Hold Me Close

tranquila

My front door slams shut behind me as I tumble into my flat. It feels too humid, too stuffy. I kick off my heels, throwing them onto the sofa, watching them bounce in different directions. My dress is starting to stick to me. I shimmy out of it. Oli lifts his head up from his spot on the dining table, but makes no effort to move.

I am now scarily sober.

Standing in the middle of my living room in my underwear, I take a moment to remind myself of the last ten minutes of my life.

Alexia kissed me. Alexia hates me. Alexia's lips are soft. Alexia hates me.

"Fucking hell," I mutter to myself. The silence is pierced by the sound of my voice, but I almost don't recognise it. It sounds like how Scarlett used to speak. What she would breathe during heated matches, or shout if Magda and P ever popped up to make her jump at seven in the morning. There is a surge of guilt that nearly pulls me to the floor. I fight it, licking my lips, shoulders tensing at the thought of them tasting like Alexia. I think it's time for a very cold shower. And maybe I need to call María.

Or whoever was ringing me earlier.

The water droplets hit my scalp, freezing. I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes and submerging my face under the cold water.

My heart aches.

I was scared this would happen, and I made sure it wouldn't. I was over Scarlett, but now I want nothing more than to talk to her. She always knew what to say, always had the solution to an unsolvable problem.

I can feel the tears flow down my cheeks, their heat mixing with the cold water running down my neck. I really miss her, I realise, because she was a person I loved regardless of whether we were together or not.

I bring the back of my hand up to my lips, rubbing them hard. My knuckles trap them against my teeth, but I can still feel Alexia's teeth clashing against my own; I can still taste her.

Do I feel guilty?

Should I feel guilty?

Crying so intensely that I can hardly see, I switch off the shower. My hair hangs loosely on my shoulders, and my skin prickles from the change in temperature. There is a soft buzzing coming from the living room: the person is calling me again. I guess I better pick up.

"Finally!" Sam's voice is unmistakable, and her face settles the storm brewing within me. It's a horrible hour of the morning in London too, but I'm not surprised that she's up. The people in her life do not fear time zones. "I knew you couldn't ignore me forever, Toots. So, how's Barça?"

I put the phone face down on the bed as I hastily pull on my pyjamas, wiping my face with my towel before picking the phone up again. "Yeah, it's good. Not sure how I feel about my new position, but La Reina made her comeback earlier than the manager anticipated, I think."

Sam is good to talk about football with. How could I have forgotten that? "You've got more assists than her, so chill out a little bit. If it's that bad, you should come back home. We miss you a lot." I laugh at her not-so-subtle request. "Hey! It's not funny. You and me together made one and a half Aussies, which is better than just me on my own. Arsenal are beating us now."

"Have they not brought anyone in on loan?" When a player dies or leaves unexpectedly, it's commonplace to fill the gap in the squad by loaning someone else. It's quick and temporary, and it's exactly what I thought Emma would do when Scarlett died. I had given her enough notice for her to find other players to replace me. "I know she retired Scarlett's number, but the actual position?"

"Magda said someone is coming next week. I think she's trying to be strong for all of us, but P's worried. Doesn't help that they're probably moving at the end of this season. Feels like we're all being abandoned." It was selfish of me to leave Chelsea, but I needed to. Despite the added drama, Barcelona has helped me to improve a lot. It's given me a new outlook on the game; a new perspective. "Why are you up so late? Is it the Spanish lifestyle?"