Two days prior.

My keys click in the lock of María's front door, and I creep my way inside. It is late; far later than I intended to stay out until. The warm flicker of the lamp left on in the hallway illuminates her house enough for me to slink my way up the stairs, and I think I have gotten away with another nighttime drive. María has threatened to report me for them now, because it's unhealthy to avoid sleep as much as I do.

Andries did not ask me to come to the national team camp this time round. He told me that my place on the World Cup squad is undisputed, and he would like to evaluate younger players. He wants me to rest. I have a feeling that I am not hiding my mental disarray well enough, but I cannot find it in myself to care.

It is not my fault that I am plagued with nightmares, or that lying in bed in silence gives my mind the freedom to explore emotions that I'd rather keep locked away. Nothing is truly as complex as I make it, has been my most recent revelation. Opinions can be black and white. I can hate Alexia, and that is enough. I will not allow myself the time to second-guess my initial emotions to her because of one drunken kiss that the arrogant bitch doesn't even remember. I suppose I've been evading the entire team's attention since we beat Alhama two days ago.

"Fleur," a voice says, sounding like María but an exhausted version of the woman I am starting to love like she is my own mother. I freeze, halfway up the stairs. "Mija, I know it is you."

"Soy Carlos," I try, attempting to make my voice as deep as it can go. She is not convinced for a single moment, and laughs breathily from her position at the dining table.

She wordlessly instructs me to go to her, and so I tiptoe down the stairs, avoiding the creaky floorboards in order to not wake the snoring Carlos I can just about hear. I carefully place my keys on the plate by the door, and they join the mix of silver and rusted gold of the other sets.

María is sitting at the head of the dining table, eyes framed by black reading glasses. On her lap, Oli purrs away, content with the occasional hand she runs down his spine, or finger stroking the top of his head. This blends with the whirring of her laptop. I wonder what she is doing up so late. She asks me my question before I can ask her.

"I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry, I will try better." I lean against the doorway, blocking the light from the hallway so that the only thing keeping the dining room bright enough for us to see each other is the slightly blue glow of her laptop screen. She motions for me to switch on the light. We both blink to adjust to the newfound brightness.

"I really think you should see the psychologist." I shake my head at her, almost pleading for her to drop the topic; María sighs. "Come, sit. I need your opinion on something." Her foot pushes a chair out for me. I obey.

There is a moment where she scans over the documents laid out in front of her, and then types a few sentences out on her laptop keyboard. I wait patiently for her to finish, the soft clack of the keys oddly soothing. I relax on the chair, spreading out, resting my feet on the table.

She raises her eyebrows and I quickly remove them.

"There is a new player arriving four days from now," she says, closing her laptop. It thuds shut, and squeaks as she slides it out of the way. "She is very young, but very talented. I am not usually given the Spanish players to look after, but she is only twenty-years-old and seemed terrified in her meeting with Jonatan a few days ago."

"Should you be telling me this?" I ask. The club has not announced a new signing, and I do not think they can even get new players at this time of the season. She must have signed a loan contract in the transfer window, and postponed the date. It's a cumbersome time to come, but we all have our reasons.

"No, so do not share this with the team." That will not be happening. Everyone is away at national camp, and those who are still in Spain are usually the ones that orbit Alexia like she is their Sun. Mapi and I may or may not have had a little argument concerning my apparent 'immaturity' and how Alexia and I could be friends if we tried.

(Mapi, I find, is inclined to be delusional when it comes to us two. She suggested we go out on a date no less than two weeks ago, for no reason at all. I almost dropped my phone in the toilet in surprise.)

"Oye, I would like you to look after her when she comes. You need a friend and, though you try very hard not to be, you are a good role model for the younger girls. They look up to you in the same way they look up to Alexia." I doubt that. I think the younger members of the team see me as some sort of alternate path they could accidentally stumble down if they don't listen to every order Alexia issues them. "I spoke to her yesterday, and she said she wanted to improve her English. She would like to play in England next season."

"You are assigning me to be her babysitter," I realise, sinking into the chair with dismay and annoyance. María nods, smiling. "Mamá María, this is unfair."

"Do not 'Mamá María' me, chica." She swats at my thigh, and I recoil dramatically. "Devote the energy you are saving by not looking after yourself to Talia. You are a good person, Fleur. This will remind you of that."

I disagree.

A good person was Scarlett, who died before she could truly break my heart.

I have discarded my team because I did not want to deal with their grief. I ran away to a different country to dodge the discussions of a woman who wanted to marry me but couldn't because I thought my career was more important. I kissed a woman I hate, regardless of whether or not she knows the truth about me and Scarlett, and I have ignored everyone who loves me for the past week. 

How can María sit there and tell me, so confidently, that I am a good person? How can she lie to my face like that?

For good people don't do bad things, and I have done worse than most would expect. 

━━━━━━━

The ring.

The ring, the ring, the ring.

The ring is cold, but is warming up in my palm. The ring should be in a box, should it not?

Scarlett never wore these, because she knew I would be annoyed.

I check the pocket. I'm not sure for what.

I find a slip of paper. It has a blue hue to it; I recognise it as part of a Chelsea notepad Scarlett stole from Emma's office once.

