Hold Me Close

aitana can't keep a secret

I return to Barcelona feeling confused.

Leila's words have had time to sink in, and, though I genuinely find it impossible to agree with the majority of the things she said, I begin to see some truth in a minority.

Alexia is often watched like a hawk, and it gets to her. She stays after training most days to practise perfecting perfection, enlisting the help of the goalkeepers who must sometimes really just want to go home. In the gym, she maintains an intensity for every exercise that others lack, especially when the clock has ticked down to the final minutes of the session. For Alexia, there is a price to pay.

It's annoyingly relatable, I will admit. The world is still eager to see the full extent of what I have to offer, hoping to be given a master-class in the Champions League final just over a month from now. Moving to Barcelona was important for my own development, but also for those who are waiting to call me the best player in the world. It is hard to win a Ballon d'Or with no crowd behind you. And it is hard to become great without suffering from the pressure it brings.

My next conversation with Emma sheds some light onto why I have never crumbled under the weight of the world's expectations.

I guess I have Papa to both thank and hate for that.

Emma talks me into letting myself acknowledge it all. So, in the safety of a controlled environment, she sits with me and we read through articles I would usually pay no mind to. It isn't very hard to find harsh critiques of my recent performance or adamant predictions for how my World Cup will transpire, and, for a moment, when I take in a deep breath and type 'Fleur de Voss vs Alexia Putellas' into the search bar, I feel as though my lungs are made of lead.

It is easy to overcome it, though. I am fine by the time the session ends.

We're halfway through the second training session of the day, but most of the team aren't feeling the fatigue in their muscles because they aren't here. I don't particularly feel like going on holiday with Jaimie at the moment because she is set on cycling every inch of Barcelona by the time she leaves, and I don't think I could cope with that elsewhere. The players who are in attendance are mostly from Barcelona B, invited to the session due to low numbers. It's nice to train without social obligations, and Talia is happy to make me practise my Spanish by talking to me about Feria de Córdoba. It sounds quite fun.

With barely any first team players to challenge us, the rondo is easy for both Alexia and me. Jonatan decides to start our midfield session early, bringing us onto another pitch and setting up cones for fitness training.

Everything starts slowly, practically creeping up on me.

At first, there is only silence and the occasional shout from Jonatan to keep the intensity high or sprint faster.

We move onto long passes, repeating the same angle over and over with the same mark to hit. It improves accuracy. There is a point where I see something in Alexia's technique that is preventing her from keeping the speed of the ball consistent while aiming for an incredibly tiny target. Jonatan must have noticed it too.

"Plant your foot properly." It slips out. I don't mean to help her.

"This is the ACL leg," Alexia replies, though her tone isn't as biting as I'd expected. She sounds like she genuinely wants me to tell her what to do to get better.

I swallow my gag. "You wouldn't be allowed to train if you couldn't use it. Plant your foot properly."

She does. My advice works.

Jonatan nods at me with approval, as if he is proud of me. I shake it off, instantly disliking the way Alexia stands on the ground as though she owns the Earth. "Gracias," Alexia mumbles as she walks past me, getting a drink while I do the same drill.