amelie⁹

She'd run to Clara and Julia's apartment in Gràcia without even consciously deciding to. Her body had just taken her to the place that represented safety, that had always been a refuge when everything else was falling apart.

Jay stared up at the building, her chest heaving, her hands still bleeding from punching her locker.

She should go home. Should go back to Camp Nou. Should do literally anything other than show up at Clara and Julia's covered in blood and grass stains and barely holding it together.

But her feet were already moving, carrying her into the building, up the stairs because she couldn't wait for the elevator, to their door.

She knocked. Pounded really. Her bloody knuckles leaving marks on the white paint.

The door opened.

Julia stood there in casual clothes, her face shifting from surprise to shock to concern in rapid succession as she took in Jay's appearance.

"Dios mío, Jay, what happened?"

"I got sent off." Jay's voice came out rough, ragged. "I need to see Clara. Is she here?"

"Yes, she's here, but Jay, you're bleeding. Your hands..."

"I need to see Clara. Now. Please."

Julia stepped aside, let Jay into the apartment.

The space was familiar. Warm and lived in and safe. Usually being here made Jay feel better. Tonight it just made her feel more out of control, like she was contaminating their peaceful space with her chaos.

Clara appeared from her home office, her reading glasses still on, clearly having been working on something.

Her face went through the same progression as Julia's. Surprise. Shock. Concern.

"Jay? What happened to your hands?"

"I need to talk to you. I need..." Jay's voice broke. "I can't do this anymore. I can't hold it together. I can't keep pretending everything is fine when it's not. When it's so fucking far from fine that I don't even know where fine is anymore."

Clara was already moving, crossing to Jay, her therapist instincts kicking in.

"Okay. Okay, cariño. Come with me. We'll talk in my office. Julia, can you..."

"I'll call Eli. Let her know Jay is here." Julia pulled out her phone, already dialling. "In case anyone is looking for her."

Clara guided Jay down the hallway to her home office. The room was calm and professional despite being in their apartment. Comfortable chairs. Soft lighting. The diplomas on the wall that declared Clara qualified to help people who were falling apart.

"Sit," Clara said gently, gesturing to the chair Jay had sat in hundreds of times over the years.

But Jay couldn't sit. Couldn't stay still. The energy was still burning through her, making her hands shake, making her pace.

"I can't sit. I need to move. I need to..." Jay ran her hands through her hair, realised they were still bleeding, and didn't care. "They're trying to hurt her, Clara. They're trying to hurt Alexia and it's my fault. It's all my fault because I celebrated that stupid goal and now they hate me and they're taking it out on her."

"Who is trying to hurt Alexia? What are you talking about?"

"The Valencia fans! The people who've been sending me messages for six weeks! The ones who vandalised my car! The ones who told me they were going to break her legs!" Jay's voice was rising, getting louder, words tumbling out faster. "They went after her during the match! Four times! Four deliberate dangerous tackles aimed at hurting her! And the ref did nothing! He let them! He let them try to injure her!"

"Jay, slow down. Start from the beginning. What messages? What are you talking about?"

But Jay couldn't slow down. The words were pouring out now, everything she'd been holding in for six weeks erupting like a dam breaking.

"I've been getting death threats since the Valencia match! Thousands of them! Every day! People telling me they want to hurt me, want to break my legs, want to end my career! And then they started targeting Alexia! Started saying they'd hurt her to punish me! Started posting pictures of her! Started making plans for what they'd do during the match!"

Jay was shouting now, pacing back and forth across Clara's office, her hands gesturing wildly, blood dripping onto the carpet.

"And I tried to protect her! I tried to keep her safe! That's why I didn't tell anyone! Because if I told her, she'd be scared! If I reported it, they'd get worse! If I involved the club, they'd make it public! So I just tried to handle it myself! Tried to just get through until after the match! But they went after her anyway! They planned it! They coordinated it! They sent someone onto the pitch specifically to hurt her!"

"Jay, you need to calm down..."

"I can't calm down! Don't you understand? They tried to hurt Alexia! They're still trying to hurt her! She's still out there playing and I can't protect her because I got myself sent off! Because I lost control! Because I did exactly what they wanted me to do!"

Jay's fist slammed into the wall, punching through the drywall, leaving a hole and more blood.

"Jay! Stop!" Clara was on her feet now, moving toward her. "You need to stop before you hurt yourself more."

"I don't care if I hurt myself! I care that they're trying to hurt Alexia! I care that this is all my fault! I care that I've ruined everything!"

"You have not ruined anything..."

"Yes, I have! I got sent off! I'm suspended for multiple matches! I let my team down! I let Alexia down! I let everyone down! And for what? Because some Valencia midfielder was trying to break Alexia's legs and the ref wouldn't do anything about it! Because thousands of people have been telling me for six weeks that they were going to hurt her and I didn't know how to stop them!"

Jay was fully screaming now, her voice echoing off Clara's office walls, six weeks of accumulated fear and rage and terror pouring out in an incoherent flood.

"They keyed my car! They wrote 'puta' on it! They've been following us! Taking pictures! They know where we live! They know our schedules! They know what car I drive! They know everything! And I couldn't tell anyone because what if it made it worse? What if they hurt her because I reported them? What if trying to protect her just painted a bigger target on her back?"

Clara was trying to get close enough to physically calm Jay down but Jay kept pacing, kept moving, couldn't stop.

"And the messages just kept coming! Every day! Thousands of them! All saying they wanted to hurt me! Hurt Alexia! That we were disgusting! That I was arrogant! That I deserved to have my career ended! That Alexia deserved to be punished for dating me! That they were counting down until they could make us suffer!"

Jay's hands were in her hair again, pulling, her whole body shaking.

"And I read every single one! I couldn't stop myself! I'd tell myself not to look and then I'd look anyway! I'd see the numbers climbing and I'd have to know what they were saying! Had to catalog every threat! Had to understand how bad it was! Until I couldn't sleep anymore! Couldn't eat! Couldn't focus on anything except the fear!"

"Jay, please..."

"And Alexia knew something was wrong! She kept asking! Kept trying to help! And I kept lying to her! Kept telling her I was fine! Kept pushing her away! Until she left! Until she went to stay at her mother's because I wouldn't tell her the truth! Because I was too scared to admit I couldn't handle it! Too scared to ask for help!"

Jay spun to face Clara, her face contorted with anguish and rage and six weeks of suppressed panic.

"And now they've done exactly what they said they would! They went after Alexia! They tried to hurt her! And I couldn't stop them! I could only react! Could only get myself sent off! Could only make everything worse! Because that's what I do! I make everything worse! I'm poison! Everything I touch gets destroyed!"

"You are not poison..."

"Yes, I am! My parents died because of me! Every foster home failed because of me! Every relationship I've ever had has fallen apart because of me! And now I'm destroying my relationship with Alexia! I'm destroying my career! I'm destroying everything and I don't know how to stop!"

Jay's legs gave out. She slid down the wall, ending up on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her bloody hands pressed against her face.

"They're going to hurt her," Jay said, her voice breaking. "They're still out there. Still playing. And I can't protect her. I can't do anything. I'm stuck here while she's out there vulnerable and it's all my fault. All of it. Everything."

Clara knelt beside her, her hand gentle on Jay's shoulder.

"Jay, listen to me. You need to breathe. You're having a panic attack. I need you to breathe with me."

"I can't breathe! My chest is too tight! Everything is too tight!"

"Yes, you can. In through your nose for four counts. Hold for four. Out through your mouth for four. With me. Come on."

But Jay couldn't do it. Couldn't slow her breathing. Couldn't calm down. Couldn't do anything except sit on Clara's office floor covered in blood and grass stains and six weeks of accumulated terror finally erupting.

In the living room, Julia was on the phone with Eli.

"Yes, she's here. She's with Clara now. No, I don't know what happened. She showed up covered in blood, completely hysterical, saying something about people trying to hurt Alexia."

Eli's voice came through tinny and concerned. "The match is almost over. Barcelona are winning but only because they're defending with ten players. Alexia will want to come to her as soon as it finishes."

"I know. That's fine. Tell her Jay is safe. She's with us. Clara is with her. We'll take care of her until Alexia can get here."

