With three matches left to play in the league, the starting line-up is changed, these games no longer being played for the title. We have won it already. Training is now focused on winning the Champions League and healing the pain from losing the final last year. Though I was not present, it is easy to be just as invested in it as Mapi is. Their passion is contagious.

Jonatan enjoys watching me suffer, because he puts me in a room with Alexia for our away match against Sevilla. It's a mutual decision to use the room solely for sleeping. She stalks off to do whatever Alexia does, and I lounge around with Ingrid and Aitana, playing a non-committal game of UNO that is spoiled every few minutes by Mapi shouting out who has what cards. Eventually, the terror grows bored of us and runs off to find something else to do.

She returns with Alexia, which our silent agreement had not accounted for.

"If you are going to ruin the game again, María, then please go away," Ingrid grumbles, not looking up from her hand as she figures out a way to not have to pick up four cards from the double-blow of mine and Aitana's +2s. We had to team up or else she would win. Reluctantly, she plucks out her wild card and places it on the pile.

Mapi looms over me, taking advantage of my position on the carpeted floor. "Fleur only has red." Focused on Ingrid's face, I lean back to smack Mapi's legs, annoyed that she has the audacity to make me lose. And to imitate Alexia's voice while she says it. Is she five?

When my hand connects with smooth skin, Aitana's mouth drops open. The room seems to dull under the cover of storm clouds. I look up, wondering why Mapi's sense of fun has suddenly disappeared.

"Uh oh," Mapi says, standing in front of me.

Hold on.

In front of me?

That isn't possible. She was literally just...

"Hitting your captain?"

No.

UNO forgotten, Ingrid sniggers behind her hand, cards littering the floor as she tries to remain calm. My mouth goes dry as I come to the realisation that Mapi's scarily accurate impression of Alexia might be the captain herself. She did come in here with Mapi, after all. I chance a look upwards, but the shadow has moved and is now crouched by Aitana, a finger pushing her chin up to close her mouth again. "Era una broma," Alexia says with a smirk, enjoying the bewilderment on all of our faces. "Por favor, continue."

The sight of her makes some sort of emotion bubble up in me, like magma waiting for the volcano to erupt. Alexia hadn't lied about what cards I had, and I see red as I throw them down, storming out of the room completely enraged by what just happened. I know that it's unreasonable, but something about the way her lips moved with such cockiness, such arrogance, makes me furious.

Leaning against the wall in the hotel corridor, I try to feel less miserable. Jaimie said she'd call later, wanting to cheer herself up after having a late training. Her calf is almost back to normal, and she is on the last leg of her recovery. She'll go to France in ten days in preparation to rejoin the WTA tour. Her aim is to win the first tournament as a confidence boost going into the Roland-Garros. I think she is just counting down the days to the English part of the circuit, because then she can visit Leah Williamson to her lovesick heart's content.

"I'm sorry." The door of Ingrid's hotel room thuds shut as Alexia stands opposite me. A few people come out of the other rooms, returning to their own before it gets too late. Jonatan doesn't really set a curfew, but there is an expectation to get sufficient rest before all matches.

Talia breezes past with ruffled hair and red cheeks, not looking either of us in the eye. Alexia and I exchange a glance, the interest of the twenty-year-old a neutral topic, but we let her go back to her shared room with Salma with no teasing. It's clear what she has been doing with this evening's free time.

In the clear now, I focus my gaze on the wall to the side of Alexia's head, not sure I can stop myself from lunging at her if I don't direct my glare somewhere else. "You're sorry?" I question, unimpressed. "She was going to change the colour to red, and I was going to win."

"It's just a game." Her confusion is genuine, though she still bears the smirk from earlier when I briefly let my eyes flick to her face.

"Yeah, and I get doing something like that to your friend, but we aren't friends, Alexia." I don't even think I'm angry about what she did, just more the fact that it was her. "And I'm annoyed because I like winning."

"We could play again? I could tell them to let you win."

She is making me feel like a petulant child. I fold my arms across my chest. "No. I was doing so well, and you just have to ruin it. You always ruin everything."

"Like what, Fleur?" she asks, growing defensive. "What have I done to you now?"

It's really unreasonable to feel so strongly about her, but I do. I hate her to the point where pushing her against the wall wouldn't even begin to cover the things I want to do to her. She is so fucking irritating.

