Relentless.

He is relentless. He does not falter; he does not let his lips part from his whistle except to say 'de nuevo'.

The pitch is empty, save for the red cones marking out the metres on the lawn that I have run over and over again. A ball, last used thirty seconds ago, rolls past me as I watch the fine-cut grass and imagine what it would feel like to keel over onto it.

Alexia will probably be checking her watch, knuckles held against the door of my hotel room, counting down the minutes until she knows she must knock – the agreed time she would check on me, as she promised both our mothers.

But Jorge Vilda is relentless, and we play Costa Rica in two days.

"I do not believe that you wish to start the game," he says as I breathe in deeply. I stick my foot out to the side, stopping the rolling ball and bringing it towards my body with a flick of my ankle. "I refuse to see you as the Talia Segura who wants to be the best in the world."

"We have been going for an hour," I huff between strangled gasps for air.

He shakes his head, disappointed with my response. I await the inevitable. "You will go for an hour more." The whistle shrieks and it is another sixty minutes until I stretch my legs on the way to dinner with the team.

"Not impressed," murmurs Alexia as I slide into my seat, saved next to her so that she can keep both her eyes on me. I have decided that she has two pairs of them, and keeps one set glued to what I am doing and the other to her phone, just in case a certain someone messages her.

"He's just harsh," I reply, following my words with a huge gulp of water from Jenni's glass opposite me. The forward protests loudly, but it is not enough to distract Alexia.

"You're going to get injured." I want to start. I want to be named in the XI for my first ever World Cup. "Take it easy tonight. Call your girlfriend; she's missing you." The jab is a small prod at a bubbling distance that we can both feel growing. It's one thing being so far away at this very moment, but I have left Barcelona and Sevilla, and, on top of that, I have undermined something she is still standing up for.

"Why don't you go and call yours?" I retort childishly, hoping to move the topic to something else. If I bring this up, maybe someone else will input their own teasing and we can forget about why I have not yet had time to shower.

Alexia sighs. I pick up my fork and pretend I am not about to devour anything put on my plate. "You are so annoying," she says, almost fondly. We have gotten closer. Mamá is not moving to Barcelona, but she is no longer hiding from the family we have there. "Come on, get some food in you. We've got a big thing ahead of us, and I don't want you to become a skeleton."

━━━━━━━

For all of Jorge's intense coaching, I actually do earn a starting position in our first match. Salma and I roll around on the floor of my hotel room, both of us equally ecstatic. We are the youngest here, yet we are earning minutes over people with years more experience. It's nice to get a little 'well done'.

Alexia must be frustrated about her knee, but she makes no effort to say anything to me. Instead, she seems to either be on the phone or wrapped in Jenni's arms, and always with a moody frown. I avoid her a little bit, but it isn't because I don't care.

She's just so right. About everything. She warned me earlier, before we left, that Jorge's promise to make me the captain by twenty-five, or to win me every accolade a footballer can get, would come with a price. It has, and it's hard. He's hard. He won't leave me alone, and I hate that I should have listened to my cousin.

I'm not finding camp difficult in any other respect than the extra sessions I am attending. Jorge has given me my own physiotherapist, plucking one from the team of them made available to the entire squad. His name is Daniel, and he is only three years older than me. We have long conversations about most things, and it is not too much of a chore to spend most of my 'free' time with him, especially if he is preventing and treating injuries that I have picked up due to a jam-packed schedule.

I wonder, when I stare at the perfectly carved out cheekbones of the therapist's face, if Jorge has given me Daniel to relieve some of the stress he is very much contributing towards. The thought is disgusting and makes me shudder, but I would not put it past my manager.

With our match against Zambia on the horizon, it only feels right to drag Salma to the beach one day and escape from the chaos of it all.

We take a taxi to the wintery sand and foaming ocean, and I indulge in a chat with the driver to practise my English. Fleur is becoming more proficient in my language, and the frequency of my lessons are decreasing at a rapid speed. Though it is not the warmest, Salma and I remove our trainers and walk along with the waves lap at the shore.

"What are you going to do now, Tali?" she asks curiously, eyes drawn to the buzzing of my phone despite me making no move to offer her an explanation. Jorge may be fuming that I have blown off my own personal strength and conditioning today, but I don't really care. "You don't have a club... or a place to live."

"Homeless and unemployed," I confirm with a grin. It's freeing, even if I should be concerned about my future. I flick my toes, spraying droplets of sea water onto the bottoms of Salma's joggers. "I know where I'll end up. Vaguely. Not that anyone wants to believe it."

"I think they are still taken aback with the contract you turned down." Oh, yes. Barcelona's offer to have me for two years. Me or a young Dutch player, I've heard. It's her dream to wear their kit, ever since she visited Camp Nou as a child. I compared every aspect to myself and found us identical apart from one thing.

"I don't want to play for your team anymore." I do a lot of pretending. My relationship, my allegiances, my totally not-hurting hamstring. I knew, even before my leg started twinging, that I had to cut one out. "Plus, the world is massive. I mean, we know that from how long it took us to get to New Zealand. How can I waste the opportunity to explore a little bit? I want to play in all the leagues, not just toss about near home because I'm too scared to step out of my comfort zone." Salma blinks at me. "Sorry. Not that that's what you do."

"I hardly live near my family," she replies, growing slightly defensive. "But you're not insane for wanting that, I guess. I just... don't want you to leave."

