this is me trying

Chapter 13 - Unlucky

13: an unlucky number. And for me, I was riding in the 'unlucky' seat. When Tippah Jones clipped my foot, at that game, against Arsenal, I felt my achilles rip with it. I knew, straight away, that something was wrong. I knew that there was going to be a long process ahead of me. I just hoped it wouldn't be too long.

It's hard, being injured. You want, more than anything, to be out with your teammates and friends, playing the game you love alongside people you love as well.

I came off the pitch, straightaway, once it had happened, and went down into the changing rooms, while the physio assessed me. No sooner had I sat down, than did I have a phone call from Ona.

"Hey," I said, trying to speak through the pain.

"Are you alright?"

"Not sure," I answered. "Can I call you back?"

"Yeah. Okay." She hung up the phone, while the medic and my physio assessed what was going on.

"It looks like... you've done your achilles," the medic said. "Now, we're not going to be too sure until we do some scans and everything, but, best case scenario: four months."

"Four months!" I screeched

"Four months," she repeated. "I'm sorry, Eva." I shook my head, not believing what I had just heard.

"We'll give you some crutches," the physio then said, "and you can go sit back and watch the rest of the game. When we get back to Manchester, we can get some scans and see what's really happened." I was given some painkillers and ice, and went back upstairs to sit next to Georgia who had been subbed off in the 75th.

"Is it good news or bad news?" G asked.

"Not good," I replied, trying to hold back tears. I could sense that she wanted to give me a hug, and instead of saying no, and sitting a little further away, I leant into her, letting her arms fall around my body, as I tried holding back the tears.

After the match, I used the crutches to get onto the field and see everyone. We ended up losing the match, by a late Vivianne Miedema goal, assisted by Tippah Jones. It was frustrating, but we didn't have a right to be in the FA Cup final, not with the form we had been having recently anyways.

"Hey," Frida said, hugging me. "You alright?"

"Not sure," I replied, sighing.

"ACL?" she asked, hoping to be wrong.

"No, thank god," I replied. "Achilles."

"Shit."

"Four months, minimum apparently."

"Well, please be careful but also we want you for the Euros." Frida laughed slightly, before going off back to the dug out.

I soon walked past the Australians (Hayley, Alanna, Caitlin, Steph and Tippah) who were all talking together.

"Hey," one of them said to me, but I couldn't quite tell who as they all sounded way too similar for my Norwegian brain. I turned around to see that it was Tippah.

"Hey," I replied.

"I'm sorry," she said, in reference to the ice on my leg and the crutches in my hands. "It wasn't a very smart tackle."

"It's okay," I replied, trying to reassure her that it truly wasn't her fault.

"I need to control my tackles," she said, trying to emphasise her apology.

"It happens to everyone. Good job, by the way."

"What for?"

"The assist. It was a good one." I smiled at her, as Hayley came up to me, and walked me inside.