my phone. My radio silence might be worrying for Jaimie, but María kisses my forehead every night before I go to sleep, so I decide nothing is truly wrong.

Except everything is.

I can't eat properly, I can't play without not wanting to pass to anybody.

I avoid my flat and the entire building like they are ridden with the plague, refusing to meet Mapi for our now-rare Friday catch-ups. It takes a week of me recycling my clothes for María to haul me into her car and force me to swap out what I've brought with me.

She offers to come in with me, but I politely decline.

I get in the lift, because it's easy to turn on the stairs and never go back.

I force myself to step inside.

My heels are where I left them. My dress is still crumpled on the floor.

My bedroom reminds me of how lonely I am, and my home feels like it's a million miles away. This doesn't feel right.

I can't bring myself to go any further into the place than the spare room, which I know has a box of clothes I didn't have the space for in my wardrobe. I use my set of keys to María's house to pierce the tape, dragging them through to open what feels like Pandora's box.

It smells of Scarlett. Of our flat in London. Of the life we once shared, had built together.

I sort through the clothes; all I need is another pair of jeans.

"That bitch," I murmur, holding up a pair of jeans Scarlett swore she lost. They were my favourite, and she asked to borrow them once and never gave them back.

My fingers smooth over the creases. The denim is still soft, and the stitching of the pocket is still uneven from when I ripped them by playing Fruit Ninja in real life. I bring them up to my face, inhaling deeply.

My nose nudges something in the pocket. A pound coin wouldn't be helpful here, but that's typical of Scarlett to have left it. I push my fingers into the pocket, rummaging around until they hit metal.

It feels too smooth for it to be a coin, but it's circular. As I'm pulling it out, my finger slips through the middle, and I know exactly what it is.

The ring.

notes:

it's short, but we move x

thanks for the support on Stay Away so far 😘 and, as always, thanks for reading !!