With the team now refusing to take any other answers, Alexia tells them that we are together. I swear I see a few wads of cash exchanged but I ignore it, preoccupied with the coming weeks.

My mother is visiting next week and she has high expectations. Fucking Owen is coming with her, and they're wanting tickets to El Clásico from my allocated friends-and-family pack. Mum says one of the stadium higher-ups has offered her a box, seeing as that was where she won her Olympic gold, but maybe I should take it as a compliment that she wants to declare her relation to me, seeing as that hasn't always been the clearest of things since she left.

This is supposed to be the next hurdle in my relationship; supposed to prepare poor Alexia for the inevitably shit time I will have in December now that the details of Scarlett's memorial have been finalised and made known to the wider world. I got a message from her mother asking me to speak or, I don't know, read a poem, but I haven't decided whether I'm going yet.

(Lie. I will, but I'm not sure how public I will make it.)

Mum coming to Barcelona is supposed to be what Alexia is stressed about.

But it isn't.

Her knee is.

Alexia injured her ACL before the Euros in 2022. She partially tore it, tearing her dreams of winning the tournament at the same time, and then to make things worse, it was found that bits of her meniscus had joined the leaving party.

Only one minor surgery was needed, which set her recovery time back a month, meaning she'd play again in early February. They'd told her January would be luck, and she was half-resigned to her fate. Until I lost the Ballon d'Or and all of a sudden.

I'd been teasing Barça before that, stuck between leaving the place I had made into a home to seek something a bit more fulfilling and not. Though there are only two transfer windows, there are twelve months in the year to be buttering up my agent.

Barcelona had an enticing offer and were willing to throw money at the record fee until it snapped in half, Wolfsburg was convenient with the amount of Dutch players and the fact I can speak German. I'm sure Lyon had asked and been rejected (I'm still hurt), and Manchester City had been close to asking but aware they'd never win while I was at Chelsea.

I'd had a very good tournament, despite our early exit, and I was being talked about. Lots.

Alexia, who'd had a year of the same fame I was reaching, was being discussed less. Especially after my contract was drawn up and Emma Hayes had been persuaded to let me go.

She struggled to admit this to me, but Alexia accelerated her recovery so that she could be back before I got here. Though Jona had confidence in my ability to play on the right, Alexia was certain I'd outshine her ('the crippled version' as she put it) and take up her spot on an already competitive squad. No one magically bounces back from an ACL injury. She'd be bettered by someone or other, she knew that, but she'd have torn her ACL again before that person was me.

(Proper rivals. I was so reasonable for hating her.)

Although I have definitely surpassed her in skill, flair, and general brilliance, I am far from flattered by the information she dumps on me on the way to the hospital.

Because what a fucking idiot. Arrogant, cocky, self-centred... I could go on.

I do go on, giving her an earful as I drive us in time for her scan. I think, though she'd be loath to agree, it's a good thing I'm talking, because otherwise the car would be filled with the jittering nervousness clouding her mind.

Alexia's knees bounce nervously in the passenger seat as I park the car a manageable walking distance away from the entrance.

She's not quite on crutches but I glare at her as she tries to speed up the pace. Her jaw clenches, and she must want to get this over and done with, but while I don't want her to injure herself further, I am also psyching myself up to go in here.

It's weird to think about how much has changed since that fateful ambulance ride. It's weird to enter through the normal door, not be hurried into the Emergency Department with someone awkwardly trying to angle me away from a dead body.

I hold Alexia's hand tightly, and she squeezes back. We're both unhappy about spending the morning in this hellhole.

The familiar antiseptic smell and the low hum of activity immediately bring back a flood of memories. Under harsh fluorescent lights, Alexia tenses beside me, and for a moment she is made of lead as I walk her to the reception desk.

After the nurse has sorted her out, we are directed to the empty waiting area. Plastic chairs await us miserably, and Alexia's frown matches my own as we sigh in unison. It's not a very fun day.

Her fingers interlace with mine, a tremor in her grip. She's not one to falter much.

For a moment, I wonder if I should have come here; if someone else would be better suited to it.

I've never liked hospitals. They're full of disease and ill people I'm too awkward to converse with. They're unsettling and the worst place to end up as a professional athlete, and the last time I was here definitely proved my point.

But my self-doubt is not what Alexia needs right now, because I am here. Her anxiety is palpable but I hope mine isn't as I lean in to whisper, "you're going to be fine. And if you aren't, I'll be with you every step of the way."

She nods but her eyes are distant, fixed on somewhere between reality and being lost in her own mind.

Though I know it isn't long, it feels like years before a different nurse calls Alexia's name. I stand as she pushes herself up, squeezing her hands again. Mine have grown sweaty – clammier with every passing second in the hospital – but my grip seems to comfort her nonetheless. The smile she offers is small but determined, and I just about see the back of her before she disappears behind a set of double doors.

━━━━━━━

They've brought me weird hospital slippers to wear. The nurses say I can't be walking around in my sweaty socks.

I'm inclined to tell them I can't actually walk, but I'm not sure they have time to deal with my trembling legs.

Emma's here now. And Magda, with Pernille, because our captain has just lost someone special to her and needs her support too.

It's a bit of a weird position to be in with a manager like Emma, having her carefully untie my hair from its ponytail, combing her fingers through it as I bite my lip and try not to cry. She's got tears of her own pooling in her ice-like eyes, as though this climate change has completely melted the–

It kind of doesn't hit me that Scarlett is dead.

Like, I don't want it to, so I tell the fact to hide itself somewhere else.

