control - Alexia Putellas

33.

Does anyone else wish they had more days off so they could watch every game of the World Cup? I am addicted ☕️☕️☕️

Erin was absolutely stunned when she passed the tunnel of the Wellington Sky Stadium a couple of seconds later, heading for the locker room, quick steps carrying her in the direction of Alexia.

Or in the direction she thought Alexia went.

But as soon as the slender blonde entered the teams' locker room, she soon realized that the two time Ballon D'Or winner had disappeared.

Alexia's cubby was empty. Her cosmetic bag was gone, her shoes were missing, and the rest of her belongings were nowhere to be found.

The only thing left was the midfielder's jersey, neatly draped over a hanger, the number on the back facing the room, just as Alexia had found it prior to the match against Japan.

Japan. The oh so underrated underdog.

Japan. The lucky winner of group C.

Perhaps a staff member of the stadium, or perhaps some local, would be happy about this jersey, for Alexia didn't need a reminder of Spain's - her - miserable performance.

The therapist didn't hesitate, quickly leaves the locker room in order to potentially find Alexia waiting in the players lounge in the entrance hall of the Sky Stadium, built directly on the waterfront of Wellington Bay, or, translated to Mãori, 'Te Whanganui-a Tara'.

But as Erin found the players lounge completely empty, all signs indicated that the professional, otherwise so controlled two time Ballon D'Or winner had left the stadium without a word.

That was unusual.

No way the perfect Alexia would do that. No way she would abandon her team, whose captain she-

Hold on, she wasn't the captain.

Because Jorge Vilda believed that Real Madrid captain Ivana Andres would do a better job in leading the Spanish national team.

So the slender therapist proceeded to the team bus, a couple of athletes trailing behind her, disappointed heads to the ground, frustrated looks on their faces.

And Erin couldn't even blame them.

The moment she climbed up the stairs of the team bus in order to take a seat, she's surprised when she spotted a brunette head in the very back of the bus, sitting there all by herself.

Headphones were plugged into her ears, hazel eyes surveying the view over Wellington Bay, the sight much more soothing than the thoughts that were buzzing through her head right now.

"Ale-"

"Erin, hola...", was a shy, quiet voice that snapped the blonde out of her thoughts just as she was about to approach Alexia, the therapist turning in the narrow aisle of the bus, cold hands resting on the headrests of the seats.

"O-Ona, hey", the blonde stammers, taken off guard as she wonders, "Are you... okay? You look... are you okay?"

Shifting from one foot to another, the right back nervously fiddles with her fingers as she sets her backpack down on one of the seats, chocolate brown, frustrated eyes fixed on the blonde.

Something was definitely off.

"I'm... um... I think I... twisted my ankle during that tackle against Japan's winger", Ona explains as she gestures towards her right foot, her voice faint so no one could hear them as she asks, "Could you take a look at it later, please? I just want to make sure nothing's twisted or torn... without Jorge noticing, maybe?"