"Thank you, Julia. I will tell her. And Julia? Whatever is happening with Jay... it is bad, sí? I could see it during the match. Something is very wrong."

"Yes. Something is very wrong. But we're going to help her. We're going to figure out what's been happening and we're going to help her."

In Clara's office, Jay was still spiralling, still shouting, still unable to control the flood of words pouring out after being dammed up for so long.

"They said they'd break her legs! They said they'd end her career! They said she'd pay for dating me! They said they were watching her! Following her! Planning what they'd do! And I believed them! Because people like that don't make empty threats! People who hate that much follow through! So I tried to protect her by keeping her away from me! By pushing her away! By making her go stay at her mother's!"

Clara's voice stayed calm, soothing, trying to anchor Jay. "Jay, I need you to focus on me. I need you to..."

"And now she's out there! Still playing! Still vulnerable! And those messages said someone would go after her if I wasn't there to protect her! Said they'd finish what they started! Said they'd make sure I understood this was all my fault!"

"Jay..."

"And it IS my fault! All of it! If I hadn't celebrated! If I hadn't done that stupid backflip! If I hadn't been arrogant and disrespectful! None of this would have happened! Alexia would be safe! The team wouldn't have to play with ten players! I wouldn't have ruined everything!"

Jay's voice cracked completely, dissolving into sobs that shook her whole body.

"I can't do this anymore! I can't keep pretending I'm okay when I'm not! I can't keep holding it together when everything is falling apart! I can't keep being strong when I'm so fucking scared all the time!"

Clara wrapped her arms around Jay, held her while she broke down completely, six weeks of terror finally finding release.

"I know, cariño. I know. But you're safe now. You're here. You're with me. And we're going to help you. We're going to figure this out together."

"They're going to hurt her," Jay sobbed into Clara's shoulder. "They're going to hurt Alexia and it's my fault."

"No one is going to hurt Alexia. She's at Camp Nou with security everywhere. She's with the team. She's safe."

"You don't know that! You can't promise that! They said..."

"I don't care what they said. Alexia is safe. And you're safe. And we're going to deal with this. Together. Do you understand me?"

But Jay just kept crying, kept shaking, kept breaking apart in Clara's arms.

Outside, the Barcelona night was cooling. The match was ending. The team was leaving the pitch, escorted by heavy security because of the bottle throwing and the hostility.

In the Camp Nou changing room, the team filtered in, sweaty and exhausted and confused about everything that had happened.

Alexia went straight to Jay's locker, expecting to find her there, expecting to finally get some answers about what the hell had been going on.

But the changing room was empty.

No Jay.

Just a locker with the door completely dented, the metal bent inward from repeated impacts, blood smeared across the surface.

Everyone stopped. Stared. The energy in the room shifted from post match exhaustion to concern.

"What happened here?" Mapi asked, her voice quiet.

"Jay happened," Lucy said, crossing to examine the locker more closely. "Look at this. She punched this. Multiple times. Hard enough to dent metal and break skin."

Alexia's hands were shaking as she pulled out her phone, dialling Jay's number.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail.

"Jay, it is me. Where are you? Everyone is worried. Please call me back."

She tried again. Same result.

"Fuck." Alexia looked around at her teammates, all of them watching with varying expressions of concern. "Does anyone know where she went?"

Everyone shook their heads.

Alexia's phone rang. Her mother.

"Mamá? What..."

"Alexia, Jay is at Clara and Julia's apartment. Julia just called me. She showed up there during the match, very upset. Clara is with her now."

Relief and worry crashed through Alexia in equal measure. "Is she okay?"

"I do not know, mija. Julia said she is very distressed. That Clara is trying to calm her down. But she is safe. She is with people who love her."

"I am coming there now."

"Sí, I thought you would say that. Drive carefully."

Alexia hung up, immediately started stripping off her kit, her hands shaking.

"Jay is at Clara and Julia's," she announced to the room. "I am going there now."

"Want me to come with you?" Lucy offered.

"No. I need to do this alone. But thank you."

Alexia changed faster than she'd ever changed in her life, threw her things in her bag, and headed for the door.

She paused only once, looking back at Jay's destroyed locker, at the evidence of her girlfriend's complete breakdown.

Then she was gone, racing through Camp Nou's corridors, to her car, out into the Barcelona night toward Clara and Julia's apartment where Jay was apparently falling apart completely.

Inside that apartment, in Clara's office, Jay was still crying, still shaking, still breaking down after holding everything in for so long.

Clara held her and let her cry, let her release six weeks of accumulated terror, and tried to piece together what had been happening from the fragments Jay was sobbing out.

Death threats. Thousands of them. Targeting Alexia. Vandalism. Stalking. Plans to hurt them. Six weeks of harassment that Jay had been dealing with completely alone.

"We're going to fix this," Clara said firmly, even though she had no idea how. "We're going to report this to the police. To the club. We're going to make sure you and Alexia are safe. But first, you need to calm down enough that you can breathe properly. Can you try that for me?"

Jay nodded against her shoulder, her sobs slowly quieting to hiccupping breaths.

"That's good. That's very good. Now I need you to tell me, as calmly as you can, everything that's been happening. From the beginning. Can you do that?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I can talk about it without..." Jay's breath hitched.

"Without falling apart again? You've already fallen apart, cariño. You're at the bottom now. The only way from here is up. So talk to me. Tell me everything. And we'll figure out how to fix it."

Jay pulled back slightly, wiped at her eyes with her still bleeding hands, and tried to find words for the nightmare she'd been living.

But before she could start, they heard the front door open.

Julia's voice, greeting someone.

Then Alexia's voice, worried and urgent. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

Jay's whole body tensed. "No. No, I can't see her. Not yet. Not like this. I can't..."

"Jay..."

"Please, Clara. Please don't let her see me like this. I can't. I can't do it. Not yet."

Clara looked at Jay's face, pale and tear streaked and terrified and made a decision.

She stood, crossed to her office door, and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door almost closed behind her.

Alexia was in the living room, still in her training pants and Barcelona jacket, her hair pulled back messily, her face creased with worry.

When she saw Clara, she moved forward immediately. "Where is Jay? Is she okay? What happened?"

"She's in my office. And no, she's not okay. She's very far from okay." Clara kept her voice low, calm, professional. "But she's safe. She's here. And I'm working with her."

"I need to see her."

"I know you do. But right now, she's not ready. She's having a severe panic attack and she needs time to calm down before she can talk to you."

"I do not care if she is having a panic attack! She is my girlfriend! I need to see her!"

"Alexia, I understand. But trust me on this. She's not in a state to see you right now. She needs space to process what's happening before she can face you."

Alexia's eyes were filling with tears. "What is happening? What has been happening to her? Why did she destroy her locker? Why did she run here? Why is she falling apart?"

"That's something she needs to tell you herself. But I can tell you that she's been dealing with something very serious for a very long time. Alone. And it's finally caught up with her."

"How long?"

"Six weeks, from what I can gather."

"Six weeks? She has been suffering for six weeks and did not tell anyone?"

"She was trying to protect you. That's all I can tell you right now. The rest has to come from her."

From inside the office, they heard a crash. Something hitting the wall. Jay's voice, muffled but clearly still upset.

Alexia moved toward the office but Clara stepped in front of her.

"Please. Give her time. Give me time to calm her down. Then you can see her. I promise."

Alexia looked like she wanted to argue. To push past Clara and burst into the office. To demand answers.

But she also trusted Clara. Had known her for years. Knew she wouldn't keep Alexia away from Jay unless it was absolutely necessary.

"How much time?" Alexia asked, her voice tight.

"I don't know. An hour maybe. Maybe more. But I will come get you as soon as she's ready. I promise."

Alexia nodded slowly, wiped at her eyes. "Okay. I will wait. But Clara? Please help her. Please. I cannot lose her."

"You're not going to lose her. I promise you that. Now sit. Julia will make you some tea. And try to breathe. Your girlfriend needs you to be calm when you finally do see her."

Clara went back into her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

Jay was pacing again, her hands pulling at her hair, her breathing ragged.

"She's here, isn't she? Alexia's here. I heard her voice."

"She's here. But I told her you need time. That you'll talk to her when you're ready."

