My day consists mostly of sun-bathing by the pool in our villa, enduring teasing about the marks on my skin that my bikini reveals, and trying to both pace myself and drink the three bottles of prosecco our host left us in the fridge.

Alexia texts me to say that she has landed in the shit-storm of the Spanish pre-selection camp at midday. I happily let her rant about their terrible manager. She says that she hopes Talia has a successful time. It's about then when any remaining essence of my sober self departs from the conversation because Erin has found a bottle of vodka and Sam says we don't need to bother locating the shot glasses.

The sheen of sweat I have worked up from tanning the whole day is washed away as I get into the pool, joining Erin as she alternates between swimming to the side to change Sam's awful music and enjoying her classier vodka-soda. We tried to look for limes, but none of us thought to stock the fridge.

The drunkenness develops just as badly as my hickeys, which Sam dutifully points out, immediately shoving her camera towards my neck. The others on my thighs are a bit too personal for her to post it to her Close Friends story, though Kristie Mewis does get a slurred tour when she is FaceTimed by her girlfriend, but Sam does not hesitate one bit to update her own friends on when the last time I had sex was ("loooook what Toots has beeeeen up to in Barcelonaa").

Somewhere down the line, Erin remembers that she bought a bottle of Malibu in the airport's DutyFree.

It's fun to let loose like this, even if we are yet to take on the clubs.

Football is a taxing sport, and being a woman in a man's world means that I am constantly battling for things I shouldn't have to ask for. The season is draining in itself; it damages our bodies as much as it benefits them. Mentally, there is a lot of pressure. With the World Cup on the horizon, it is hard to not feel the millions of eyes glued to my back, ready to determine if I am really the next winner of the Ballon d'Or. My impact at Barcelona has shocked some, particularly those who scoffed at my market value, and has raised expectations to build a city of skyscrapers.

So, as I said before, it is nice to relax. Even if it is for the most fleeting of moments.

A mumbled "guys, I think I'm gonna be sick" ends my day.

━━━━━━━

I go for a run the next morning, still drunk if the slight acidic smell of my sweat is anything to go by. 

Erin and Sam have a tendency to sleep in, both of them loving to rot in bed for as long as it takes for them to muster the energy to drag themselves to the shower. I hate that I am this obnoxious when I am hungover, but I emptied out most of the alcohol (as well as my breakfast, lunch, and dinner) last night. Running will help me get rid of the last of it in my system. 

Though I do make one last dash to the toilet bowl, I find that I am the most recovered by ten o'clock. The other two are yet to emerge from their caves, and so I settle on the sun-lounger outside once more, this time with a t-shirt over the top of my bikini. 

My phone has been dead for most of the morning, but now, like me, it has been recharged. The usual notifications come flooding in as I nibble on a packet of Lays I bought on the plane yesterday – it is the only edible thing in the villa.

A few more notifications ping my phone. 

Unfortunately for me, Sam's Instagram story is incredibly... embarrassing. What I assume was supposed to be posted on Close Friends was not. I can't fault Sam for it, because I don't remember any of last night past texting Alexia. That might have been in the afternoon. I think I was in the pool at one point. My bikini smelt of chlorine when I picked it up off my bedroom floor this morning. 

Speaking of a certain Spanish footballer, one notification stands our against the rest. 

Alexia Putellas (FCB): Are you alive? 

It is only glaringly obvious because it has a screenshot attached. 

I already knew Sam's stupid video was posted to her main story, but, in my hungover haze, I have apparently forgotten that we are not random people. Sam has a lot of followers. 

Me: I will tell her to delete it when she wakes up 

Alexia Putellas (FCB): Don't. It made me laugh. You were very drunk. 

Me: Don't remind me 

Me: We're going out tonight so hopefully the price of thing might keep me from repeating last night's events

She is typing for a few seconds, the anticipation in her delayed response causing me to draw my bottom lip between my teeth, eyes squinting at the screen when the bright sunlight makes it hard to see. 

Alexia Putellas (FCB): What are you doing now? I want to call you. 

I laugh at the declaration, finding it to be completely in-line with her character. It's demanding and needy, but it is nothing vulnerable at a quick glance. Except, I have a tendency to stare and so I easily realise the weight of it. 

