21-YEAR-OLD WORLD CUP WINNER, TALIA SEGURA, BANNED FROM PLAYING IN HOME COUNTRY, SPAIN, UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

The headline is buried underneath updates about Jenni and Rubiales and a much bigger scale event than my own claim. The RFEF have their president's misconduct as their shield. No one will notice how permanently I am gone, until maybe the story becomes bigger.

So far, it is the only article I have seen about it, which I am glad of.

The hotel room feels like a cage. It is terribly tiny, with only a bed and a desk. My laptop is open, plugged into the nearby socket. It displays the most recent email I have been sent. Its screen is what completely tears my life to shreds.

Going to Barcelona was a mistake, I realise.

Nothing good has come of it. What use is information about a past if it only makes the future hard to get through? What is the point of development if I can never achieve my dream?

I am not going to be allowed to play for Real Madrid. I can't help but wish I had stayed in Sevilla, and stayed mediocre.

Luis Rubiales, the cruel man that he is, will not listen to reason. And, as much as I'd like to blame only him, the decision would have been made by an entire board of people. So it is me against them. I fucking surrender.

My knees buckle and I fall onto the hard mattress with enough despair in me to not care about how a bolt of pain has shot up my hamstring. Beside me, my phone bounces up and down, affected by the force with which I collapsed. I suppose, if I am to wave the white flag, I might need to tell some people.

"Josep," I say into my phone, pleading with Siri to call him for me as I cannot quite bring myself to do it. The tone dials. He picks up quickly. "Josep, is Laia going? Are you sure she's going?"

"Does it make a difference to you?"

It makes a difference to everyone else. Alexia claims I will kill her one day. Mamá is the same.

"To my family, yes," I tell him.

My voice breaks, and I try to breathe but the breath turns ragged.

"Laia is going," he confirms. I hear the concern in his voice. "Are you alright, Talia? They are not your only option. With Chelsea, you could stay in London. You could stay with Laia, if you so wished. As your agent, I advise you to go to the best place, with the best contract. The one you are being offered could easily have been written up for the likes of Fleur de Voss or Sam Kerr, you know."

"But I don't like the colour blue," I answer, exasperated. I don't care about the contract. To me, the most important part of such a stupid piece of paper is the part where it says I will not be in Spain any longer. Not that Spain will miss me, it seems.

"Talia, are you alright? You do not sound..."

"They've banned me from playing here." The words tumble out, accepted yet disgusting on my lips. I want to pull them back in and convince myself that the sentence does not exist. I cannot.

"Oh." Josep sucks in a breath, and clicks his pen in his office. I hear the mechanism pop and the nib harshly scratch against the pages presumably in front of him. He must be sitting at his desk. "That rules out a few options."

"I was planning to go to England anyway." I have convinced myself that it has no immediate impact on my life.

"Real Madrid was hoping to stop you."

I let myself fall backwards. Josep does not mention the noise, but he clears his throat to tell me that whatever sound I just made was muffled on his end. I clamp my hand over my mouth after readjusting my position so that he continues to be deaf to my sobbing.

Eventually, I croak, "it's okay." I feel like I am at my most mature. Just when I have lost the dream I was so close to achieving. Only adults suffer like this, don't they? "I'll... Tell Arsenal I accept." I have already booked my flight. It leaves tonight at nine o'clock. Madrid to London, with no named date of return.

After a moment of thought, allowed by Josep's logistical nattering, I create a list of calls I need to make before then.

━━━━━━━

The first: Mamá.

I use the branded biro on the desk to scrawl out a list of what I need to tell her and then I throw away the piece of paper with a nauseated gulp.

My hand hovers over her contact, and my hesitation allows my mind to wander. What is she doing right now? Am I going to spoil a perfect day or worsen a ruined one?

It's too hot in Córdoba. I think she may have driven to the coast for the week, if she has had the time. Hopefully, with the money I have been sending her (more since my image was projected into a wider world of sponsorship – thank you, Nike), she is able to do whatever she wishes. When she visited me in Barcelona, she was most impressed with the ease I afforded her hotel with.

We used to go to Malaga every summer. We would never stay over, because that was far too expensive. Parking was costly enough.

I swam in the sea. She'd watch me from afar. We'd bask in the sun, and thank the breeze for cooling us down. The car would bake us the entire way back, but it was worth it every single time and I never used to mind if my friends escaped to villas and foreign countries as long as Mamá and I had our special trips.

"Hola, mi cielo," she greets with what should be infectious cheer. The low hum in the background tells me she is at Manuel's, whose air conditioning surpasses ours by a thousandfold – a luxury she, despite her hard work, has never been able to afford for our apartment. "Or should I address you as 'campeona'?"

I chuckle at the endearment. "I think I'll stick to my usual name for now. How's everything with Manuel? Making you feel like it's winter in Norway?"