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready. How do I tell her everything? How do I explain that I've been lying to her for six weeks? That I put her in danger? That this is all my fault?"

"You start by telling her the truth. By showing her the messages. By letting her understand what you've been dealing with." Clara guided Jay back to the chair, finally got her to sit. "But first, you're going to tell me. Everything. From the beginning. And we're going to make a plan for how to handle this."

Jay looked at her with eyes that were red and swollen from crying, her hands still bleeding, her whole body shaking.

"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. I'll tell you everything."

And finally, after six weeks of holding it all in, Jay started talking.

The kitchen was too quiet.

Julia sat across from Alexia at the small dining table, both of them holding mugs of tea that had long since gone lukewarm. Neither of them had taken more than a sip or two. The tea was just something to hold, something to occupy their hands while they waited for news from Clara's office.

The apartment was silent except for the muffled sound of voices from down the hall. Clara's calm and measured. Jay's rising and falling in waves, sometimes quiet, sometimes loud enough that individual words broke through. Words like "threatened" and "Alexia" and "scared" and "weeks."

Alexia's hands were wrapped so tight around her mug that her knuckles had gone white. Her jaw was clenched, her whole body rigid with the effort of staying in this kitchen instead of bursting into Clara's office and demanding answers.

Julia watched her with concern. She'd known Alexia for years, had watched her relationship with Jay develop from tentative first dates to the deep, committed partnership it had become. Had never seen Alexia look this strained, this close to breaking.

"She will be okay," Julia said quietly, though she wasn't entirely sure she believed it herself. "Clara is very good at what she does. She will help Jay through this."

"Six weeks," Alexia said, her voice hollow. "Clara said Jay has been dealing with something for six weeks. And she did not tell me. Did not tell anyone. Just suffered alone."

"She was trying to protect you. That much is clear."

"By lying to me? By shutting me out? By falling apart while I watched helplessly?" Alexia's voice cracked. "That is not protection. That is torture. For both of us."

Before Julia could respond, something on the table lit up.

Jay's phone.

She'd left it in her bag when she'd run to their apartment, and Julia had set it on the table while trying to figure out what to do with Jay's bloodstained kit and ruined boots.

The screen illuminated, showing a notification preview.

Unknown Number: Hope you die you fucking dyke

Alexia's breath caught. She stared at the notification, her brain struggling to process what she was seeing.

The screen went dark again.

Then lit up with another notification.

Unknown Number: You deserve everything that's coming to you

And another.

Unknown Number: Can't wait to see you suffer

Alexia reached for the phone with shaking hands. "What is this? Who is sending these?"

Julia leaned forward, saw the notifications, and her face went pale. "Dios mío."

The phone lit up again.

Unknown Number: Your girlfriend should have stayed home tonight

Alexia's hands were trembling so badly she almost dropped the phone. She tapped the screen, trying to unlock it, but it was password protected.

She tried Jay's usual code. Her birthday. It didn't work.

Tried Alexia's birthday. Didn't work.

Tried the date they'd started dating. Didn't work.

"Mierda!" Alexia's frustration was building. "I need to see these messages. I need to know what has been happening to her."

"Wait." Julia stood, came around the table. "Try her mother's birthday. She used that for a lot of passwords when she first came to Barcelona."

Alexia tried it. The phone unlocked.

The home screen appeared, and Alexia's stomach dropped.

The notification badges were catastrophic.

Instagram: 43,829 unread messages

Twitter: 27,491 unread messages

Text Messages: 2,193 unread

"Dios mío," Alexia breathed. "Over eighty thousand messages? How is that possible?"

"Open Instagram," Julia said, her voice tight. "Let's see what she's been dealing with."

Alexia tapped the Instagram icon with trembling fingers. The app loaded slowly, struggling under the weight of notifications.

When the messages finally appeared, Alexia started scrolling.

The first one made her stomach turn.

You arrogant puta. Hope someone breaks your legs.

She scrolled up. Another message.

Go back to England you dyke whore. You don't belong in Spain.

Another.

Can't wait to see you back at Mestalla so we can show you what happens to disrespectful cunts like you

Alexia's hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold the phone. She kept scrolling, each message worse than the last.

Hope you tear your ACL

Someone should end your career

Dyke bitch thinks she's untouchable

Wait until we get our hands on you

You made a mistake celebrating like that. We'll teach you respect.

The messages went on and on. Hundreds of them. Thousands. All from different accounts. All saying variations of the same vicious, hateful things.

Alexia felt bile rise in her throat. This was what Jay had been reading? This was what she'd been dealing with? For six weeks?

"Keep scrolling," Julia said quietly, though her face had gone ashen. "We need to see how bad this is."

Alexia kept scrolling, going further back in time. The messages were organised chronologically, newest to oldest, so as she scrolled up she was seeing messages from weeks ago.

Five days ago: Your girlfriend is too good for you. Hope she realises it before you drag her down.

One week ago: Putellas deserves better than an arrogant English dyke

Two weeks ago: When we play you in the Copa, you'll understand what real consequences look like

Then Alexia found the ones that mentioned her specifically.

Three weeks ago: Maybe we should go after Putellas instead. Break her legs. Make you watch.

Her blood ran cold.

"Julia," she whispered. "They were threatening me. They were planning to hurt me."

"Keep reading."

Alexia's hands were shaking so hard she could barely control the phone, but she kept scrolling.

Someone should take out Putellas's ACL. That would teach Jones a lesson.

The girlfriend is the weak point. Get to her and you destroy Jones.

Can't wait to see Jones's face when Putellas goes down injured

Hope someone two foots her in the Copa match

Breaking Putellas's legs would be justice

She'll pay for her dyke girlfriend's arrogance

Alexia couldn't breathe. The kitchen felt too small, the air too thin. These people had been planning to hurt her. To deliberately injure her. To target her legs, her career, everything she'd worked for.

Because of Jay's celebration.

Because Jay had been confident and joyful and dared to show it.

"There's more," Julia said quietly, pointing at the screen. "Keep going."

Alexia scrolled further.

Someone keyed her car yesterday. PUTA across the whole side. Wish I could have seen her face.

"What?" Alexia looked up at Julia, confusion and horror mixing. "Her car? When was her car damaged?"

Julia's face was grim. "I don't know. But if this message is from three days ago..."

Alexia checked the date. The message was from Wednesday. Three days ago.

Jay had told her the car was making weird noises. Had said she was taking it to the mechanic. Had started driving separately to training.

Another lie.

Her car had been vandalised and she hadn't told Alexia. Had hidden it. Had kept it secret along with everything else.

Alexia kept scrolling, her horror growing with each new message.

We know where she lives

Someone should follow her home from training

Her girlfriend leaves the training ground at 2pm every day. Same route. Very predictable.

Wonder how hard it would be to get into their building

I saw them at a restaurant in Eixample last week. They go there all the time. Would be easy to find them again.

These weren't just hate messages. These were people actively stalking them. Documenting their movements. Planning real world contact.

"Dios mío," Alexia breathed, her whole body shaking now. "They were following us. Watching us. Planning..."

"Keep going," Julia said, though her own hands were clenched into fists. "We need to see all of it."

Alexia scrolled back further, to messages from right after the Copa draw was announced.

Two weeks until we see her again

Copa quarter final at Camp Nou. We'll be there.

Someone should coordinate throwing things during warm ups

I bought tickets in Section 104. Right behind the away bench. I'll make sure she sees me.

The girlfriend is playing too. Someone should send a midfielder to take her out. Make Jones watch.

If we can't get to Jones, we get to Putellas. Same result.

That last one was from two weeks ago. Two weeks of Jay knowing that people were planning to hurt Alexia during the match.

Two weeks of carrying that knowledge alone.

Two weeks of trying to protect Alexia by keeping her in the dark.

Alexia's vision blurred with tears. She scrolled faster now, going all the way back to the beginning, to right after the Valencia match six weeks ago.

The messages then were mostly just insults. Calling Jay arrogant, disrespectful, a disgrace. Crude homophobic slurs. General rage at the celebration.

But within days, they'd escalated. Specific threats of violence. Descriptions of what people wanted to do to her. Fantasies about her getting injured.

And within two weeks, they'd started targeting Alexia. Using her as a weapon against Jay. Threatening to hurt her to punish Jay.