The paper has been folded up tightly and with precision. Scarlett would do this all the time: fold things up until they were tiny. Wrappers, clothes. It calmed her, she claimed. I think she just liked the repetitive action of it.

It takes a few seconds, but I have opened the paper properly. The handwriting makes my stomach lurch. I did not know you could miss a person's handwriting.

I did not think I even missed Scarlett until I turned to tell her something the other day, only to find that she would never be by my side again.

It's a speech.

Her proposal speech.

Ok Scar you got this. Draft 8. 17/12/22

Do you see why I insisted on you wearing MY jeans? (And then I'll take the ring and get down on one knee) Fleur, I love you so much. More than your brain can comprehend – and that's hard because you're actually the cleverest person I know. You and me go so well together, though I know we have our moments. L̶i̶k̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ l̶a̶s̶t̶ c̶o̶u̶p̶l̶e̶ o̶f̶ m̶o̶n̶t̶h̶s̶. But tough times make for a better future, and despite the screaming and shouting, the only future I can ever picture is one with you waking up next to me and using me as your personal hot water bottle and braiding my hair before important games. When you told me about Barcelona, I was terrified. You are so bad at keeping in touch, and I know you better than anyone in this world. It would be hard for us, a̶n̶d̶ I̶ d̶o̶n̶'t̶ t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ i̶t̶'s̶ a̶ g̶o̶o̶d̶ i̶d̶e̶a̶ but, Fleur, I love you. I love you with everything in me. Until the moon falls into the ocean and pigs learn to fly (hopefully she'll laugh!!) – see, I even know that you find that phrase hilarious (don't say this if she doesn't laugh). I love you and will keep loving you if you go to Barcelona. I love you and will keep loving you no matter what separates us. It's me and you, babe. Forever. So (DON'T FUCK THIS BIT UP REMEMBER), L̶a̶u̶r̶i̶n̶e̶ M̶a̶t̶i̶l̶d̶a̶ E̶l̶e̶n̶a̶ P̶h̶i̶l̶l̶i̶p̶a̶ d̶e̶ V̶o̶s̶s̶ Fleur d̶e̶ V̶o̶s̶s̶ de Voss, will you m̶a̶k̶e̶ m̶e̶ marry me? 

I think this is where I drop dead, and my story ends.

Maybe I could die from something comically ridiculous.

Would you like that? (Yes, you.)

My feet stumble backwards, uncertain steps taking me towards the door. I intend to make it back down to María, but the stairs are too difficult to see through the glaze cast over my eyes. I sink to the ground, the marble steps cold against me, and curl inwards, my knees coming up to my chest.

The ring is beautiful; platinum, shining, embedded with gleaming diamonds. It drops to the marble, slipping from my loosened grip. It rolls away, falling down the stairs, clattering when it hits the bottom. I make no effort to catch it. I lean into the sharp ledge of the step.

Good people don't do bad things.

I broke up with Scarlett when she loved me more than anything in the world, and I thought it was mutual. I was too blind to see how much she cared, how much I was hurting her.

I am a monster.

The heat of Barcelona is too much. It's sweaty and sticky, and I feel like it would not leave me alone even if I escaped to Antarctica.

Everything is too much.

Scarlett, Leila, Alexia.

I can't bring her back, but now I want to. Because we could have had a future. What if Scarlett and I only stayed apart for a few days, and decided it was unbearable? What if she had wanted to ask me when she came to my room that morning, but I had shut her down before she could? Was she holding a box then? Was I too caught up in resenting her to notice?

Then there's Leila. I liked her when we met; I found her to be good company. She asked me if we could get dinner together, without Mapi. Next time you are in England, she had texted with a question mark. I haven't replied. I haven't even replied to Jaimie's texts.

And Alexia.

Alexia, who hates me, who criticises every bad challenge I make, and coincidentally seems to miss every time my crosses hit their mark perfectly.

Alexia, who was more miserable than usual at our most recent midfielder training session, and stayed long past the time it ended.

Alexia, who had looked like she wanted to talk to me before that very same training, before Jonatan had appeared with a rope ladder and stood in between us, assuming we were about to argue.

Alexia, whose lips still look enticing, even if I cannot stand the words that come out of them.

Alexia, who is once again standing in front of me, witnessing another one of my complete mental breakdowns.

Alexia and her exceptionally irritating dog.

notes: 

alexia always finds fleur at the literal worst possible times

Fleur's whole name is Laurine Matilda Elena Phillipa de Voss. It's a traditional Dutch naming custom, in which a baby is given a common name within the family (in this case, Laurine), but is called, from birth, something different in order to distinguish between family members who share the same name (otherwise there'd be fifty Pieters at a family bbq and such). So she's called Fleur, but legally speaking, she's not. 

Fleur's dad chose Laurine, and her mum chose Fleur (same goes for Jaimie, whose legal name is Viviënne). Fleur will probably explain it to someone at some point in the story, so don't sweat it, but just an fyi. 

oye = listen (not literally, but it's something said to get someone's attention)

oh and the strikethrough on wattpad is horrible -- it looks wayyy better on docs

thanks for reading x