My front door slams shut behind me as I tumble into my flat. It feels too humid, too stuffy. I kick off my heels, throwing them onto the sofa, watching them bounce in different directions. My dress is starting to stick to me. I shimmy out of it. Oli lifts his head up from his spot on the dining table, but makes no effort to move.

I am now scarily sober.

Standing in the middle of my living room in my underwear, I take a moment to remind myself of the last ten minutes of my life.

Alexia kissed me. Alexia hates me. Alexia's lips are soft. Alexia hates me.

"Fucking hell," I mutter to myself. The silence is pierced by the sound of my voice, but I almost don't recognise it. It sounds like how Scarlett used to speak. What she would breathe during heated matches, or shout if Magda and P ever popped up to make her jump at seven in the morning. There is a surge of guilt that nearly pulls me to the floor. I fight it, licking my lips, shoulders tensing at the thought of them tasting like Alexia. I think it's time for a very cold shower. And maybe I need to call María.

Or whoever was ringing me earlier.

The water droplets hit my scalp, freezing. I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes and submerging my face under the cold water.

My heart aches.

I was scared this would happen, and I made sure it wouldn't. I was over Scarlett, but now I want nothing more than to talk to her. She always knew what to say, always had the solution to an unsolvable problem.

I can feel the tears flow down my cheeks, their heat mixing with the cold water running down my neck. I really miss her, I realise, because she was a person I loved regardless of whether we were together or not.

I bring the back of my hand up to my lips, rubbing them hard. My knuckles trap them against my teeth, but I can still feel Alexia's teeth clashing against my own; I can still taste her.

Do I feel guilty?

Should I feel guilty?

Crying so intensely that I can hardly see, I switch off the shower. My hair hangs loosely on my shoulders, and my skin prickles from the change in temperature. There is a soft buzzing coming from the living room: the person is calling me again. I guess I better pick up.

"Finally!" Sam's voice is unmistakable, and her face settles the storm brewing within me. It's a horrible hour of the morning in London too, but I'm not surprised that she's up. The people in her life do not fear time zones. "I knew you couldn't ignore me forever, Toots. So, how's Barça?"

I put the phone face down on the bed as I hastily pull on my pyjamas, wiping my face with my towel before picking the phone up again. "Yeah, it's good. Not sure how I feel about my new position, but La Reina made her comeback earlier than the manager anticipated, I think."

Sam is good to talk about football with. How could I have forgotten that? "You've got more assists than her, so chill out a little bit. If it's that bad, you should come back home. We miss you a lot." I laugh at her not-so-subtle request. "Hey! It's not funny. You and me together made one and a half Aussies, which is better than just me on my own. Arsenal are beating us now."

"Have they not brought anyone in on loan?" When a player dies or leaves unexpectedly, it's commonplace to fill the gap in the squad by loaning someone else. It's quick and temporary, and it's exactly what I thought Emma would do when Scarlett died. I had given her enough notice for her to find other players to replace me. "I know she retired Scarlett's number, but the actual position?"

"Magda said someone is coming next week. I think she's trying to be strong for all of us, but P's worried. Doesn't help that they're probably moving at the end of this season. Feels like we're all being abandoned." It was selfish of me to leave Chelsea, but I needed to. Despite the added drama, Barcelona has helped me to improve a lot. It's given me a new outlook on the game; a new perspective. "Why are you up so late? Is it the Spanish lifestyle?"

"Mapi had a party." I kissed Alexia. I hate Alexia. "It's still going on. I bet if I sat on the balcony I'd be able to hear the music. They have good parties here."

"Well, Ez and I were thinking about popping over for a break when we smash you in the Champions League semis. We could console you while having a great vacay in Spain."

"You are the one who's going to get knocked out, Sammy," I state matter-of-factly, smirking. The clench of my heart is loosening the longer I talk to her, but this is going to heart tomorrow. I know I'm still a little bit drunk – I can taste it in the back of my throat. "But, yeah, you should come. Jaimie's here for a bit too." I think Sam knows my sister is in London. Her and Leah have been soft-launching all week. It's genuinely sickening.