Alexia set the phone down on the table with shaking hands. She couldn't read anymore. Couldn't absorb more hatred, more threats, more evidence of the nightmare Jay had been living through.

"Six weeks," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She has been dealing with this for six weeks. Thousands of death threats. People planning to hurt me. Stalking us. Vandalising her car. And she did not tell me. Did not tell anyone."

"She was trying to protect you," Julia said gently.

"By suffering alone? By reading this every day? By letting it destroy her?" Alexia's voice rose, anger mixing with the horror. "Look at these messages, Julia! Look at how many there are! She was reading thousands of messages telling her people wanted to hurt her! Wanted to hurt me! And she just... kept it all inside? Kept pretending everything was fine?"

"She did not know what else to do. When you are drowning, you do not always make good decisions about how to save yourself."

Alexia wiped at her tears roughly. "The car. When did her car get damaged? Why did she hide it from me?"

"I don't know. But we can ask her when..."

The phone lit up again with new messages coming in.

Unknown Number: Saw she got sent off. Perfect. Exactly what we wanted.

Unknown Number: Now she's suspended. Can't protect her girlfriend in the next match.

Unknown Number: This is just the beginning. We're not done with either of them.

Alexia felt sick. Even now, even after the match, the messages were still coming. The harassment wasn't stopping.

"We need to report this," Julia said firmly. "To the police. To the club. This is criminal harassment. This is stalking. This is serious."

"I know. But first..." Alexia looked toward the hallway, toward Clara's office where Jay was finally, finally telling someone what had been happening. "First I need to talk to her. I need to understand why she thought she had to handle this alone. Why she could not trust me enough to tell me."

From down the hall, they heard Clara's voice, calm and measured, followed by Jay's response, quieter now, exhausted, the rage burned out leaving only devastation.

Julia reached across the table, took Alexia's hand. "When you talk to her, remember that she was terrified. That she was trying to protect you in the only way she knew how. That she was not thinking clearly because she was drowning in fear."

"I know. I just..." Alexia's voice broke. "I wish she had trusted me. I wish she had let me help her."

"She loves you. That is why she did not tell you. She loves you so much that she would rather destroy herself than risk something happening to you."

"That is not love. That is self destruction."

"Sometimes they look the same."

They sat in silence for a long moment, Jay's phone dark on the table between them, containing evidence of six weeks of harassment that neither of them had known about.

Finally, the office door opened.

Clara emerged, her face drawn and tired. She looked at Alexia and Julia, taking in the phone on the table, the tear stained faces, the horror in their eyes.

"You found the messages," she said quietly.

"Sí." Alexia's voice was rough. "We found them. Is that... is that what she has been dealing with? Thousands of messages like that?"

"Yes. And worse. There are things she told me that aren't in the messages. Things she's been too afraid to tell anyone." Clara crossed to the table, sat down heavily. "She's been carrying this alone for six weeks. Reading every message. Cataloging every threat. Trying to assess which ones were serious. Trying to protect you by keeping you away from her."

"The car?" Alexia asked. "When was her car vandalised?"

"Wednesday. Three days ago. Someone keyed 'puta' into the passenger side at a sponsor meeting. She hid it from you by parking it so you couldn't see the damage."

"Dios mío."

"She was going to tell you everything after the match. That was her plan. Get through the match, keep you safe during it, and then finally admit what had been happening." Clara's voice was gentle but firm. "But things did not go according to plan."

"Because they went after me during the match. Just like the messages said they would." Alexia's hands clenched into fists. "And Jay lost control trying to protect me."

"Yes. And now she is in my office, completely broken, convinced that everything is her fault. That she has destroyed her career, her relationship with you, everything." Clara met Alexia's eyes. "She needs you. But she is also terrified to face you. Terrified that when you know the truth, you will leave her."

"I would never leave her!"

"I know that. You know that. But right now, Jay's trauma brain is in control. And her trauma brain is telling her that she is poison, that everyone she loves gets hurt because of her, that she deserves to be abandoned."

Alexia stood up, her whole body vibrating with the need to go to Jay. "I need to see her. Now. Please."

Clara studied her face for a long moment. "She is very fragile right now. She has finally broken down after holding everything together for so long. So when you go in there, I need you to be gentle. I need you to listen more than you talk. I need you to..."

"I know how to talk to the woman I love," Alexia interrupted, her voice firm despite the tears still streaming down her face. "Please. Let me see her."

Clara stood, nodded. "Okay. But Alexia? Whatever happens in there, remember that she was trying to protect you. She made bad choices, yes. But they came from love. From terror of losing you."

"I understand."

Clara led her down the hallway to the office door. Before opening it, she turned back to Alexia one more time.

"Be gentle with her," she said again. "She is more broken right now than I have ever seen her. And I have known her for years, through some very dark times. This is the worst."

Alexia nodded, not trusting her voice.

Clara opened the door.

Jay was sitting in the chair, hunched over with her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. Her kit was still grass stained and bloody. Her hands were wrapped in bandages now, Clara must have cleaned and dressed her wounds while they talked. Her whole body was shaking.

When the door opened, Jay looked up.

Her face was devastated. Eyes red and swollen from crying. Cheeks tear streaked. Expression so broken that Alexia felt her heart crack clean in half.

"Ale," Jay whispered, her voice wrecked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And Alexia, despite everything... the lies, the fear, the six weeks of watching Jay fall apart without understanding why, crossed the room and pulled her girlfriend into her arms.

Jay collapsed into her immediately, her whole body shaking with sobs that she'd been trying to hold back, her face buried in Alexia's shoulder, her bandaged hands fisting in Alexia's training jacket like she was afraid Alexia might disappear if she let go.

"I'm sorry," Jay gasped between sobs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Ale. I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry for everything."

Alexia held her tighter, one hand in Jay's hair, the other wrapped around her back, feeling every tremor that ran through her girlfriend's body. She could feel how much weight Jay had lost, could feel her ribs too prominent under her kit, could feel how completely wrecked she was.

"Shh," Alexia murmured, pressing kisses to Jay's hair, her temple, anywhere she could reach. "Breathe, amor. Just breathe. I am here. I am not going anywhere."

"I thought they were going to hurt you," Jay sobbed. "I thought they were going to break your legs. I thought they were going to end your career and it would be my fault. All my fault because I celebrated. Because I did that stupid backflip. Because I was arrogant and disrespectful and..."

"Stop." Alexia pulled back just enough to cup Jay's face in her hands, forcing her to make eye contact. "You were not arrogant. You were not disrespectful. You scored three goals and you celebrated. That is not a crime. That is not something you should be punished for."

"But they hated me for it. Thousands of them. They wanted to hurt me. They wanted to hurt you." Jay's voice cracked. "And I couldn't tell you because what if telling you made it worse? What if they found out you knew and decided to escalate? What if trying to protect you just painted a bigger target on your back?"

"So instead you read every single message? You absorbed all that hatred alone? You carried all that fear by yourself for six weeks?" Alexia's thumbs wiped at the tears streaming down Jay's face. "Bebe, that was not protecting me. That was destroying yourself."

"I didn't know what else to do! I couldn't make them stop! I couldn't control it! All I could control was keeping you away from it! Keeping you safe by keeping you in the dark!"

"I was not safe. I was terrified. I was watching you fall apart and I did not understand why. I was losing you piece by piece and I could not stop it because you would not tell me what was wrong."

Jay's face crumpled. "I know. I know I hurt you. I know I pushed you away. I know I ruined everything."

"You did not ruin everything. But you did hurt me. And we need to talk about that. We need to talk about all of it." Alexia glanced back at Clara, who was standing by the door giving them space. "Can we have some privacy?"

"Of course." Clara moved toward the door. "I will be in the living room if you need me. Take all the time you need."

She left, closing the door softly behind her.

Alexia guided Jay to the small sofa against the wall in Clara's office, sat down, and pulled Jay down beside her. For a moment they just sat there, Alexia's arms around Jay, both of them breathing together, trying to find some equilibrium.

Finally, Alexia spoke. "I saw the messages."

Jay's whole body went rigid. "What?"