She misses me. 

It's not a blush if I am already red from the heat. 

I don't reply, instead clicking on her contact and relaxing on the sun-lounger at the sound of the dialling tone. 

We don't talk about anything particularly interesting, simply enjoying each other's mindless recounts and light conversation without having to tell the other about the feelings behind each spoken word, each quiet laugh. 

Erin and Sam appear outside at the same time, though I know that they have been up for a while now. They have been watching me from the kitchen for the past fifteen minutes. 

She hangs up because she has to go to training, and I press my grin into the palm of my hand, not wanting to be teased by my friends any more than what is already inevitable. I need to advance my Spanish enough so that Alexia and I can converse in it properly, because then they will only have tone-of-voice to base their lovestruck allegations on. 

I place my phone under the shade of the lounger, not wanting it to overheat, and retrieve the book I am reading from the floor. It's slightly warm. It's a English book called Sapiens, about the evolution of humans. Jaimie told me she found it interesting, and she much prefers to read scientific papers and maths textbooks, so it must be good. 

Sam plucks it from my hands before I can even turn a page, taking a seat at the foot of my sun-lounger. She drops the book on my stomach, which is quite unpleasant seeing as it closely resembles a brick, and then raises her eyebrows high enough that they are completely visible over the rims of her sunglasses. I assume that the accessory will be a permanent fixture on her face today.

"Good morning, you psychopath," she begins, referencing how I have run five kilometres and she has spent those same hours passed out in bed. "First of all, I'm starving, so we're gonna go out for food once Ez's painkillers have kicked in. Second: I have some questions." 

"Go on."

She sucks in a deep breath, and I sit up. These questions might be more serious than what I had assumed was going to be her asking about the plan for today. Out of the three, I am usually the one organising things. "When did you and Scar break up? 'Cause... Well, Ez and I aren't mad that you didn't tell us, but you could have, you know." 

"I was not about to spring that news on you." The last thing anyone needed to hear was that we had ended our relationship just hours before the event. Our ears were all still ringing with the silence in the stadium. Camp Nou had never been quieter. "I'm sorry you found out like that. It was before the match. All of you were at breakfast, and we were talking about our arguments. The whole thing was mutual." It feels as though I am trying to reassure her. 

"But she was going to propose?" 

I don't question how she knows that. 

"I know, Sam," I say heavily, still grappling with the 'what if's myself. "I think I am over our breakup. I don't think I will ever fully... deal with the fact that she is gone." 

Sam is not usually one to cry and get upset, but she seems to be the picture of grief right now. She sniffles. "I miss her a lot. Chels feels so strange without her, and everyone knows it. We flew out from Birmingham, you know. We were visiting her mum, making sure she's okay. They're all going to the World Cup, her family. They want to support the English girls." 

"I miss her too. All of the time, really." 

"But you have Alexia," she suggest as though to comfort me. She is not holding it against me, like a small part of me thought she would. 

I think about it. 

Alexia often pinches the gaping hole in my chest closed, with enough strength to make me forget how it feels to be alone. 

Sam's right about that, I suppose. 

"Fucking hell, why are you two looking like I did at Scarlett's bloody funeral?!" Erin shouts at us, painkillers clearly working now. "Right, come on, the both of ya! I'm wasting away from the lack of food in this place. Fleur, it's time to show off your Spanish skills." 

"I hope they extend past football and flirting," Sam whispers as we haul ourselves off the sun-lounger. I laugh, pulling on some denim shorts to complete my outfit that will cover my bikini while we venture out into the town. 

"Fuck off, Sam." 

"Gladly," she says, swanning down the stairs of our villa to catch up with Erin. For someone so small, Ez is might in her hunt for a place to eat. 

Yes, we get a few weird looks from the locals, but they shouldn't have paella on the menu at midday if they don't want us to eat it. (It could also be the fact that an Australian, a Scotswoman, and a Dutchwoman who can speak un poquito of Spanish are all loudly conversing in the middle of an empty restaurant about a football league they might never have heard of.)

With yet another night of drinking ahead of us, I call Alexia one last time. She tells me to have fun. I promise not to kiss anyone else. I know that she is blushing when I hear her guarded response. "No one else would want to kiss you anyway." 

"What a shame," I reply. 