She stops walking, then, and I follow suit. It is just us two at the edge of the tepid water. "I don't know what to do about Clàudia," I confess. Voice softer now, Salma asks what is going on with us. I take a deep breath, the salty air filling my lungs. "It is very tense between us right now. She's not entirely comfortable with the uncertainty of where I will be, and, of course, she's not here. She should be here. I'm not sure if it's going to last or not. I'm not sure how serious either of us are about the relationship."

Her expression shifts into a thoughtful frown. "Long-distance can be tough, but if you care about her, isn't it worth it to try? I mean, love can overcome distance, and you guys have time to practise now anyway. You might not even make it that far away. Madrid will want you, I'm sure."

I nod slowly, appreciating her perspective. "I just worry about losing the connection. Being physically apart, not sharing the little moments... What if it changes everything?" So much of our relationship is based on each other's ever-presence. The strong comfort of always being near each other. Barcelona is big, but it is not the same as the distance between England and Spain. Or any other country.

Salma reaches for my hand, offering it a comforting squeeze. "Change is inevitable, no? But it doesn't have to be a bad thing. If you both want it to work, you'll find a way."

A seagull cries overhead, the noise echoing. I look up at the grey sky for a moment, before realising that I am not the only one with a future to worry about. "And you? You're going to stay?"

She nods easily.

"As long as I can. I'll keep you updated on all the team drama." The implication included in her cheeky statement is that she'll watch over Clàudia, too. If that is what I need her to do. "I count myself lucky that I do not have to constantly talk to my agent." I have a new one. Josep – Alexia's agent. "Even if yours is more of a family friend."

"He still sought me out," I insist, affected by the light teasing. Patri continues to claim he heard the gossip and begged to be hired by me straightaway. A 'fetish for the Putellases' (eyeroll). "Bro, I think I'm going to forget about everything until this tournament is over."

Salma giggles. "Jorgito will be delighted to help." She mimics his voice, then, and barks out a jarring command to sprint the length of the beach seventy times.

We resume our walk along the shoreline after we have finished laughing. The rhythmic lapping of the waves offer a somewhat comforting cadence as I navigate the thoughts in my mind. One thing, at the very least, becomes clear – the bonds we share are resilient, especially if they mean something. I call Clàudia that night, after treatment with Daniel, and we talk until the horrifying early hours of the morning. I sleepily hang up with an 'I love you', moments before I have to get dressed for breakfast.

━━━━━━━

"Natalia." Jorge pulls me aside with a stern expression that immediately draws my cousin's eyes to us. She forgoes her celebrations over the 5-0 win, watching us with heavy investment and maternal diligence. I fight to not roll my eyes, well aware that Jorge will assume I'm disrespecting him.

His grip on my arm does not loosen as a few people walk past in the tunnel, as if he does not want me to run off and spread the word about his vile ways. "I thought it was alright," I tell him as humorously as I can, dreading whatever he is going to say next. "A comfortable win, no? Did you want ten goals?"

"At least twenty, for all the mistakes you made," he replies with a sickening smirk. My amusement never comes. "I will not start a useless player."

"They left Alexia open to mark me instead." I was so surrounded that I might as well have been in their team huddle.

He shakes his head as though he is explaining something to a child. "I don't care about your excuses." I remember where his fingers are, and tug my arm back into my body. His bicep flexes and he does not let me go. "I have seen better performances from dogs. They know how to follow commands."

"Jorge, they would hardly let me breathe. For a moment, I wondered if they were all just massive fans and wanted to give me a group hug!"

His cold laughter echoes through the emptying tunnel, and he does not see the way he makes Alexia Putellas tremble. I do. I try not to look at her again.

The grip on my arm tightens momentarily before he releases me, his smirk never faltering. "Fans? You wish, cariño."

I take a step back, rubbing my arm where his fingers have left an uncomfortable impression. Unfortunately, the red splotches don't seem to fade on my tanned skin and the tunnel feels narrower. The distant sounds of the stadium intensify the isolation of the conversation, making me feel removed from everyone even if Alexia is standing close by.

"I had expected you to rise above challenges, not drown in self-pity," he sneers, arms folding over his proudly puffed chest. "You were a liability out there and it will not be tolerated. Not now, not in this team. You will soon be wasting my time, Natalia, if you are to continue like this."

I try to maintain composure, aiming to keep my voice steady and unaffected by the frustrating bubbling within. "I'm doing my best out there, Jorge. It's not easy when I'm constantly double-teamed, or when five players are breathing down my neck the moment I so much as think about getting near the ball." I would love to see him try.

His eyes narrow, and he leans in. "Best?" His breath reeks of coffee and is bitter in my nostrils. "Your best is not good enough. I do not need you to whine about being marked too closely. This team needs winners." His insult is implied.

Taking a deep breath, I refuse to let his words break me. "I'm here to play for the team, not just myself. Alba, Tere, and Jenni scored. We won by five goals. We won, Jorge." I move to pass him, but he steps into my path. "Please, let me shower," I mutter, adrenaline rushing out of me as my plea spills onto my tongue.

He does not look at me. Instead, his beady eyes focus on Alexia. She strengthens under his intimidation, as if she has learnt to bolster herself any time his attention is directed at her. "You know," he starts, voice light and uncaring, "sometimes I wonder why I even asked Natalia to come with us." With that, he lets me rush into the changing room.

notes: 

basooooo i went skiing for a week (it was great) but now im home so expect some more of these

this fic is nearly over, so hmc will resume pretty much in the new year/just before!!!!

just going to reiterate the content warnings from now on, which are talk of rape, sexual assault, angst, and incredibly questionable decisions from all the characters

thanks for reading!!!