"Your phone. It was on the table in the kitchen. It kept lighting up with new messages. So I unlocked it and I looked." Alexia's voice was gentle but firm. "I saw thousands of them, Jay. Thousands of people telling you they wanted to hurt you. Telling you they wanted to hurt me. Planning what they would do during the match."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"I am not sorry. I am glad I saw it. Because now I understand. Now I know why you have been falling apart. Why you could not sleep. Why you could not eat. Why you kept checking your phone like it was going to explode." Alexia pulled back enough to look at Jay's face. "But bebe, why did you not show me sooner? Why did you think you had to carry this alone?"

Jay's hands were shaking where they rested on her thighs. "Because I was scared. Because I thought if I told you, you would want to report it. And if we reported it, they would know. And if they knew we'd reported them, they might escalate. Might actually follow through on the threats instead of just talking about them online."

"Or reporting it might have stopped them. Might have gotten them arrested. Might have protected both of us."

"Maybe. But I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk the possibility that telling someone would make things worse. Would put you in more danger." Jay's voice broke. "And the messages about you, Ale. The ones threatening to hurt you. Those were the worst ones. Those were the ones that kept me up at night. Because I can handle people wanting to hurt me. I've dealt with that my whole life. But people wanting to hurt you because of me? Because of something I did? I couldn't... I couldn't handle that."

"So you tried to protect me by pushing me away."

"Yeah. I thought if you were at your mother's house, if we weren't living together, if there was distance between us, maybe you'd be safer. Maybe they wouldn't target you as much if we weren't together all the time."

"That is not how this works. That is not how any of this works." Alexia's voice was thick with tears. "We are partners. We face things together. You do not get to decide unilaterally to protect me by lying to me. By shutting me out."

"I know. I know that now. But at the time, all I could think about was keeping you safe. Even if it meant destroying our relationship. Even if it meant you hating me. As long as you were safe, I could live with that."

"I could never hate you."

"Even after I lied to you for six weeks? Even after I pushed you away? Even after I made you move out because I was too scared to tell you the truth?"

"I do not hate you. I am angry, yes. I am hurt that you did not trust me enough to tell me what was happening. But I do not hate you. I love you. Even when you make terrible decisions. Even when you lie to try to protect me. Even when you are being an idiot." Alexia cupped Jay's face again, made sure she was listening. "I love you. That has not changed. That will not change. Do you understand me?"

"I don't deserve you."

"Stop saying that. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to have someone who stands by you when things are hard. You deserve a partner who helps you carry the weight instead of watching you collapse under it alone."

Jay's tears were falling faster now, silent and steady. "I'm so sorry I didn't let you help me. I'm sorry I tried to handle everything alone. I'm sorry I was so fucking scared that I couldn't think straight."

"I know. And we are going to work through that. We are going to talk about all of it. But first, I need you to understand something." Alexia's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "You are never doing this again. You are never hiding something this big from me again. You are never carrying something this heavy alone again. From now on, when something is wrong, you tell me. Immediately. Even if you think it will make things worse. Even if you think you are protecting me. You tell me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Say it. Tell me you understand."

"I understand. No more hiding. No more trying to protect you by lying. When something is wrong, I tell you."

"Good." Alexia pulled her close again, held her tight. "Now tell me everything. From the beginning. I want to hear it from you. All of it."

Jay took a shaking breath. "It started the night of the Valencia match. I checked my phone after the game and there were thousands of notifications already. At first it was just people calling me arrogant, saying I was disrespectful for celebrating like that. Homophobic stuff. General rage. And I told myself it would blow over. That people would forget about it in a few days and move on."

"But they did not forget."

"No. They didn't forget. It got worse. Within days people were making specific threats. Describing exactly how they wanted me to get injured. What tackles they hoped would end my career. Graphic descriptions of violence. And I tried to ignore it at first. Tried to just delete the messages without reading them. But I couldn't help myself. I kept looking. Kept reading every single one."

"Why? Why did you keep reading them when they were hurting you?"

"Because I needed to know how bad it was. Needed to understand the scope of the threat. Needed to catalog who was saying what so I could... I don't know. Prepare myself. Protect myself." Jay's voice was hollow. "It's a trauma response. When you grow up never knowing when the next bad thing is going to happen, you become hypervigilant. You look for threats everywhere. You try to stay ahead of the danger by understanding it completely."

"But reading thousands of death threats is not understanding the danger. It is drowning in it."

"I know that now. But at the time, I thought I was being smart. Thought I was staying informed. Thought if I knew exactly what they were planning, I could prevent it somehow." Jay's hands twisted together. "And then they started mentioning you. Started saying they'd hurt you to punish me. That you'd pay for my arrogance. That breaking your legs would teach me a lesson. And that's when I really lost it. That's when I stopped sleeping entirely. Because I could handle threats against me. But threats against you? I couldn't... I couldn't function with that."

"When did the threats against me start?"

"About three weeks ago. Right after the Copa draw was announced. Suddenly all the messages shifted. Instead of just wanting to hurt me, they were planning to hurt you. They were saying that you were the weak point. That getting to me through you would be more effective than going after me directly."

Alexia felt sick. Three weeks. Jay had been carrying that knowledge for three weeks. Three weeks of knowing people wanted to hurt Alexia and trying to protect her by keeping her in the dark.

"And the car? When did they vandalise your car?"

"Wednesday. Three days ago. I had a sponsor meeting with Nike. When I came back to the parking garage, someone had keyed 'puta' into the entire passenger side. Deep gouges. Deliberate. They'd spent real time on it." Jay's voice was shaking. "And there was a message about it already. Posted before I even found it. Which meant they'd done it. Or someone they were coordinating with had done it. It wasn't just online anymore. It was real. They could get to my car. They knew where I'd be. They were escalating."

"Why did you not tell me? Why did you hide it?"

"Because if I told you about the car, you'd want to see it. And if you saw it, you'd have questions. And if you asked questions, I'd have to tell you about the messages. And if I told you about the messages, you'd want to report them. And I was terrified that reporting them would make everything worse." Jay was crying again, tears streaming down her face. "So I just parked it so you couldn't see the damage. Told you it was making weird noises. Lied again. Added another lie to the pile."

"The lies were piling up. I could feel you slipping away from me. Every day you got more distant. More closed off. More afraid." Alexia's own tears were falling now. "And I did not know how to reach you. I tried everything. I asked you what was wrong. I gave you space. I offered support. I called Clara. I invited her and Julia for dinner to try to get you to open up. Nothing worked. You just kept lying. Kept saying you were fine when clearly you were not."

"I know. I know I was a terrible girlfriend. I know I hurt you. I know I made you feel helpless and scared and confused." Jay's voice broke completely. "And I hate myself for it. I hate that I put you through that. I hate that I was so consumed by my own fear that I couldn't see what I was doing to you."

"I do not want you to hate yourself. I want you to understand why you cannot do this again. Why you cannot carry things alone. Why you have to trust me enough to let me help you." Alexia wiped at her own tears. "When I left, when you let me go stay at my mother's without fighting for me to stay, I thought you did not love me anymore. I thought maybe you wanted space from our relationship. Wanted distance from me."

"No! God, no, Ale. That wasn't it at all. I was trying to keep you safe. I thought if you were at your mother's, if we had physical distance, maybe you'd be less of a target. Maybe the people threatening you would back off if they saw we weren't together as much."

"But we were still together. Still in a relationship. Still in love. The distance did not protect me. It just made both of us miserable."

"I know. I see that now. But at the time, I was so deep in the fear that I couldn't think straight. All I could think about was the messages. The threats. The countdown to the match. The promises that they were going to hurt you." Jay's breathing was getting faster again, panic creeping back in. "And tonight, during the match, they did exactly what they said they would. They sent that midfielder after you. Four times. Four deliberate dangerous tackles aimed at your legs. And the ref did nothing. Just let it happen. Let them try to injure you."

"And you lost control trying to protect me."

"Yeah. I saw her go after you again and something in me just... snapped. I didn't think. Didn't calculate consequences. I just reacted. Went in studs up because I needed her to stop. Needed to make sure she couldn't hurt you again." Jay's voice was shaking. "And I know that was wrong. I know I shouldn't have done it. I know I let the team down. But in that moment, all I could think about was protecting you. Even if it meant destroying my career. Even if it meant getting banned for multiple matches. Even if it meant ruining everything."

