Never Leave Again

seize it, make it work

Córdoba, April 2023.

The wood clatters against the wall as I stumble into it, barely catching the crucifix that falls from the altar. "Joder," I mutter under my breath, blinking to see if that will bring more light into the pitch-black apartment. My mother's statue of Nuestra Señora has eyes that seem to follow me in the dark. If I were not used to creeping in like this, I would feel guilty for swearing in front of her.

It's half past five in the morning, and I have only just gotten home.

"Natalia." I freeze in the hallway, wobbling slightly. My hand slaps against the door of my bedroom to steady myself, and Mamá winces as she flicks on the light. "Natalia, it is Sunday." Her eyes fall on the crucifix still in my hand. I have forgotten to return to its place on the altar. "Give it. Go to bed."

Feeling a bit like a naughty child, I hang my head in drunken shame, hiding my smile well enough for her to only tap the back of my head and scold me under her breath. With an optimistic deep breath, I murmur out, "love you. Goodnight."

"You stink of marijuana."

Sleeping isn't the easiest, but I manage to get some rest before being woken up to go to church. Because I can't get out of it now that I've chosen Barcelona. She must be praying for my soul like there is no tomorrow.

We walk to the church, taking the same route we have always gone down. I scratch at my sweatshirt, itchy under the slightly warmer morning, and she notices the bruise on my collarbone. "Who did that to you?" she asks with total and utter disappointment, her sigh visceral.

Though it is hard to remember some parts of last night, I know exactly who is the culprit. And that she will also be sat in church this morning. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of that, despite the growing stuffiness in my outfit. "A friend of Juan's. I think he was called Pepe, but I'm not sure."

"Is this because you're free from football for a week?" Once I had attended a video conference with the Barcelona manager and other important men, I packed up my things in Sevilla and got the first train back home. I am now officially on loan to FC Barcelona Femení. There, I will complete my third season in the top league in Spain. They have been lenient and agreed to accept me in April, though I was told January was preferred. I was adamant to not go too soon. Mamá's hesitance for me to join the club on a loan did have some influence, even if she was not quite able to completely steer me away from the prospect of how good of an opportunity this is for me. "Can I trust you in Barcelona on your own?"

"I was like this in Sevilla," I retort, adjusting my sweatshirt so that I will not be completely shunned from Mass. It's bad enough knowing that she is going to be there with matching purple marks.

"Well, hopefully they will make you work so hard that you have no energy to go out." From what I've heard, the squad members are big fans of partying. I know Salma from the national team, and she has been vocal about how she has missed me at the senior camps this year. I haven't been to any, always accidentally injured by the time they roll around.

That was another reason to go on loan, because I might be able to get enough minutes to earn a call-up for the World Cup. I'm not especially hopeful, but I can at least try. It's easier seeing as some of the starting players refuse to go. Their stories about the manager are off-putting, but this is the World Cup we're talking about.

Mass, like always, almost bores me to sleep.

I follow the little boys outside as soon as it ends, knowing Mamá will want to talk to Manuel about how her daughter is not obeying her doing such a terrible thing by moving away. Manuel is the priest, and he and Mamá are close. Very close.