"I agree. I guess I will have to suffer for the benefit of the rest of the world. The greater good." Suffer is one way for her to put it, I think, smirking as I remember the goodbye we had given each other before we left Barcelona. "Alright, I have to go. Talk to you tomorrow, charity case." 

She keeps her word, calling me in the morning. 

I wake up with a loud groan, spreading my limbs out as I fumble around for my phone. Erin, who apparently wanted a cuddle-buddy last night, murmurs something in her sleep as I stick my hand under her sweaty body, guessing that my phone is ringing like it is the pea in the princess' bed in that fairytale. When Alexia hears my voice, she laughs at me and tells me to go back to sleep.

━━━━━━━

Our final day in Ibiza is spent combating another raging hangover, though this time it is on a boat. The sea air is helpful until the rocking motion makes Erin turn an unnerving shade of green. Sam pushes her into the ocean, claiming it will help. I follow her in, though I stay a cautious metre away for a moment as she takes in a few deep breaths. Thankfully, she keeps it all down. We tell Sam that she should get off the phone to her girlfriend and join us. 

Then, when we have gotten back to our villa, hair wash and skin no longer decorated with specks of white salt, we settle on the sofa of the living room, cuddling up to watch a movie before we share a taxi to the airport and eventually go our separate ways. 

I log into my Netflix account, ignoring how they tease me for watching everything in Spanish, knowing that the excuse I would give them will only worsen it. Alexia is against English TV more often than not. 

We must all fall asleep, because I am woken up by a phone call from the taxi company, asking me if I wish to cancel our transfer seeing as we haven't gotten into the car waiting for us outside. 

Saying goodbye at the airport reminds me a lot of the day I moved to Barcelona. How we acted as though I would never see them again. How it marked the death of something more than just a person. 

This time, however, we stand in the middle of the departure lounge, with them both needing to get on their own flights. 

"I might go to a game with Ellie," Sam tells me earnestly. "Or you come to one of ours with Daan. I'm sure we'll see each other at some point, anyway." 

"Yeah, of course. Maybe I will talk to my mother." 

"You should," Erin urges. "Free place to stay in Melbourne for us all." 

I laugh, though the thought of having a proper conversation with the woman is a little bit scary. We do not get on as well as her and Jaimie. I don't think I have ever forgiven her for leaving me, though I came to terms with my parents' divorce years ago. 

"You know, she will probably be at your games, Sammy. She's a Matildas fan." My mother is the reason Jaimie will reluctantly don an Australia jersey. 

The PA system calls for my flight to begin boarding. 

"Alright, I should go." I sigh, giving Erin one last tight squeeze. "Have a nice off-season." She pokes my side playfully, not enjoying the digs we have been sending her way about Scotland's failure to qualify for the tournament. 

"Sam, you better knock those Irish bastards out," Erin grumbles.

"Planning on it."

I look at Sam, who is now growing excited at the prospect of the tournament ahead. "See you soon, Captain Australia." She salutes with a roll of her eyes. "I'll fight you for the golden boot. I think I'm going to tell Andries that I want to be a striker." 

She pouts. "What would happen to your private midfield sessions with a certain sexy Spanish lady then?" 

"I hate her," I declare, though now it is so untrue that we all laugh. "Yeah, whatever, Sam. I'm telling you to watch out. You can heed my warnings or not." 

"I'm so scared," she says, voice high-pitched and sarcastic. Then, normally; "bye, Toots. Get ready to be crushed by the Aussies' amazingness. We're gonna win." 

"Sure." 

"I'm rooting for the Netherlands, I can't lie." 

Sam punches Erin's shoulder and there is another announcement about boarding my flight. I need to hurry up. 

"Okay, okay. Bye, guys. Maybe you two can bag a Barça contract in the transfer window and come join me instead of sticking it out in rainy London for another season." 

I walk away with a wave. 

"No chance! We like it there," Erin calls after me. 

notes: 

fuck me that was a faff

i had to type this whole thing out word for word onto wattpad instead of my usual copy and paste from docs 

there was supposed to be an ibiza dump insta post but no way am i doing that now so i'll leave it to ur imagination. just know that alexia comments heart eyes underneath it xx

thanks for reading and sorry for the delay!!!!