"You did not ruin everything. You got sent off. You will be suspended. But you did not ruin everything." Alexia's hands found Jay's, held them gently despite the bandages. "But bebe, you cannot protect me by getting yourself sent off. You cannot protect me by destroying yourself. That is not how this works."

"I know. I know that logically. But in the moment, logic wasn't available. Just fear. Just rage. Just the need to make sure nothing happened to you."

They sat in silence for a long moment, both of them crying, both of them processing everything that had been said.

Finally, Alexia spoke again. "The messages are still coming. I saw new ones while I was in the kitchen. People celebrating that you got sent off. Saying it was exactly what they wanted. That they planned it."

Jay's face went pale. "They planned it? The messages said that?"

"Sí. They said they deliberately went after me knowing you would react. Knowing you would get yourself sent off. They planned the whole thing to get you suspended."

"Fuck." Jay's hands went to her hair, pulled. "Fuck. They played me perfectly. They knew exactly what buttons to push. Knew that if they went after you, I'd lose control. And I fell for it. Did exactly what they wanted."

"You were trying to protect me."

"And instead I got myself banned for multiple matches. Let the team down. Proved to everyone that I can't control my emotions. Gave them exactly what they wanted." Jay's voice was thick with self loathing. "I'm such an idiot."

"You are not an idiot. You are someone who was terrorised for six weeks and finally reached your breaking point." Alexia pulled Jay's hands away from her hair, held them firmly. "And now we are going to fix this. Together. We are going to report these messages to the police. To the club. We are going to make sure you and I are both safe. We are going to get you the help you need to process the trauma of what you have been through. And we are going to do it together. Not with you carrying everything alone. Together. Do you understand?"

"What if reporting it makes it worse?"

"It cannot get worse than this, bebe. You have been reading death threats for six weeks. They vandalised your car. They coordinated a plan to get you sent off during a match. They have been stalking us. Taking pictures of us. Planning real-world contact. It is already as bad as it can be. Reporting it can only help."

"But what if they find out we reported them? What if they retaliate?"

"Then we will deal with that too. With security. With police protection if necessary. With the club's resources. With lawyers if we need them." Alexia's voice was fierce now, protective. "But we are not dealing with it alone. We are not suffering in silence. We are not letting these people terrorise us anymore. Do you understand me?"

Jay nodded slowly, exhaustion written across every line of her face. "Okay. Okay, you're right. We'll report it. We'll tell the club. We'll do whatever we need to do to make this stop."

"Good. But first, we are going to get you cleaned up. We are going to get your hands properly treated by actual medical professionals, not just Clara's first aid. We are going to get you out of that bloody kit and into clean clothes. And we are going to get you to eat something and drink some water because I am willing to bet you have not done either of those things today."

"I ate toast this morning."

"That was fourteen hours ago. You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"I do not care. You are going to eat anyway." Alexia stood, pulled Jay to her feet. "Come on. Up. We are going to Julia's bathroom. You are going to wash your face. And then we are going to figure out the next steps."

She guided Jay down the hallway to the bathroom, turned on the light, and got a good look at her girlfriend in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Jay looked terrible. Worse than Alexia had realised in the softer lighting of Clara's office. Her face was pale and gaunt, the weight loss evident in her hollow cheeks and sharp cheekbones. The dark circles under her eyes were so pronounced they looked like bruises. Her hands were bandaged but blood was already seeping through in places where she'd clearly reopened wounds by gesturing while talking. Her kit was covered in grass stains and dried blood from the tackle she'd taken to her shin.

She looked like someone who'd been through a war.

Which, in a way, she had been.

"Sit," Alexia directed, pointing to the closed toilet lid.

Jay sat obediently, too exhausted to argue.

Alexia wet a washcloth with warm water and gently cleaned Jay's face, wiping away the tear tracks and the dried sweat and the grime from the match. Jay closed her eyes and let herself be taken care of, her whole body relaxing slightly under Alexia's gentle touch.

"When is the last time you actually slept?" Alexia asked softly, wiping carefully around Jay's eyes.

"I slept the other afternoon. For like twelve hours. You found me and put a blanket over me."

"And before that?"

"I don't know. A few hours here and there. Not much."

"How long has it been since you slept through a full night?"

"Six weeks. Since the Valencia match. Since the messages started."

Alexia's hands paused. "You have not slept properly in six weeks?"

"No. I'd fall asleep for a few hours and then wake up and check my phone and see new messages and then I couldn't fall back asleep. So I'd just lie there staring at the ceiling or go for a run or sit on the balcony until it was time to pretend to be okay again."

"Bebe, that is not sustainable. No one can function on that little sleep."

"I know. That's why I was falling apart. Why I couldn't focus at training. Why I kept making mistakes. Why I eventually lost it completely and got myself sent off." Jay opened her eyes, looked at Alexia with an expression so defeated it made Alexia's chest ache. "My brain doesn't work right when I'm that sleep deprived. I can't regulate my emotions. Can't think clearly. Can't make good decisions. But I couldn't make myself sleep when I knew there were new threats coming in. Couldn't rest when I was so scared."

"I know. I understand. But that ends now. Tonight, you are sleeping. We are going to go home, we are going to get you into clean clothes and into bed, and you are going to sleep. And I am going to be right there with you. And tomorrow we will deal with everything else."

"What if I can't sleep? What if my brain won't turn off?"

"Then we will deal with that too. We will call your doctor if necessary. Get you something to help you sleep. But you are not spending another night awake and terrified. That ends tonight."

Alexia finished cleaning Jay's face, then carefully unwrapped the bandages on her hands to assess the damage.

The knuckles were split open, deep cuts from punching metal. They'd stopped bleeding but they needed proper medical attention.

"These need stitches," Alexia said, her voice tight.

"They're fine."

"They are not fine. You punched your locker hard enough to dent metal. You probably have fractured bones. We need to take you to the hospital."

"I'm not going to the hospital."

"Jay..."

"Please. I can't deal with a hospital right now. I can't sit in an emergency room for hours while they ask me questions about how this happened. I just... I can't." Jay's voice was pleading. "Can we just bandage them for tonight and deal with it tomorrow? Please?"

Alexia wanted to argue. Wanted to insist on proper medical care immediately. But Jay looked so exhausted, so wrung out, that she couldn't bring herself to push.

"Okay. Tomorrow. First thing. We are taking you to the team doctor and getting your hands properly examined. But tonight, we will just clean them and rebandage them." Alexia found the first aid kit under Julia's sink and carefully cleaned Jay's knuckles again, applied antibiotic ointment, and wrapped them in fresh bandages. "There. Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Ale."

"Do not thank me. I am your girlfriend. Taking care of you when you are hurt is my job." Alexia finished with the second hand, secured the bandage. "Now come on. We are going to tell Clara and Julia that we are leaving. And then we are going home."

They emerged from the bathroom to find Clara and Julia waiting in the living room. Both of them looked up when Jay and Alexia appeared, their faces creased with concern.

"Are you okay?" Clara asked Jay gently.

"No. But I will be. Eventually." Jay's voice was rough but steadier than it had been. "Thank you for letting me fall apart in your office. For listening. For helping me start to process this."

"That is what I am here for, cariño. And we are not done. You and I will be having many more conversations about this. About the trauma you have been through. About healthier coping mechanisms. About learning to ask for help before you reach crisis point."

"I know. I'll call you tomorrow. Set up a proper appointment."

"Good. And Jay? Please take care of yourself tonight. Sleep. Eat. Let Alexia help you. You do not have to be strong right now. You can just be broken and let the people who love you hold the pieces until you are ready to put yourself back together."

Jay nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

Julia stood, crossed to Jay, and pulled her into a hug. "We love you. We are here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, you call us. Sí?"

"Sí. Thank you, Jules."

"And tomorrow we are reporting those messages. All of them. To the club, to the police, to whoever needs to see them. This stops now."

"Okay. Tomorrow."

Alexia guided Jay toward the door, paused to hug Clara and Julia. "Thank you for taking care of her. For calling me. For everything."

"Of course," Clara said. "Now take her home. Make sure she eats something. And try to get her to sleep."

