Hold Me Close

rehash it

Alexia's phone rings at seven in the morning; a warning call from Jenni about sneaking back into her own hotel.

I wake up with a headache, eyes sore, body worse. Alexia glances at me from her propped up position against the headboard, guiding my head back into her lap where she had adjusted our position to talk to her teammate. "Go back to sleep," she says softly, moving the phone from her ear to better hear my reply.

Voice hoarse, I croak out, "no," resting in her lap anyway. Eyes open despite their stinging, I watch the clock, accepting that the world will move on. Time ticks regardless of how stuck in last night I feel.

A blissful half an hour later, Alexia gently nudges me off her, expecting me to have fallen asleep again. When I groan in protest, she startles – a deer caught in headlights, a prisoner caught escaping. She holds her hands up in surrender as I glare, balling the hem of her t-shirt in my fist and tugging her back towards the bed. "I have to go," she explains, laughing. "I will never be allowed to play for Spain again if I don't show up before Vilda checks my room."

"I hate him."

"Who doesn't?" We both think of the names on that list, hating them all too. "Well, if you feel like you can, why don't you come say goodbye to me? Getting up is good for you."

"No one else is awake," I tell her, disgusted by the time of the morning.

"No one will see us then," she answers, smirking. Her fingers curl around my wrist, and, affected by her touch, I release her from my grip. "Come on. You don't even have to get ready."

Her eyes plead slightly, as if she knows this is a lot more significant than it seems. One day of staying in bed often turns into two. And then a month passes, and the world has forgotten the pain that you still harbour like a freshly cut wound. That is how it goes with these things. Alexia does not have time to deal with it, I suppose. Not that I am hers to deal with.

She watches me closely as I plod into the bathroom, forgoing brushing my teeth and choosing to cheat with mouthwash instead. I spit out the blue liquid, and she hands me my sliders. We stay close together as she unlocks my hotel room door, opening it.

The hallway is empty.

Well, until Olivia approaches from her room further down the corridor, calling out my name.

Alexia pauses in front of the lift, not turning around but allowing me to. It's a declaration of secrecy. They don't pry. I wait for my camera crew to catch up with me.

"This is going to make me sound like a monster," Olivia begins, holding a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, "but we need to film you. Just a short clip."

"Now?" I ask, not impressed with the situation. They already caught most of yesterday, so why do they need to extend my pain? Alexia's hand finds mine in the space between us, fingers intertwining with my own, pulling my hand close to her body. "Can't we do it later?"

"The whole point is that it is raw. Real." So, yeah. Now. I glance at the camera with a sigh, nodding as Olivia checks her phone. "Are we rolling?"

"Yep," says Erik, the cameraman.

Okay. The lift is only three floors away. She won't get in with us, and, if she can read the look in my eyes, the camera will be angled away from the body behind me. "So you lost yesterday." Alexia squeezes my hand, listening closely to the conversation even though she has trouble with English so early in the morning. "How are you feeling?"

It's almost laughable.

I narrow my eyes at Olivia, but she mouths at me to just comply. I breathe in and out. "Bad. It sucks. I've just had the worst night of my life, and now I am awake too fucking early." A little, self-deprecating laugh leaves my lips. Alexia's thumb runs over the ridges of my knuckles, reminding me that she is there. I deflate. "I've cried all my tears for now."