"Wait, I'll probs see you before anyway!" Sam exclaims, smiling in excitement. "We're having a party for Scar's birthday at the end of the month; can't let her break her yearly tradition just because she's dead. You're obviously coming." I hope my eyes widening is not as noticeable on camera as it would be in real life.

"Yeah, of course," I get out, before feeling a whole new emotion wash over me. "See you then."

I end the call.

I ask María if she will pick me up and take me to hers. I know running away from my problems is unhealthy, but María won't mind if I hide in her house. She told me that I should start calling her Mamá at this point.

I pack a bag for the night, training gear and all, and make sure to leave enough food and water out for Oli for the duration of my absence. My boots are at the training centre anyway. Our game on the 2nd is going to be easy, but we're flying out on the 1st. Which is, seeing as it the clock has just struck two in the morning, tomorrow. If the first thing María said to me as I got into her car hadn't been "you are not skipping your game", I would have told Jonatan I was unwell.

The drive to her house is silent, but it is comforting nonetheless. She looks over at me every few minutes, checking to see whether I am still crying. I tell her that alcohol makes me emotional.

It makes me do stupid things. Like kissing Alexia. I hate Alexia.

"Why are you so upset, mija?" she asks softly as she parks her car. I hear the click of her seatbelt being undone, and then am engulfed in an albeit awkward hug. She leans over valiantly, and manages to be just as forceful as she'd be if we were standing upright. "The party was not fun?"

"I feel like a teenager," I mumble into her shoulder. "I made a mistake. I need to tell you something."

"Vale, venga. You can have some water. You are still drunk."

María's husband, who I met the other day, is sitting on the sofa with the football on. It's highlights from the men's El Clásico the other day. He nods at me as I plop down next to him. He doesn't speak much English and I don't speak enough Spanish yet, but he treats me like a stray cat who keeps on coming back for food; with resigned acceptance and poorly-concealed affection. He is called Carlos, and calls me 'princesa' because he can't pronounce my name properly.

"Toma," María says, handing me a plate of croquetas and a glass of water. "Eat, and then tell me." I open my mouth to protest, but close it before she can stuff my food in it for me.

Croquetas are addictive. Carlos and I get through all of them within ten minutes, and María seems to be satisfied provided I ate more than her husband did. He switches the TV off and pats his stomach, spreading out. I do the same, making María laugh, but she's sure I'm sober now and sits opposite in a tired-looking armchair.

"I broke up with Scarlett, and then she died." María nods, and I wait for her reaction to continue. It doesn't. "María, we weren't together when she died," I repeat, more insistently. She looks unbothered. Or as if she knew.

"People fall out of love," she says calmly. "You have kept this a secret?"

"Most people won't react like you," I reply defensively. People on the internet are hardly forgiving. They'll blame me for her dying somehow. I will be torn to shreds. "They'd think I'm a monster, and... Keira? She'd hate me. That would ruin the team dynamic. And me and Scarlett never wanted to fuck up–"

"Language!"

"Lo siento, we never wanted to ruin that." My mind starts to run wild with all the possibilities. I am in a standstill traffic jam that is simultaneously spinning, and the swirling inside my brain is making me feel dizzy.

Carlos chuckles beside me. "Princesa, tranquila."

"Carlos, no puedo. I kissed Alexia!"

"Oh, finally."

I throw my hands up in annoyance; Carlos has to dodge out the way to avoid getting a palm to the face. "María, I seriously think you need to work on your English. You are clearly misinterpreting what I am saying."

"No, mija, I understand you." I wait for her to reciprocate my level of panic and annoyance. Because I hate Alexia. And María knows that. "Carlos knew Alexia's father, and we are friends with her mother. Eli said that Alexia is obsessed with you."

"Obsessed with fucking–"

"Princesa," Carlos warns me, smirking. He is enjoying this way too much. I guess he knows his English swear words.