"I don't know," I huff, not having anything more to say and too wound-up by her presence to think straight. It's far from a good mindset to be in on matchday -1.

As I make to leave, she grabs my wrist, pulling me back. "I am sorry for making you lose. I hate losing, too."

"Alexia, I don't want to have a heart-to-heart with you right now," I mutter, snatching my hand away and marching down the corridor with her trailing after me.

I unlock the door, letting it close on her as she continues to try to find the words that will make me less annoyed. Not knowing quite the reason for her riling me up this much, I ignore her presence in the room by sitting on my own bed and phoning Jaimie prematurely, my shoes kicked off into the corner.

Juan, her coach, answers it for her. I had no idea he was in Barcelona, but it makes sense. The surprise pisses me off further for some reason, because Jaimie could have at least let me know before he picked up, because it only takes a second of Alexia nervously hovering by my side to carry on our completely unenjoyable conversation for Juan to excitedly start talking to her. He's Argentinian. He speaks Spanish.

Still, displaying some sort of understanding on where we currently stand, Alexia stays far enough away for Jaimie to have to get really close to the phone to see who Juan is talking to. I open my mouth to say hello, rudely cut off by someone else doing it instead.

"I've heard so much about you!" Jaimie squeals. I decide that she will never make it to France because I will kill her the next time I see her.

Alexia looks at me as though she is mildly terrified that I am going to start my serial killer career with her. Then, not wanting to be rude, she says, "hola, Jaimie. It is nice to meet you."

Only two things could be worse than this exact situation I am in, and one of them is my shorts falling down in the Champions League final. Even then, it would only be because it would be caught on live television.

The thing is, Jaimie and Alexia are both the epitome of a sports personality. They easily discuss tennis, football, and fundamental issues in all women's sports in the space of five minutes – though the minutes actually feel like decades – and then act as though it was normal for that to happen, Alexia going to the bathroom to get ready to sleep and Jaimie finally giving me her attention. Their conversation brought on a splitting headache.

"That was exactly what you are never supposed to do," I grumble as she tells me off for being annoying. My body goes limp against the sheets as I let out a long sigh. "Anything that woman does makes me want to–"

"She's really nice."

"What?"

"Flootz, she's not the demon you described her to be. I couldn't see any horns."

"She knows about tennis, you mean." Jaimie could have a pleasant conversation with Ted Bundy if he could talk about whatever tournament is being played right now. Her judgement of people's character is usually so far off from the truth that a dog's dislike for the postman is more justified. Dogs don't know whether the postman is rude to their sister.

Jaimie's eyes narrow. "What has she done that has made you so irritable this evening?" Because, despite her flaws, Jaimie has had to have absorbed some of my dislike for Alexia. Though not every instance is world-ending, Alexia isn't a saint. She made sure I knew she didn't like me. I still have a headache thinking about all of this.

Apparently, after much analysis, I am being overly dramatic about Alexia's 'joke'. Jaimie seems to enjoy my story, though, and loves it even more when Alexia comes out of the bathroom and is helpless to argue her case but knows we are talking about her because she can hear her name.

Then, when Jaimie ends the call on the basis that I need to think about my actions and apologise, I see the texts from the medical staff that would have been really helpful earlier.

Teresa (team doctor): Our tracking may not be completely accurate, but see me if these symptoms arise: irritability, headaches, and/or nausea. Anything worse than this (for example, vomiting or anxiety) may result in you being ruled out for tomorrow's match. You should start menstruating tomorrow or the day after.

Fucking great, really. And now I have to go and see the doctor. Hopefully, she's on my side about UNO.

Alexia perks up from her phone when I pull on a hoodie and grab my keycard. "¿Adondé vas?" she asks, watching as I search for my missing slider. She points to the desk, and I find it underneath the cables to the TV. "Fleur, where are you going? It is late."

"To see the doctor," I answer, making sure I have everything with me.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you care?" I retort, beginning to get annoyed by her questions. She is so nosy.

"Yes." But she doesn't elaborate as I leave.

Fortunately for me, the doctor is pleased that my dinner has stayed in my stomach. "You are not likely to play tomorrow, but you should be alright if you do. I think, now that I have proved my tracking works, you should commit to it. Every day, properly."

My reluctance allowed for a compromise to be made, but I have been proven wrong. If she is right about when I should start my period, I will never be able to get out of it. And it's so boring. "Does anyone else do it?" I question with the intention to exploit the point that they are singling me out.