"I will. Goodnight."

They left the apartment, took the elevator down to the street level. Alexia's car was parked a block away.

The Barcelona night was cool and quiet, the streets mostly empty at this late hour. The match would be over by now. The team would be heading home. The fans would be dispersing through the city.

And Jay was walking through it all in her bloody Barcelona kit, bandaged hands, exhaustion in every line of her body.

Alexia unlocked the car, helped Jay into the passenger seat even though Jay was perfectly capable of getting in herself. But Jay let herself be helped, too tired to maintain any pretense of being okay.

The drive home was silent. Alexia focused on the road, her hands tight on the wheel. Jay stared out the window, watching Barcelona pass by in a blur of lights.

When they pulled into their building's underground garage, Jay finally spoke.

"I'm scared to go inside."

"Why?"

"Because being in our apartment without being terrified is going to feel strange. Because I've spent six weeks associating our home with fear and checking my phone and lying to you. Because I don't know how to just... exist there normally anymore."

"Then we will learn together. We will make it feel safe again. We will make it feel like home again instead of a place where you suffered." Alexia turned off the car, turned to face Jay. "But we have to go inside eventually. And tonight, you are exhausted and you need to sleep in your own bed. So come on. Let's go home."

They rode the elevator up in silence, Alexia's hand firm in Jay's.

When Alexia unlocked their apartment door, Jay stood in the doorway for a moment, just looking.

Everything was exactly as she'd left it this morning. Coffee mugs in the sink. The sofa where she'd slept last night. The bedroom visible down the hall.

Home.

But it didn't feel like home. It felt like a crime scene. Like evidence of six weeks of suffering.

"Come on," Alexia said gently, tugging her inside. "Shower first. Then food. Then bed."

She guided Jay to the bathroom, turned on the shower to let it warm up, and started helping Jay out of her kit.

The jersey came off first, grass stained and bloody, revealing the sports bra underneath. Then Jay's boots and socks, her shins still marked with the stud wounds from the tackle she'd taken. Then her shorts.

Jay stood there in just her sports bra and underwear, swaying slightly on her feet, so exhausted she could barely stay upright.

"Can you shower yourself or do you need help?" Alexia asked.

"I can do it."

"Okay. I will be right outside. If you need me, call."

Jay nodded, stepped into the shower, and let the hot water wash away the blood and the grass stains and some of the tension.

She stood under the spray for a long time, her hands flat against the tile wall, her head bowed, just letting the water run over her.

In the bedroom, Alexia was stripping the bed. The sheets needed to be changed anyway… Jay had been sleeping on the sofa for days and the bed probably smelled stale.

She put on fresh sheets, found Jay's favorite soft pajamas and laid them out, turned down the covers.

When Jay emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, wrapped in a towel and looking slightly more human, Alexia was waiting with the pajamas.

"Here. Put these on. I will make you something to eat."

"I'm really not hungry."

"I do not care. You are eating anyway. Even if it is just toast and tea. You need something in your stomach."

Jay was too tired to argue. She pulled on the pyjamas the soft cotton pants and one of Alexia's hoodies that Jay had stolen months ago - and followed Alexia to the kitchen.

Alexia made toast and scrambled eggs and tea, set it all in front of Jay at the kitchen counter.

"Eat."

Jay picked at the food, managed a few bites of egg, half a piece of toast. It was more than she'd eaten in days and Alexia counted it as a win.

When Jay couldn't manage any more, Alexia cleared the plates and guided her to the bedroom.

The fresh sheets smelled like lavender fabric softener. The pillows were fluffed. The room was warm and dark and safe.

Jay climbed into bed and Alexia climbed in beside her, pulled her close, let Jay settle with her head on Alexia's chest.

"Try to sleep," Alexia murmured, her fingers in Jay's hair, tracing soothing patterns. "I am here. I am not going anywhere. You are safe. Just sleep."

"What if I can't? What if my brain won't turn off?"

"Then we will lie here together until morning. But try. Please try."

Jay closed her eyes. Focused on Alexia's heartbeat under her ear. On the steady rhythm of her breathing. On the fingers in her hair. On the warmth of being held.

For the first time in six weeks, she felt safe enough to let go.

Her breathing evened out. Her body relaxed. The tension finally drained away.

And within minutes, she was asleep.

Alexia lay there holding her, feeling the weight of Jay's body completely relaxed against her, hearing the deep even breaths that meant actual sleep not just exhausted half-consciousness.

Her girlfriend was broken. Her relationship was damaged. There was so much to deal with tomorrow… police reports and club meetings and doctors and therapy and figuring out how to feel safe again.

But tonight, Jay was sleeping. Really sleeping. In Alexia's arms. Safe and warm and finally, finally able to rest.

And that was enough.

That was everything.

Alexia pressed a kiss to Jay's hair and let herself cry quietly, releasing the tension of six weeks of watching Jay fall apart without understanding why.

Tomorrow they would start fixing things.

Tonight, they would just rest.

Together.

Finally together instead of separated by lies and fear and the weight of things left unsaid.

It was a start.

It wasn't enough, but it was a start.

And sometimes that's all you could ask for.

"Two more minutes," Marcus said, the liar.

"You said that five minutes ago."

"Did I?" He checked his stopwatch with performative surprise. "How time flies."

"I hate you."

"Yes, but your hamstrings will thank me tomorrow." He dumped in another bag. "Big match. Spain. You'll want to be sharp."

YN sank deeper into the bath, let the cold water hit her shoulders, and tried very hard not to think about Spain. About the fixture list that had been announced three weeks ago. About the roster release that came two days later.

Spain's squad for November internationals: M. León (Barcelona)...

She'd read the name seventeen times before Leah physically removed the phone from her hand.

"Right then," Marcus said, checking his watch with the air of a man who enjoyed his job far too much. "Time's up. Let's get you vertical before you go hypothermic."

The hotel lobby was the kind of aggressively beige that all FA-mandated accommodations seemed to aspire to: neutral carpet, neutral walls, a front desk staffed by neutral people who'd seen it all and cared about none of it. YN nodded at the receptionist—Sandra? Sarah?—who was deeply invested in her computer screen and didn't look up.

YN's hair dripped steadily onto her England jacket. She should've dried it properly. Should've stayed for the optional film session Leah tried to drag her to. Should've done a lot of things that weren't currently standing in this lobby at half-ten at night, exhausted and anxious and trying to convince herself that the tightness in her chest was just lingering cold from the ice bath.

Her phone buzzed.

Leah: Team bonding in Rach's room. Bronzy's doing impressions of Sarina. You're missing art.

YN: Headache. Rain check?

Leah: You've had a headache for three weeks

YN: It's a very persistent headache

Leah: Right.

The typing dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Finally:

Leah: You know where I am if you need me yeah?

YN's throat did something complicated. Leah knew. Of course Leah knew—they'd been at Arsenal together for six years, had come through the academy as teenagers, shared flats and post-match debriefs and the kind of late-night conversations that happened after too much wine and too little sleep. Leah had been there for the Summer YN Didn't Talk About. Had never asked for details, but had somehow known exactly when to show up with takeaway and when to leave her alone.

YN: Yeah. Love you.

Leah: Love you too. Drink water. Sleep. Try not to overthink.

YN pocketed her phone and headed for the elevators, already catastrophically failing at the third instruction.

The doors opened immediately—small mercies—and she stepped into the empty car with the relief of an introvert who'd survived a social gauntlet. Hit the button for eight. Let her head fall back against the mirrored wall and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow. Wembley. Eighty-thousand people. Spain.

Don't think about it don't think about it don't—

The doors started to slide shut.

A hand shot through the gap.

Tattooed. Geometric patterns spiraling up the forearm, disappearing under the sleeve of a black hoodie.

YN's stomach didn't drop. It evacuated. Abandoned ship. Left her body entirely.

She knew that hand.

The doors slid back open and Mapi León stepped into the elevator.

Time did something funny.

Slowed down and sped up simultaneously, like a video buffering and skipping frames. YN saw everything in fractured hyperdetail: the new silver hoop in Mapi's right nostril. The sharper angle of her cheekbones. The way her hair was pulled back into a low bun, a few shorter pieces escaping around her temples. Barcelona training kit—the joggers YN had seen in approximately eight hundred Instagram posts she absolutely had not been looking at.

