Week 7

Alexia's POV.

'If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.'

I had heard those same words many times. I had integrated them into my way of seeing everything. I liked to think that everything described by those who claimed to have experienced it was true, as if it were a religion, with the blind faith of someone who wants to believe.

And yet, even when I had found myself in a stable, long, and pleasant relationship, though I was happy, I hadn't felt it. I had loved many people, deeply, I would dare to say I had come to love and even lose, but I would never have written a letter like Saint Paul's, the one read to all lovers at the altar just before taking the leap. Now I think maybe they don't feel that way either, because I could have married someone at some point, thinking that what I felt was the deepest possible love. I would never have composed a song like "Don't Cry" by Guns N' Roses if the supposed love of my life had left me, nor would I have centered my life around becoming someone deserving of her, like Fitzgerald and his Great Gatsby. I thought of it as poetic licenses, hyperboles of reality.

It felt strange to think that I had entered that bar with my eyes already fixed on hers. Mía was the first thing I saw when I walked through the door, and without fully understanding why, seeing her again and again became a necessity that I couldn't comprehend, because what I felt inside was completely different from everything before. Something unrelated to choice and reason, for a complete stranger. And on that night when I had approached to make up for my rudeness, I knew it for the first time.

It was completely different, feeling what all those artists describe about that first encounter, that moment of realization when you know. And I would have respected, endured finding her and her not being for me, the sentence of perhaps not having searched hard enough: never having her; but not that she would laugh at me like that, play with me. I had another great love in my life, one that I was distancing myself from and losing focus on, one that would never do that to me, take advantage of me until she got something worthwhile and then cast me aside without hesitation. If I had already given up on her at the moment I thought there was no reciprocity, I wouldn't cling now that I knew the doubts I had about it were just a sham. Screw her.

I cursed as I readjusted the bag on my shoulder, my gaze fixed on the ground. I wasn't going to let her ruin my life any further. Goodbye, and that's it. I hoped I wouldn't see her more than strictly necessary, and I would do everything in my power to avoid having to endure her presence for another minute.

It was in the midst of this internal meditation that an arm wrapped in a blue jacket touched my shoulder.

Joan Laporta looked at me with a friendly smile, as he always did, in a way that seemed even strange to me. No one could be that happy all the time. His presence surprised me, nonetheless. He had intercepted me on my way from the entrance to the locker room.

"Alexia!" he exclaimed, pretending that our encounter had been coincidental and that he hadn't been waiting until my body crawled onto the field at an hour squelched weeks ago"How are you?"

"Fine," I responded, still puzzled.

"How's your knee? Everything okay?"

"I have no discomfort, for now."

Maybe I was being a bit rude to him, but I wasn't having my best days, and moreover, I suspected that I wouldn't like the reason he wanted to talk to me.

"I wanted to talk to you about something that has me a little worried," he said, putting a hand on my back and leading me down the hallway, as some of my teammates were already arriving for training and it seemed it would be a private conversation. "I've been told that you canceled your sessions with Mia for the past two weeks. Is that true?"

Bingo. Just what could piss me off the most today.

"Yes," I replied.

"You know the most important thing is that you feel comfortable, and if you've realized it's not what you need in the end, we can look for another psychologist or whatever it takes."

"No," I immediately responded, almost interrupting him. "Mia is doing very well. The problem is me, I don't like sharing what I have inside, but I know I must do it, and Mia is the right person."

"Are you sure?" he questioned me.

I nodded vigorously.

"Absolutely sure. I trust no one else."

"Alright then," he said, not entirely convinced. "Good luck in training."

"Thank you," I bid farewell to Joan with a wave and continued on my way.

I didn't even know why I had said that. I scoffed to myself. I had the opportunity to distance myself from her completely, and I didn't have the guts to do it. I could see my conscience rolling its eyes at that precise moment. What the hell was happening to me?

I shook my head forcefully. Now I had to focus on training, on getting back in shape to give my best. The Champions League quarter-finals were approaching, and I had to be prepared.

