Keep Cool, Stay Tough

“Madrid doesn’t agree with you,” Thiago spoke with his nose wrinkled.

“Shut up, I just came back from a run.”

“Gross, stay away from me,” Thiago returned, “You probably smell worse than a locker room.”

“We are literally separated by how many countries right now?” I demanded as I struggled to undo my water bottle’s cap.

“I know that, it’s just a force of habit, maybe you forgot how you used to gross me out, but I don’t forget that easily,” Thiago answered, a small shudder visible as he spoke.

I laughed, “Oh come off it, it was just the one time. Also, it was Cesc’s idea in case you forgot that little detail. He thought you needed to see the masculine side of femininity.”

“One time was enough, and I know it was Cesc’s idea, but it was your armpit,” He muttered darkly.

Cesc must have sensed that we were talking about him because a minute hadn’t passed, and he was trying to join into our video chat. I spent the next hour and a half catching up with them about Munich and London, and trying to plan out how early who could go where with who.

I thought about whether or not I should complain about what was said about me by a certain footballer, but decided against it as I was already too busy laughing at their stupidity to be bothered to complain about some utter non-entity in my life. And anyway I had promised Cesc I wouldn’t bring up the unmentionable in any of our future conversations.

Just as we were close to settling on a date and location for a meet up, Martha came knocking on the pool house door announcing it was time to get ready.

I was already in a habit of dreading sessions that followed a match day, but that coupled with the idea of seeing Cristiano coupled with that awful inkling that Fernando may have let slip about our conversation to Iker or even Sergio was making my head spin. All I wanted was to crawl back under my covers and stay in my bed watching shitty day-time television accompanied by rich coffee and buttered croissants.

Of course I didn't.

I am an adult and I had to adult. I had responsibilities to be held accountable for. Responsibilities that would pile on top of one another if left alone for even a day.

I made it a point to put in that little bit of extra effort when I dressed up, the phrase ‘fake it till you make it’ ran through my mind more than once as I pranced around the pool house jamming out to whatever happened to be blasting out of my computer at the moment.

My hair was even shockingly on point, not a single strand was out of place, and all the waves cascaded just past my shoulders pristine and shiny. My winged eyeliner was beautifully even, and my eyelashes didn’t even clump with the new mascara that I had bought. I also made sure to not forget my sunglasses on the miserable off chance I might get emotional; or even worse confrontational.

On the drive over I mused over the idea of telling Martha everything. Sometimes I really believed that she would be more understanding about the situation if she was aware of all those slimy little details that I forced into the darkness.

But then of course I remembered she is my father’s sister, and she would most likely deprive me of all of my freedoms if she knew just how much of my time I was spending in the company of footballers.

We arrived and it took just one glance around to make note of all of the players’ cars in the lot except for that one matte black Lamborghini that I distinctly remembered from a couple of nights ago. It wasn't altogether impossible that he had come with another of his many, many cars, but he had been showing up consistently with that particular car for awhile now. It was of course far too early in the day to feel relief about the absence, but of course now my breath was coming in and out at more even intervals, and my fists weren’t balled at my sides.

As soon as Martha and I entered into the clinic, she was bombarded by stacks of paperwork, a flooding of emails, and a mini mountain of post-its with names, numbers, and questions that needed to be called back.

We stepped inside the office, and it began. Martha busied herself with checking up on a flurry of players coming and going while she sent her assistants out to inspect the players that were training. I was stuck inside handling call backs, statement drafts, making and canceling appointments for blood tests, nutritionists, and everything else in between. The day after a match was always long and exhausting. We both got stuck working through lunch – and then some. We didn't come up for air until around three in the afternoon. I didn’t even touch my phone until I was granted a break.

“I honestly forgot how great the sunshine felt,” I greeted the glaring sun in a white pullover and dark jeans, my gold aviators balanced expertly on the bridge of my nose. My hair unceremoniously balled up into a messy bun at the top of my head. It was far too hot to leave my hair down.

“You’re alive!” Sergio greeted, and was almost immediately pelted with a stray ball courtesy of Toni Kroos, who shouted ‘sorry!’ in a thick German accent. He was giggling as he said it.

I giggled, but didn’t stop to talk, “Just barely, I'm starving, Martha’s giving me a twenty minute lunch break, and I intend on eating for the full twenty minutes. I already texted ahead, and had them whip up something for me.”

“Nice,” Sergio praised.

I passed by Gareth, Karim, Raphael, and Iker who were doing passing drills in a loose circle, they all waved, and their expressions all distinctly lacked looks of pity. I smiled wider as I waved back as a result. I practically jogged the expanse of dewy grass to the cafeteria doors. Any second not eating was considered a monumental waste at this point.

I didn’t realize Sergio had followed me inside until the chair in front of me scraped across the linoleum floor.

“So how you feeling?”

“Starved,” I spoke through a mouth full of food.

“No, I mean…”

I swallowed, “What do you mean?”

​“I saw you leave the tunnel, well actually Cristiano saw, and you know, we assumed you heard,”
Sergio explained, not entirely meeting my eye.

​Oh fuck, he said we.

​I frowned, “I’m fine.”

“Right, of course,” Sergio vigorously nodded, “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I’m great now that I’m eating, but I’m a bit surprised.”

“By what?”

“No one’s pitying me.”

“Why would they pity you?”

“I had kind of assumed you would’ve told everyone everything about that conversation for a second opinion if nothing else,” I spoke through a mouthful of grilled chicken.

He frowned, “I actually only spoke to Fernando about it, and that was because you had already told him, and he was lecturing me on…I don’t even remember what to be honest. Did you want me to tell anyone?”

“Oh god no, please don’t, I’m actually relieved, I don’t want to cause a hubbub, I don’t want anyone looking at me differently, so thank you for keeping things quiet.”