"Absolutely. You know him; he wouldn't have it any other way. Speaking of which, we were just discussing your next visit. Manuel's tired of pretending that the spare room isn't yours. When you come back, we'll have to make it official and move you in properly."

A warm smile tugs at my lips. It's only been twenty years. "That sounds wonderful. Better than a trophy, I would say." I don't want to tell her how long it may be before I move in there.

"If you really believe so. Oh, and I have more news, amor!"

Her excitement eases the anxious flutter in my throat. "Go on..."

"Manuel and I have been planning a surprise for your return, but I think you'd rather know now. Obviously, the church has been doing a lot of fundraising recently, and, well, you must be wondering why." Absolutely. It's all I can think about. (Not.) "He's formed a football team! A girls' team. Thirty have signed up already, and I think there must be a trial requirement of being your number one fan because each and every one adores you. They are all so excited for you to come back!"

My heart sinks but I force a smile even if she cannot see my face. "That's so good! I'm sure they'll do great next season."

Her laughter dances through the airwaves. "Manuel says they have a long way to go, but a few of the parents have agreed to coach the different teams and the sessions seem to be going well so far. When do you think you'll get back? Where are you – Eli said they took you all to Ibiza?"

I hesitate for a moment, the weight of my recent news settling in. "They did, but the trip has ended now because preseason is starting." I leave out the part where I did not actually go with them. "I'm in Madrid."

"Madrid?" she repeats with glee. "Are you–?"

"I've been banned from playing football in Spain." Silence stretches across the line and so I continue. "The RFEF emailed me this morning. I have been banned from all domestic leagues until further notice." I gulp, "so, no, I'm not doing what you think I am in Madrid."

"Natita," Mamá croaks out in pity. "What happened?"

I choose to answer that question later. "I am only in Madrid for another three hours. I'm here because my flight to London leaves from Madrid-Barajas."

"Chelsea?" She has met Fleur. Now it is clear what they were talking about.

"No, Arsenal. With Laia."

"Alex's friend, right?"

"Yes, her." I know she knows something went terribly wrong, because I am not one to give in to relentless overprotection unless I have been terrified enough to want it. I guess, even if I will never tell them this, I like how much the older girls care for me. "Mamá, I think I am cursed."

It tells her all she needs to know.

After our call ends, much tearier than it had begun, I find myself working through the deep-breathing exercises Jorge taught me (in place of allowing me to visit the psychologist). Silent droplets trace down my cheeks, betraying the mix of frustration and fear that swells within. The room, once filled with the comfort of conversation, now feels cold and distant. Each breath is an effort to stave off the weight settling on my chest, an attempt to quiet the anxious whispers echoing in my mind.

What am I going to do in London? On my own, away from my family. Away from Spain and love and... Clàudia.

My phone rings.

"What the actual FUCK?" I pull the phone away from my ear, overwhelmed by the sheer anger in her voice. "Banned? They have banned you? On what grounds? How? Who? Why have you not said anything?"

"Alexia."

"I have seen the article. It says absolutely nothing. No mention of a sexual assault claim, no facts to add, no details. You promised Jenni you'd think about it – I thought you did! I thought you were going to fight!"

Her words hit me like a wave, and for a moment, I am left grappling with her accusations. True accusations.

I can feel the heat rising in my face as I try to formulate a response that might make sense of the chaos. "It's not that simple," I tell her, though I sound like a whiny toddler. "I did fight. I argued and I threatened them and... well, they told me that I'd be banned if I informed FIFA. I didn't think they'd actually do it!" I try to settle my nerves. "I just need a bit of time, and England will–"

"Time? Talia, we don't have time! You made a promise, not just to Jenni but to yourself and every other woman out there facing the same shit. You can't just back down now!"

"I know, but... Things are happening, Ale, okay? I haven't given up the fight, but I do need to be strategic about it. I have a whole career to think about, too."

Her scoff reverberates through the phone. "This is why I wanted you to let me handle things." Her disappointment in me is crushing. "Strategic? This isn't a game. This is your life, our lives, and the lives of every girl who dreams of playing football without fear. You owe it to yourself and everyone who believes in you to stand up and fight, not hide behind excuses."

Here I am, back to the wall, and Alexia, who played in the World Cup anyway, who took a step forward despite agreeing to take five backwards, is telling me that I owe it to people to fight? To risk even more than I already have to make a scene? A scene being created by Jenni at the same time!

I clench my fists, frustrated about being misunderstood. "Alexia, I get your anger, but I need you to trust me. I am not giving up; I am just navigating a complex situation. Your involvement is not obligatory, and if you don't agree with how I'm going about this, then I'd appreciate you just fucking off."