"Alexia hates me. It's a different kind of obsession." I cross my legs and then uncross them. Neither seems to be comfortable. These joggers are too heavy, and my hoodie feels too tight around my neck. I can remember the way Alexia's teeth felt grazing my collarbone. I bolt upright, running to the nearest mirror. "María!" I wail, finding the purpling marks, my mouth going dry. I grimace, wanting to look away, but I find myself unable to. My entire body seizes up.

"Ay, madre," María groans, swatting away my hands rubbing at my neck. "Fleur, tranquila. It is not a problem unless you make it a problem. Necesitas ponerte las pilas, porfa."

"No te entiendo," I whine, pulling my hoodie over my head. "I shouldn't have let her do that to me. I hate her, and she hates me, and my ex-girlfriend was going to propose to me, but then she died. María, I thought Scarlett and I had no future together, but I found out that we might have, and instead of grieving, I nearly slept with Alexia Putellas!" It was an odd coping method, but it was clearly just that. A release of tension; a way to forget. "I don't think I can ever see her again."

"Es tu capi, mijita." Maybe I should leave Barcelona. I could go back to Lyon! They would love to have me back now, what with my Ballon d'Or on the horizon. All I need is to win this World Cup for my country, and it is definitely mine. Alexia may be able to compete with my domestic career, but she won't be able to best me on an international stage if she isn't standing on it too. "And you are drunk, even now. She will not remember in the morning, and you will not remember either."

"I don't believe you," I grumble, but I let her lead me to their guest bedroom. "Buenas, Mamá María."

"Buenas noches, Fleur," she says gently, pulling the covers onto me. I roll my eyes, but she glares at me when I make a move to stop her. "You are going to be fine. Tomorrow will be like nothing ever happened."

'Tomorrow' is today, but I manage to get a decent amount of sleep before Carlos wakes me up to force me on a walk around their neighbourhood. He wants to take me to their local bar and show them his adopted Barcelona player, he explains with the help of Google Translate. I drag myself out of bed, showering under cold water once more. My dreams were about Alexia. It was horrible.

As I brush my teeth, I inspect the marks along my neck once more. They have darkened. I resolve to wear something with a high neckline.

"Venga, princesa," Carlos hurries me as I lace up my shoes. We leave with María promising to meet us later. "No Ajax."

"Ajax es el mejor equipo del mundo," I state firmly. I know he is taking me to a place full of super fans, but Papa drilled determination into Jaimie and an unwavering loyalty to Ajax into me. "Si no lo crees, no me importa." I know my Spanish isn't the best, but I've had to defend my club to the ruthless likes of Mapi and Keira, who would both die for their own respective teams.

I do get into quite a heated debate with the bartender, who almost refuses to serve me a drink. Barcelona fans like Johan Cruyff, obviously, but they don't appreciate it when you tell them that their team isn't the best, regardless of who you support. While I feel bad that Carlos has his face buried in his hands out of sheer disappointment, I realise that I have barely thought about Scarlett or Alexia the whole day. Until I think of them both at the same time. That's when I go for round two with the bartender.

notes:

i'm back (and so is fleur)

before we get into the translations, here's a notice to read my NEW FIC about JAIMIE AND LEAH!!!! same universe, different start point, different POV -- what more could you want? and you'll get to see a bit of scarlett and fleur (controversial maybe)

ok, ad over

venga = come on

mija = it's a combo of 'mi hija' (my daughter), but it's more affectionate than the english translation, so think of it more as 'darling' or 'sweetheart' (spanish lessons w/ sophia 101)

mijita = even more affectionate way of saying 'mija'

necesitas ponerte las pilas = you need to get your act together (ltr: put in your batteries) MY FAV SPANISH PHRASE EVER.

tranquila = calm down/chill

fleur talking about Ajax in spanish = Ajax is the best team in the world. If you don't think so, I don't care

thanks, as always, for reading xx