"A lot of the team do, to varying degrees. But, Fleur, most of the team don't share the symptoms you have. It is nothing to be ashamed of. We can look into birth control or other medication that may help ease the effects."

"No." My answer is firm and knowledgeable and curt from previous mistakes. Initially, when I was a teenager, they threw birth control at the problem and hoped it would fix things. It didn't. The side effects made it not worth it, especially when depression set in and I saw my career slipping away from me because a cure was not actually doing what it should have. When I got off it, the energy it took to compensate for that year of my life was enough to make me not even want to try other types of pills.

The doctor sighs. "Think about it," is her final attempt, handing me my phone from the side table of her hotel room. When I knocked on her door, it was late enough for her to be convinced to stay here. "I am going to tell Jonatan that you should be allowed to sleep later tomorrow. Take paracetamol for anything minor, and see me if your symptoms worsen. Maybe let your roommate know, too? So that she isn't offended when you inevitably bite her head off."

"It's Alexia," I mumble.

"Fleur, still let her know."

"I don't want to." She rolls her eyes and I hear how childish it sounds, cringing slightly. "Fine. I will."

To my luck, Alexia is fast asleep when I return to our room, and I won't have to speak to her until the morning.

━━━━━━━

The next day is boring.

Mind-numbingly so.

I spend the match keeping the bench warm, practising my Spanish by listening to the technical area's conversations. Unfortunately, most of it goes over my head. It gives me a lot of time to think about what I am going to say to Alexia today.

The kick-off is too late for us to fly back to Barcelona, so we are staying at the hotel for another night. We don't get to change rooms, either. Jonatan made sure to mention that to the team at lunch, staring at me and then Alexia. If he doesn't want problems, he shouldn't put us together. When I went to tell him this, I was pulled back by Talia. ("It's one night.")

Upon our return to the hotel, I am forced into another meeting with the doctor, who sneaks in a bar of chocolate for me to soften the blow of now having no option but to succumb to daily appointments to track my cycle. "It'll help," she swears, already texting me the information I will need. "How are you now? Any cramps?"

They have plagued me since half-time, but now are worsening to near-unbearable. I haven't even started bleeding yet. "Yes, but no headache. Eating was fine."

I am sent to bed with a hot water bottle I can fill up with the kettle in my room, and instructions to relax until it comes. Waiting for it is the worst part. I think I prefer the more dramatic reveals in the toilet to this mood-killer.

Lying in bed watching a German movie I had downloaded on Netflix, I try to fall asleep as quickly as I can, hoping the land of dreams is better than this one. Paracetamol has become useless, but it hurts too much for me to move from this position and sort out the hot water bottle.

This is how Alexia finds me, in a mood of her own.

She slams the door behind her, tearing through her suitcase to find something before groaning loudly in frustration. Too engrossed in using the movie as a distraction, I forget myself. "What's wrong? You're like a human tornado."

"I don't like losing," she declares, still rooting around the room in search of something. I draw my legs up to my chest under the duvet, trying to ease the ache. "Where is my– Are you okay?"

"No." She takes my answer for what it is. "We didn't lose today," I follow up, wanting her to calm down so that the room is quieter.

"We didn't win," she replies. I grimace as I readjust my position, wondering if bending is making it worse. The movie still plays in the background, but Alexia doesn't seem to care. "I should have been playing sooner. Sixty-five minutes. What was Jona thinking?"

"I don't know," I say, eyes fixed on the screen as they begin to water at my growing discomfort.

"You, too. You could have scored and we could have won, but no. Let's keep the two best players in the world on the bench! I talked to him just now, and he admitted his tactics were not the best. I could have told him that at half-time. It is embarrassing. I–" My sniffle is louder than expected, my mouth falling open as I squeeze my eyes shut, tears rolling down my cheeks. "Hòstia."

She approaches the bed cautiously, moving my iPad to the side to make room for her to sit down. The mattress creaks under her weight, but that is the only protest she gets. I am too miserable to tell her to go away.

"It hurts," I whisper as her thumb ghosts my cheek, eyes still closed. She wipes away the freshest tear.

"Let me help you." 

notes: 

who knew that red uno cards could be used as fore-shadowing? (me. i did.)

anyway enjoy the chapter. it was supposed to be out yesterday but something else came up. 

thanks for reading xx