There are lots of things going on around us and my glassy eyes try to focus on those instead.

Someone's sobbing in pain, their hand wrapped up in a hand-towel as they're rushed somewhere to be bandaged up. Another person is coughing up their lungs frequently enough for me to want to shower in bleach.

There's the sound of retching, although I think that might be Magda.

I'm not entirely sure why we're in this waiting room, because Scarlett's body has now been transferred to the hospital morgue. Emma called her parents for me, and took my phone to continue speaking to my own father as he messages from the taxi on the way to get me.

Every second of this is torture.

We can't leave Scarlett here. I don't want to leave Scarlett here, no matter how much I tell myself it's no longer my position to care about these things.

Emma's fingers keep combing through my damp hair, a rhythmic motion that's almost hypnotic. Her voice is soft, murmuring words I can't fully grasp. I'm... floating away, almost. And my skin is crawling.

It's not real.

It can't be real.

"I'm here," Emma says quietly, and I realise she is speaking to me. "Everything is going to be alright, Fleur."

I nod, but the words feel hollow. My world has tilted on its axis, and I'm not sure how to find my footing again. There is a long way down but I am hurtling towards the ground at an alarming speed and it's hot and it's burning and it's still not fucking real.

The minutes drag on, each one a small eternity. I can't stop thinking about the match we left. Camp Nou had gone silent.

Did we win?

Was I dreaming when I saw Keira Walsh walk into the waiting room, only to promptly walk right back out again?

Emma's phone buzzes, and she glances at it before looking back at me. "Your dad's almost here," she says. "They're finding somewhere for him to get out. Wherever's closest."

I nod again, my throat too tight to speak. Something suffocating wraps around my neck and it is squeezing me until I can no longer breathe. I shut my eyes to try to forget it, to wish myself into last week, where things were different but normal.

It's still not real, even when Papa rushes in and is wrapping his arms securely around my body as if he is holding me together.

I cling to him, to the smell of home, and...

Fuck.

Scarlett is gone.

Papa's hand traces up and down my back. He's only held me like this once before – the first night after Mum had left. My grief was different then, but he had said the same thing he says now. "You're going to be fine. And if you aren't, I'll be with you every step of the way."

━━━━━━━

Alexia emerges with a neutral expression and the nurse cautiously three steps behind her.

I'm briefly under her sharp gaze as she takes in my grip on the plastic chair and the sweat on my brow, but then the nurse is wishing her well and she is clearing her throat to update me.

"Puede que necesite una artroscopia," she reports with a dull tone. I don't know what that word means but she's not happy about it. "But for now, they want to wait and see."

"So no surgery yet?" I clarify, deducing that they'd have rushed her into the operating theatre at the private hospital if she'd needed it.

"Nope."

"Let's go home then."

She exhales deeply, looking relieved to a certain extent.

As we walk out of the hospital, my mind spins with everything that has happened today. Alexia is charging towards the car – or at least trying to, because her knee must be sore and she can only go so fast.

The sunlight in the carpark feels too bright, too much. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but there is something heavy on my chest and it's beginning to hurt. My hand presses against my sternum as my breath quickens, and I'm about to shout at her to slow down when the air thickens and my words catch in my throat.

I'm not sure what's going on. It's not hot but I am boiling alive in my coat. The heat is rising to my head and my vision is blurring, but I blink hard and try to focus on the concrete beneath my feet, placing one foot in front of the other.

"Amor, do we need to go back to the hospital for you now?" Alexia's voice slices through my haze. I must have stopped walking.

"No, I'm fine," I manage to say. Her amused smile is hard to detect but maybe that's because it disappears.

She's near the car but I don't think she has the keys. I have the keys. I think I...

"Fleur," she says more firmly, turning to face me. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my trembling hands and the way I am frantically patting myself down.

"I just need a moment," I say, but my vision starts to tunnel, the edges going dark.

She's instantly next to me. I don't know how she gets there, but she does, and she's capturing my hands in hers but it's too much and it's too warm and I am making her shake with me.

"Breathe, Fleur, just breathe," Alexia's voice is urgent, but it feels like it's coming from underwater. The world tilts and spins, the ground feels like it's shifting beneath me. It's not solid, nothing is solid, and I am shaking so much.

I try to draw in a breath, but it's like I'm drowning. My hands tingle, then go numb, my chest feels like it's being crushed by an invisible force. I can't get enough air; I'm suffocating in the open air.

Aren't we outside? It doesn't feel like we are outside.

Alexia lets go of my hands and tries to hold me by my shoulders instead, facing me with concerned eyes that are tinged with worry. "Hey, hey, look at me. Focus on me." I try to blink away the tears that are making the world go even fuzzier, but I don't think I have control over my body anymore. "You're having a panic attack."

I nod because I have to do something.

"You're going to be okay," she says, her voice steady and calm, even though I can hear how scared she is. "I'm here with you. Breathe with me, in and out."

I try to follow her lead, matching my breaths to hers, but it feels impossible. It's overwhelming, it's swallowing me whole.

The ground is up to my neck or my neck is up to the ground and my feet aren't there.

I think I fall, or I stumble somewhere. Maybe I'm not in the carpark, maybe I'm somewhere else, because it feels like I'm tumbling off a cliff, and I think I might tell Alexia not to catch me because it'll hurt her knee but there's a shout of my name and the concrete isn't as hard as I thought it'd be.

And then everything goes black. 

notes: 

sorry  

SORRY 

anyway it's early friday instead of late friday so fuck off im TRYING

thanks for reading babycakes x