Mapi stepped in. Turned to face the doors. Didn't look at her.

The elevator closed.

The silence was so loud YN could hear the mechanical hum of the car, the distant sound of someone's TV through the walls, her own heartbeat doing something arrhythmic and concerning in her chest.

Mapi didn't press a button.

Floor three lit up on the display.

YN stared at it like it might save her. Focused on the numbers with the intensity of a woman trying to decode the universe. Four. The elevator rose. She could see Mapi in her peripheral vision, in the reflection on the metal doors—could see her grip the handrail mounted on the wall, knuckles going pale.

There was a swallow tattooed on her wrist. Mid-flight.

YN dragged her eyes back to the numbers.

Floor five.

She was not thinking about the last time they'd been in an elevator together. The W Hotel, Barcelona, 2 AM, YN's back against the mirror and Mapi's mouth on her neck and the doors opening on the seventh floor to a very startled elderly couple who'd tactfully pretended not to see anything—

Floor six.

"Still biting your nails before big matches?"

Mapi's voice hit like a gut punch. Lower than YN remembered, raspier, with that slight Zaragoza accent that rounded her vowels and did something to YN's equilibrium.

YN's hand—which had somehow migrated to her mouth completely without her permission, thumbnail caught between her teeth—dropped like she'd been burned.

She didn't answer. Couldn't. Kept her eyes fixed on the display as seven appeared.

"That's not—" The words came out defensive, sharp. YN cut herself off. Regrouped. Found something like composure in the wreckage of her nervous system. "Don't."

Floor eight appeared on the display.

"Don't what?" Mapi's voice was quieter now. Careful.

"You know what."

The elevator dinged. Cheerful. Oblivious. The doors slid open onto the eighth floor hallway with its terrible geometric carpet and warm lighting that was trying very hard to be calming and failing spectacularly.

Neither of them moved.

YN could hear everything. The hum of the ice machine down the hall. Muffled laughter from one of the rooms. The sound of her own breathing, too fast, too shallow. And Mapi—she could feel Mapi standing there, two feet away, close enough that YN could smell her soap. Different now. Woodsy, cedar maybe, not the citrus body wash she'd used that summer, the one that had smelled like Spanish oranges and sunshine and—

"You don't get to do that," YN said. Her voice came out quieter than she intended. She was still staring straight ahead, at freedom, at the open doors, at her escape route. "Pretend you know me."

"I don't have to pretend."

The words landed like a physical thing. YN's head turned before her brain could stop it—some betrayal of muscle memory, of four years of training herself not to look and failing in the first thirty seconds—and then they were looking at each other.

Properly looking.

For the first time in four years.

Mapi's eyes were exactly the same. That specific shade of brown that looked amber in certain light, darker in others. YN had spent an entire summer cataloguing those variations. Honey-colored in morning sun. Almost black at night. Golden in the hours before dawn when they'd finally run out of words and just looked at each other across rumpled hotel sheets.

"Yeah?" YN heard herself say. Her voice sounded foreign. "Tell me one thing, then. One real thing you know about me now."

Something complicated moved across Mapi's face. Her grip on the handrail tightened—YN tracked the movement, saw the flex of tendon and muscle under skin and ink.

"You changed your boots."

YN blinked. "What?"

"Mercurials to Phantoms. Two seasons ago." Mapi's eyes dropped, just for a second, to YN's feet in their team-issue slides. When they came back up, there was something raw in them. "You always said you never would. Said the Mercurials were perfect for your play style, that you'd wear them until they stopped making them."

The elevator started beeping. Aggressive little chirps because they were holding the doors, because the universe was insisting they move, make a choice, do something.

YN stepped out into the hallway.

Made it three steps before her body staged a coup and stopped moving. She turned halfway, and Mapi was still there—hand still holding the door sensor, that same unreadable expression on her face, and YN wanted to scream. Wanted to demand answers. Wanted to ask why Mapi remembered her boot preference but couldn't be bothered to return a single text message.

"Why are you here?" It came out more plaintive than she meant. She was asking about the hotel, but also the hallway, the country, her life again after four years of surgical absence.

"Away team," Mapi said simply. "We flew in this afternoon."

"Right." YN felt stupid. "Obviously. I meant—"

"I know what you meant."

The beeping intensified. Mapi stepped out, let the doors close behind her, and suddenly they were both in the hallway. Ten feet of terrible carpet between them. At least the elevator had rules, boundaries, an endpoint. This was undefined territory.

"I'm four doors down," Mapi said, nodding left.

Of course. Of course she was.

"Great," YN managed. "That's... yeah. Great."

Mapi's mouth did something that wasn't quite a smile. "Still say 'great' when you're uncomfortable."

"I'm not—" YN stopped. Pressed her lips together. Tried again. "Good luck tomorrow."

It came out sincere. She hadn't meant it to, but it did anyway, and Mapi's expression did something that made YN's chest hurt.

"You too." Mapi's voice was soft. "You're starting, yeah? I saw the probable lineup."

YN shouldn't answer. Shouldn't engage. Shouldn't give Mapi a single piece of information, a single foothold back into her life.

"Yeah," she said.

Mapi nodded once. Her eyes did something complicated—warm and sad and something else YN couldn't name. "I'll try not to break your ankles, then."

The words hit like a time machine. Pre-season friendly, five years ago, Barcelona vs Arsenal. YN had been nineteen and cocky, fresh off a good season, and Mapi had nutmegged her twice in the first ten minutes. Had jogged past afterward and said exactly that: Don't worry, inglesa, I'll try not to break your ankles. YN had been furious. Had also been slightly in awe. Had definitely not been expecting to kiss her three months later in a Barcelona nightclub, but that was a different story.

YN laughed. Couldn't help it. Short, startled, quickly smothered, but Mapi heard it. YN saw her register it, saw something like relief flash across her face.

"Goodnight, YN."

She said it like that—the Spanish soft 'Y', turning it into something gentler than the English pronunciation. She'd always said it like that.

Mapi turned and walked to her door—804—and disappeared inside without looking back.

YN stood in the hallway.

Counted to ten. Twenty. Thirty.

Finally made herself walk to 808. Got her key card out with hands that were definitely not shaking. Went inside.

Closed the door and leaned against it.

Looked at her hands.

They were shaking.

She showered on autopilot. Hot water, too hot probably, until her skin was pink and the bathroom was full of steam. Dried her hair properly this time, brushed her teeth, went through the motions of her pre-match routine even though the match was tomorrow and her brain was stuck in an elevator, in a hallway, four doors down.

Her phone buzzed.

Leah: You alive? Need me to bring you food?

YN: I'm good. See you at breakfast.

She got into bed. Turned off the light. Stared at the ceiling.

The hotel was quiet. She could hear the hum of the air conditioning. Someone's TV, muffled through the walls. Footsteps in the hallway. A door closing.

804 was four doors down.

Mapi was four doors down.

YN turned over. Closed her eyes. Tried every meditation technique Marcus had ever taught her. Counted backwards from a hundred in Spanish, then French, then gave up and just lay there.

At 2 AM, her phone lit up the ceiling.

Unknown number.

Unknown: I should've called.

YN stared at it. Read it once. Twice. Three times. Watched the screen go dark. Lit it up again.

She should delete it. Block the number. Throw her phone into the Thames.

She picked it up.

YN: Yeah. You should have.

Send.

She put the phone face-down on the nightstand. Pulled the duvet over her head like she was twelve and hiding from monsters under the bed.

The phone buzzed.

She counted to ten before looking.

Unknown: I know. I'm sorry.

YN's chest hurt. Proper hurt, like she'd taken an elbow to the ribs and forgotten how to breathe around it.

She wanted to type a hundred things. Wanted to ask why—why the silence, why now, why this hotel, this hallway, this specific arrangement of the universe that put them four doors apart. Wanted to be angry. Was angry. But was also something else, something more complicated, something that felt dangerously like hope.

She typed nothing.

Put the phone back face-down.

Stared at the ceiling.

At 2:17, the phone buzzed again.

Unknown: For what it's worth, I never forgot. Any of it.

YN read it six times.

Didn't reply.