Hold Me Close

stolen

Training the next day is brutal.

I oversleep and forgo breakfast in order to be on time, arriving late despite my efforts. Jonatan is disappointed but forgives me.

Unfortunately, the warm-up I have stumbled into ten minutes after it has begun is being led by Alexia instead of the usual physios. Captain-lead warm-ups on occasion help to build the relationship between the captain and the team in a lower pressure environment, but I don't think it really works when your captain wants to grab your neck and squeeze as hard as she can.

I yawn, feeling the sting of dryness in my eyes.

"You are late," Alexia states coldly, halting the team's stretches so that they have nothing to do but watch her humiliate me. She outlines the edge of the pitch with her index finger. "Around it three times." When Mapi declares that to be rather harsh, she threatens to double my punishment.

I set off, sprinting as fast as I can. You don't date Scarlett Powell for as long as I did and not pick up a little of her speed. The team stays silent as I push through the cramping in my overused muscles, determined not to let her have the satisfaction of me slowing down. I finish quickly. Alexia decides I cut the corners on my last lap, and makes me do three more.

Jonatan watches from the sidelines, but he is letting this play out. He hasn't yet fully understood the dynamic between us. I could easily explain it to him: she's a bitch. Though, as I pant my way through the last stretch of my fourth lap, I decide he wouldn't appreciate me talking about La Reina like that.

The girls lose interest after I have done five, returning their focus to their stretches and chattering amongst themselves. One set of eyes burns into my back as I continue without slowing down. Noticeably slowing down – sorry. I'm only human.

I know that Jana watches almost every game Jill plays, and I know exactly who she was watching the Arnold Clark Cup with. Alexia displays the same insecurity that tightened her jaw as when I first met her in Jonatan's office. When she asked if she was being replaced. At least I know that my performance in the international window was excellent.

Once I have finished and stretched myself, the session is returned to the control of the coaching staff, much to everyone's relief, before Alexia can make us work on our endurance.

I don't train particularly well: my touches are badly taken, my passes are sloppy. The shots I have in the scrimmage we do towards the end all fly way past the goal. I rub my eyes and chug an energy drink, attempting to wake myself up a bit more. It settles alone in my stomach, seeing as I am yet to eat anything more substantial than the protein bars the nutritionist almost forces down my throat. I feel dizzy, but Alexia continues to watch me nervously, so I ignore it.

That was probably the worst idea, because when training ends and we break for lunch, I use the energy that is left in my body to hurtle myself towards the nearest bathroom and drop to my knees with my head over the toilet bowl. If I had actually eaten, something might have come out. Alas, I have not, and end up dry-heaving until tears prickle in my eyes. I send Jaimie a picture of me slumped against the wall. She replies with a picture of her and Papa, both frowning. I cast aside my phone as I feel another wave of nausea hit me, hoping this time it will be more fruitful.

After successfully getting rid of the protein bar and telling myself that I feel so much better, I sneak into the locker room to find a toothbrush and toothpaste. I'm expected at lunch, and if I disappear for too long, they'll start looking for me.

I rummage through my own bag. Nothing. I weigh out my options. I don't have many. I check a few of the other girls', mainly the ones who like me and wouldn't mind too much if they lost a toothbrush. Still nothing.