Perfection

45 Days Before, 455 Days Until

Alexia

¡El Barcelona Femenino no logra llevarse a casa el título de la UEFA Champions League!

I dropped my phone down next to me. Yesterday was a total disaster. A total disappointment. We should had won that game. I felt as though we were prepared to face Lyon in the final.

I was wrong. We weren't prepared. A prepared team does not lose 1-3. A prepared Alexia does not score a goal and still lose a final.

Just as I closed my eyes, someone knocked at the door. I lifted myself off of my hotel bed and walked over to the door. I peeked through the tiny glass hole on the door. I saw who was standing there, so I unlocked and opened the door.

"Hola, Mapi. What can I do for you?"

"There's a restaurant down the road. Some of us are going out before the team meeting to grab a quick meal. You should come."

"I don't know." I sighed. "I'm not really in the mood."

"Por favor, Alexia. You can't mope around all day. It's not healthy."

"I'm not moping. I'm not in the mood for food. I ate."

"When?" Mapi walked into my room, causing me to sigh once again.

"You can't waltz in here as though you own the place." I stated.

"You don't own it hermana."

"No, but it is the room I've been staying in for a week." Mapi's eyes begun to eye the room. She walked over to the desk and picked up the iPad I had been using all night. "Really, Ale? How late did you stay up?"

"No sé. Late enough. Would you go? I don't mean to sound rude, but I—"

"You can't be analyzing this game right now. You're not over the loss—none of us are. Let Jonatan talk to us in a few hours, then you can come back to this. You need a break."

"I don't need a break."

"Alexia, por favor. Just come with us. Get a full meal."

"Will you leave me alone once we get back?"

"Sí." She smiled, setting my iPad down. "You have my word."

"Let me get my shoes."

"Great! I'll wait outside."

I searched my room for a moment while Mapi waited outside for me. I picked up my keycard, wallet, and phone on my way out.

María talked the entire way down to the lobby. She never took a breath until she was literally out of air and couldn't talk any further. Ingrid and Patri were the two waiting for us in the lobby.

"You got her out of her room!" Patri exclaimed.

"She's not going to get a gold star for it, Patri. I didn't want to go. I don't want to go."

"It'll be good for you."

I didn't respond. I nodded the three of them on, walking a few paces behind them.

I'd never understood how people—athletes could be happy after a huge loss. Whether it be a regular season game where you lose to a rival, or a final like the Champions League. I'd always wondered how the runners-up of the Olympics or the World Cup coped after those games.