Suddenly, her fragrance. I looked up immediately to find her standing in front of me, looking at me seriously. We both stood still, a few meters apart. I had deliberately avoided seeing her for two weeks, and I couldn't say that her being there right now didn't affect me.

I thought she would speak, but she just watched me in silence. We stayed like that for a couple of seconds until, without saying anything else, Mia walked past me, without touching me, without looking at me, without uttering a single word, heading toward her office. I clenched my teeth and finally walked down to the locker room.

I greeted my teammates, hiding the anger that raged inside me. I tightened the laces of my boots and took off my jacket to jump onto the field with the rest of the team.

We warmed up by running around the field, a couple of jumps, short sprints, and light movements to awaken the joints. Then some ball control before starting with the physical exercises.

"Ale!" Jonathan called me from one of the sidelines, my teammates passed me on both sides heading toward the balls. "How are you? Everything alright? No more discomfort?"

"It seems everything is fine."

"Okay, good," he nodded. "You know it doesn't matter if it takes a little longer. The important thing is for it to fully heal."

"I know."

"Well, today you train with the group. It's physical training. If you feel anything, stop immediately, okay?"

I nodded without much enthusiasm and joined my teammates again, passing the ball and taking shots at Sandra's goal from outside the box, so she could also warm up and get in touch with the ball.

The physical training began shortly after. It was demanding, and I could feel my knee resenting it. Maybe it was still too much. I had made an effort to be able to play a few minutes at half capacity to start getting in shape, and I had managed to convince Jonathan and the physiotherapists, they even supported me. But now it wasn't just a league match anymore, I had to be ready for the quarter-finals.

I could feel the heaviness in my legs and that one of them was weaker in terms of support compared to the other. Still, I persisted. I wouldn't allow myself to end up with nothing, sitting on the bench not knowing if I could convince someone in time to let me step onto the field before the Champions League ended, for one reason or another. I couldn't afford to lose and just watch it happen.

I passed the ball to Patri on the other side of the field. She received it with her knee and controlled it. Mapi, who was my exercise partner, put the resistance band over my head and wrapped it around my abdomen for added resistance. Once everything was set, Patri struck the ball, a long through pass, and I started running against Mapi's resistance.

After a few meters, she released me, and I continued the run as best I could. My knee complained again, and I slowed down, unable to reach the ball, watching it escape down the sideline. I turned around resigned.

"Everything okay?" she asked with concern.

I glanced at Jonathan, who was observing me with a furrowed brow. I wasn't going to sit down. I couldn't afford to after what happened with Mia. My blood boiled at the mention of her name. I took a deep breath.

"Yes," I snapped back to the blonde. "Let's do it again." I sent another ball to Patri, and Mapi wrapped the resistance band around me once more. Her strength had significantly decreased, probably not very convinced by my condition. "Put some effort into it, damn it!" I shouted at her.

She tightened her grip, caught off guard by my attitude. I dug my cleats into the grass and forcefully dragged her across the field, chasing the trajectory of the ball, ignoring the joint's complaints.

The moment to let go arrived. My right knee withstood the acceleration, picking up speed and getting closer to the ball. Then it was the left knee's turn. I felt a twinge. The knee buckled, unable to bear the weight of my body along with the force of the sprint. My body hit the ground violently. The ball once again escaped down the sideline.

Gradually, the heads of my teammates blocked the sunlight reaching my body lying on the grass, as they gathered around me, embracing my left knee tightly, offering words of encouragement and affirmation. I limped, supported by the club's medical staff, toward the infirmary.

"Alexia!" Her voice called out to me.

She had opened the door to her office just a second before we passed by. I didn't want to look at her, I didn't want to fall apart. The two men helping me walk stopped, giving me the opportunity to speak with her. Mia placed her hand on my arm, and I caught a glimpse of the extreme concern on her face before looking away again. Understanding the situation, they continued walking, taking me with them and leaving her there.

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I don't think you are ready for the next one