DESPERATE & DIVINE

3. Thrown To The Wolves

There's nothing more nerve-wracking than a press conference centred entirely around you. My transfer to Arsenal has stirred up a storm, igniting discussions across social media. Why is she making this move? What led to her departure from Man City?

As I sit before them, I feel almost detached, as if I'm watching myself from a distance. My nails dig into the palms of my hands, a desperate attempt to ground myself while the reporters gaze at me, their eyes hungry for answers.

I feel like a fish out of water in the fancy outfit they've put me in, my hair perfectly styled and makeup expertly done. Normally, I'd be all for glam, but I feel like they're trying to distract from the nerves that are all too visible on my face. It's like I'm a pawn in some media game, and I can't shake that feeling.

As the questions continue to pour in, I make a conscious effort to respond with confidence, demonstrating that I am prepared for this fresh chapter. However, beneath the surface, I'm just utterly fucking lost.

"Frankie, let's get straight to it," a talksport journalist initiates, scrutinising me intently. "What prompted your decision to join Arsenal, especially when you were so established at City?"

Drawing in a steadying breath, I brace myself for the relentless inquiry. Though the penetrating gaze of the talksport representative evokes a sense of unease within me, I remain composed, committed to navigating the exchange with poise.

"I made the decision to join Arsenal for personal reasons that I am not obligated to disclose to the public," I reply firmly, my answer coming out rehearsed. I clear my throat when my agent, Mark, shoots me a wide eyed glare: get it together. I opt for a change in tactics, dropping the robotic professionalism as I take a deep breath and level with the reporters, "Look, I love my former teammates at City, I'll always respect the club, I just felt it was time for a new challenge and a change of scenery," I quickly glance to Mark, and see him giving an approving nod. Better. I stretch my mouth into a smile that doesn't quite meet my eyes, "Arsenal is a fantastic club, and I am grateful for the opportunity to be a part of it."

As the press conference continues, the questions become more pointed and accusatory. I feel the scepticism and judgment bearing down on me.

When the issue of many of my ex City teammates social media unfollowing of me is brought up, I choose my words carefully. "Social media is a personal space, and their actions on there are just a reflection of their feelings towards me. I understand this has hurt them, I can do nothing but apologise for that. I wish them all the best in their careers and personal lives."

The statement is punctuated by another forced smile, and the sea of reporters continue to scrutinise me, pen to paper, scribbling who knows what. Their eyes tell me they're not buying it. No one is. Especially not me.

Internally, I wince at how my responses come off as scripted and insincere. The countless hours spent with the Arsenal media and my own PR team, preparing for this exact scenario, now seem to have backfired. The authenticity I had hoped to convey in my answers has been overshadowed by their rehearsed nature, probably because they're the furthest thing from authentic.

As I anticipate the inevitable scrutiny and criticism that will follow on social media, regret gnaws at me. Despite my best efforts to navigate the press conference with poise and professionalism, it seems that my carefully crafted responses may have missed the mark.

Another woman chimes in: "What remains a mystery is the way you decided to make the move without telling anyone? Alex Greenwood has spoken out that she was hurt by this."

The mention of Alex's hurt cuts deep. "I regret any hurt that my decision may have caused Alex or anyone else," I respond, my voice tinged with remorse. "The timing and manner of my move were not ideal, and for that, I am sorry. I hope that in time, we can mend any misunderstandings and move forward."