control - Alexia Putellas

2.1.

i'm absolutely speechless. i did not think that the outcome of the first part of my story would be so opposite to reality. but i am happy the way it is. congratulations to the spanish athletes. wow wow wow.

now it's time for part 2 of 'control'

let's find out how the story continues. remember, read and look closely. enjoy ☕️✍🏼

Sitting at the counter top of her kitchen, Alexia's little ball of fluff vibrating at her bare feet, Nala eagerly waiting for the two-time Ballon D'Or winner to take her for a walk, the midfielder glares down at her princess, shushing her with a soft, "Just a few more minutes, princesa. Let me finish breakfast first"

As she scrolls through the news of her phone, popping a slice of protein bread with avocado, seasoned with salt and pepper, into her mouth and chewing on it, the captain's eyes flutter shut, the lack of sleep of the last couple of weeks setting in.

Alexia was tired.

Completely exhausted.

It was hard for her to find rest after all that had happened in the last couple of weeks. The early, unexpected elimination from the World Cup and the mistake, her mistake, her missed penalty kick that had caused all of this, making it difficult for the otherwise mentally strong, controlled athlete.

A burden was weighing on her shoulders.

Pressure. Pressure to fulfill everyone's expectations. Pressure to be the perfect Alexia, the world-class Alexia, the Alexia that everyone had missed during the tournament.

The Alexia she was missing herself.

But even worse than all of that, much worse than the pressure and her own expectations of herself, was the fact that Erin still hadn't reached out for her several weeks after arriving back home in Manchester.

Over and over again she'd tried to reach out for Erin, over and over again she'd called her, but each attempt went straight to voicemail, each attempt breaking her heart all over again.

And although the two time Ballon D'Or winner couldn't shake the feeling that Erin had been playing with her, another part of her, fallen for the stunningly beautiful blonde, believed that Erin's words had been real.

"Trust me", the blonde told her, over and over again.

Her calm, soft, comforting voice still circled through the athlete's head, making it impossible for her to forget the blonde.

The power that woman held.

During breakfast, Alexia was dressed in the simple white shirt and the comfortbale pair of sweatpants that Erin had put into her suitcase before flying back home, just to have the feeling of being close to her.

She missed her.

She missed her so damn much.

"Trust me", the soft voice in her head whispers again as Alexia puts her plate into the dishwasher, Nala following her every move, a pink little tongue dangling out of her mouth, when all of a sudden, her phone on the kitchen counter lights up.

And as always in the past few weeks, it was a glimmer of hope that it might be Erin.

And as always in the past few weeks, it was a longed-for wish that remained unfulfilled.

"Trust me", Erin had said, over and over again, but with each day, each hour, and each minute that passed, those words lost significance.

With every second that passed and with every moment Alexia heard that voice inside her head, the voice became quieter. Slowly but surely, the voice that had been her dream on the other side of the world in New Zealand, faded.

In astonishment, Alexia glances at the screen of her phone to read the message that had reached her via email - declared with a red exclamation mark.

Urgent.

Tender lips purse as she discovers the mail address from which the message was sent, an address she rarely received mails from, and only in the most exceptional of cases.

'Real Federación Española de Fútbol'

Stunned, she picks up Nala, who was ready to finally be taken outside for her usual morning walk along the nearby beach, when Alexia settles back down on the bar stool at the kitchen counter, and opens the mail.

It was a statement.

But not from the president of the association, no, it was not Luis Rubiales. It was an email sent by Jorge Vilda, the man whose actions had left Alexia no choice but resign from the Spanish national team.

The two time Ballon D'Or winner frowns as she opens the mail, the little ball of fluff propped up against her chest, and reads the head coach's statement.

'Dear President. Dear colleagues. Dear players.

I am reaching out to all of you today because I did not, and could not, fulfill the federation's requirements regarding this years World Championships held in Australia and New Zealand.

Knowing that with a team of outstanding and world-class players, as well as a highly qualified staff, I have not been successful in fulfilling the requirements of the federation, is heartbreaking.

It was my highest ambition, my main desire, to win this title with this team, with my rules and my way of leading a team.

And I did not fulfill this mission.

I am a man of my words and I abide by the agreement with President Luis Rubiales, that by not reaching the quarterfinals in this years World Cup held in Australia and New Zealand, I will step down as head coach of the Spanish national team, and hereby resign from my position with immediate effect.

Jorge Vilda'

And within seconds, within minutes of staring at this mail, completely flabbergasted and surprised to read these longed-for words, Alexia was relieved that her missed penalty kick had done some good in the end.

While that neither brought back the title, nor Erin, it left Alexia hoping and praying that all wishes might eventually come true.

"Trust me", Erin had said.

And maybe, just maybe, there was some truth in these words.