"Talia!" she exclaims, affronted. Amused? "Okay, okay. Sorry, tiger. I hope that's the kind of energy you used when you spoke to the federation." I think it was. "What help can I give you, pepita?"

"Are you done shouting?" I ask.

"For the time being. Let's see what other stupid stuff you have to say."

I smile. "I was hoping you'd give me the number of your publicist?" Before she yelled my ear off, I had actually planned on calling her to ask for it.

"Good idea," Alexia says with what sounds like a clap of her hands. "You'll need a statement and some great displays of character while you're in England to combat the shit they'll spread about you here. Speaking of, you're lucky there have only been a few articles. Jenni is incredibly envious."

I sense that we are going to continue arguing about this.

"Alexia," I interject regretfully. "I want a publicist to keep the whole thing from turning into a media circus. Not to amplify it."

She audibly rolls her eyes. "Keeping it quiet won't solve anything. You're feeding into their sketchy agenda while being a little bit pathetic. You can't just disappear – run off to England and pretend you don't even know how to speak Spanish! This is your chance to make a lasting and important change." We are going to go round in circles. Over and over.

Alexia is never going to understand. And so I must beg her.

I turn on the waterworks, counting on how much she cares about me; relying on her heart overturning her head. Realistically, her points make more sense than mine. It would be a noble sacrifice to expose the RFEF, but I am not the kind of person who is strong enough to let something die in front of them. I cannot watch my career slip from my grasp anymore than it has already.

My voice trembles with a mix of desperation and pleading. "Alexia, Alex, por favor," I beg as she continues to relent. To insist that I am making the wrong decision. "Jenni is letting you have your case – Jenni is being the change. Por favor, let me have my career. Let me have my future before that is destroyed too."

"Oye, I get it. I understand what's at stake, Talia," she responds, a hint of sympathy softening her tone. "But this isn't just about you anymore. It's about the countless others who will suffer if nothing changes. If you're quiet now, you are letting them down as well." I hear what she means – 'you are letting me down' – and it is mean. I did not know Alexia could be this cruel.

I pause.

I let the world rush out of the hotel room. I let it run away from me, helpless as I fall into oblivion.

I fall and fall. I keep on falling until I reach the bottom of what I thought to be a bottomless pit.

On the ground, I see a girl – no, woman – yearning for a chance to salvage the remains of her career. I see her with trophies, with medals, and with no Spain jersey in sight.

She looks happy. She has managed to survive, and she has managed to survive in silence.

I will be able to get through this, my own way.

"I'm not asking for much. Just a number, a contact who can help me control the damage. I do not have a safety net behind me if 'the change' goes wrong. I won't be a star that burns out." She sucks in a sharp breath, as if she remembers exactly who told me a version of that phrase. Maybe she does remember. "Please let me have this chance."

"You have to understand that this fight isn't only about your career," she replies with a measured sigh, severity rife in her tone. Sometimes, Alexia's maturity makes me feel like there is more than a decade between us. "This is about dismantling a system that perpetuates injustice. Jenni is taking a stand for us all. Giving you that number, keeping things quiet, it feels like taking a step backwards."

Her steadiness wavers, and the silence hangs heavy between us. "But," she continues, ehr tone softening, "I understand your fear, and the need to protect what you've worked so hard for. As much as I hate to admit it, if twenty-year-old Alexia Putellas were in your position, she would be doing the same thing as you." A wet laugh gurgles from my throat. "I'll give you the number, but promise me, Talia, promise me that you will hit England like an asteroid. The good kind."

"Thank you," I get out, barely a whisper. I have slayed the beast. Then, louder, "thank you, thank you, thank you. I will, I swear. They don't know what's coming."

"I love you like a little sister, Tali," she says with pride. We have grown closer over the course of the last month, more so than before. It is nice to have Alexia. "I want to see you shine and make a difference. I'm here for you always, cheering you on every step of the way. Whether you come back one day or not, I will be watching you like a hawk. You might get the English girls questioning if you have a stalker."

"Are you being sweet or threatening?"

I hear her shrug. "Your choice." I laugh again, a bit louder than before. She beams down the phone, glad to have cheered me up. Neither of us misses the tension that has now depleted entirely. "You do know that Laia is going to spy on you, right?"

"I'd assumed so."

"And I think Fleur's sister is dating Leah Williamson. You really won't be able to escape me."

"Do you know that because you are dating Fleur?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she answers with ill-disguised wistfulness. "Now, switch this call to FaceTime and let's go through all the logistical things Josep will have sorted for you. Do not lie to me and claim you know what is happening. Do you even know what time your flight leaves?"

I frown at that and check the time. "Yeah, it leaves in, like, an hour and a half." I think Alexia faints. 

notes: 

I scheduled this part to be published now how organised of me

thanks for reading!!!!