“I have tact,” Sergio casually explained.

“Yes, yes you do,” I agreed.

“Oh before I forget,” Sergio looked up from his phone.

“Yes, Sergio?”

“You look really great today, I don’t know what it is, or maybe your hair’s shinier, or I’m just in a good mood, but hearing someone talk shit about you suits you.”

I laughed, “Thanks, that’s nice of you to say.”

In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but to lament the fact that he wasn’t even here to see me in all my glory. I would be gone in about an hour, and that would be the end of my ‘fake it till you made it’ day. Sergio’s right I did look good, and I felt good. Fernando was right too about what he said last night: one mistake does not define a person, and I hadn’t allowed my mistake to change me, in fact it had given me a stark reality check and I was fixing myself. It was just nice all the same hearing that I was doing well from an outsider’s perspective. Even if it was just a temporary fix.

After Sergio pinched some of my fries, my twenty minutes were up, and he walked out on the pitch, intending to walk me over to the clinic until Toni successfully pelted him once again via foot with an iced bottle of water which had popped open and soaked Sergio’s shirt from the back.

​“I had a bet with Iker,” He shouted as Sergio chased after him, “He said you knew!”

“Does it look like I knew?” Sergio demanded back.

They disappeared quickly from view and as I turned back towards the dull confines of the clinic I was jolted by surprise. Apparently my lamenting had been premature. Cristiano was on the field stretching under the watchful eye of one of Martha’s senior assistants. It didn’t matter anyway; I quickly reminded myself and resumed my quick walk. I had a shot of confidence coursing through me that demanded I pay no heed to him or any of the crude assumptions he had made last night.

“Senna!”

Wow, he had some nerve. I actually turned my head in his direction, stared daggers until I realized I had sunglasses on and turned to hurry back inside the clinic and away from him. He actually ran to catch up to me, even after I made it a point of very obviously ignoring him. He was matching my strides in less than two seconds. Stupid giant.

“So about the other night, Sergio had said-“

So he was seriously just going to get right into it.

“You know what; I really wish he didn’t tell you anything because I don’t need anybody justifying my actions to anyone, especially to someone like you.”

He scoffed, twisted his head, looking down at me with that stupid smirk of his as he demanded, “Someone like me, what is that supposed to mean exactly?”

I leaned in, hissing, “Look, I made a mistake, I admit responsibility for my mistake and I've paid my dues, and in a way I still am because I have to listen to people like you judge me based on a quarter of the facts.”

“I wasn't judging you, just wait for a second, I was just telling Sergio,” Cristiano attempted to press on, beginning to look visibly annoyed.

Was he seriously trying to defend his words to me? What was the point of this conversation in his head? Where did he see this going? I just did not understand this guy. I didn’t care to at this point. Maybe for the briefest of moments that night, he had caught my curiosity, but that was way long gone now.

“Not to ask me out, I heard, I heard it all,” I emphasized, “and that's fine, in fact it's fantastic that you're looking out for a mate, but the fact that you choose to condemn me because of one mistake says more about you at this point than what I did says about me.”

He huffed out an irritated breath, his palms up, facing me, “Listen I was just trying to do the right thing and apologize if something had gotten misunderstood and if-.”

I cut him off with my finger in his face, my eyes narrowed down to slits, “I assure there was no misunderstanding. You can go ahead and you can shove that apology, and if you can also go ahead and not speak to me for the duration of my stay here that’d be just grand.”

“Gladly,” He practically snarled.

“Fantastic,” I spat back.

This wasn't over; not by a long shot. I was going to make Cristiano Ronaldo regret his words if it‘s the last thing I do before I leave Madrid.

***

The weather darkened over the next few days as did my mood. I still kept up with my morning runs, preferring the chilly air to the sweltering heat the sunshine was usually accompanied with. It was the only time I felt at peace anymore now. Chloe and Zoe were constantly in and out of the city because spring was a busy time for the fashion world. I only saw them during sociology and any phone calls were almost always three minutes or under. I couldn’t bring up my situation with Cesc and Thiago either because it just felt too bizarre on principle, so I was just left with running.

I had initially marveled at how massive the training complex was when I had first arrived in Madrid. I actually found myself getting lost more than once too. But as time trickled down, I found myself picking the right corridors to saunter down the first time.

Meanwhile the situation with Cristiano was still going strong. The tension someone magnetized him to me, even in that massive complex and we found ourselves bumping into each other at least twice a day. He was making it a point of sticking to his word and not speaking to me, which I was more than fine with me, but the tension was so tangible, even my aunt was asking some awkward questions on and off for about a week.

Most of the team had overheard the main gist of the conversation so of course they all turned into awkward and confused children trying not to instigate another argument if by some unfortunate stroke of luck they happened to be in close confines with us.

And then there was of course Sergio and Fabio. Fabio who happened to also be Cristiano’s national teammate absolutely loved the idea that someone had the balls to have a shouting match with a football god. Sergio was just experiencing a lull in his own social life, and found that the standoff attitudes shared between Cristiano and me was fascinating enough to ask updates on a daily basis.

“So should I feel like an asshole for not accepting his apology?” I asked one afternoon when it was Gareth and Fabio sitting in the clinic waiting for Sergio to wrap up with his own check up.

“Hey mate that's your prerogative,” Gareth volunteered, “If you're still pissed about something he’s done, you're still pissed. You can’t change that; you can’t just shut it up. Don't be that person that says it's fine and then acts all passive aggressive for the rest of their lives.”

“Yeah but you told him to shove it.” Fabio reminded with a laugh that seemed almost too big for his body.

“Shove it where?” Gareth guffawed as he repeated the words. Apparently he hadn’t heard about that bit before.

“I don't know, I was pissed off, don't tell me you’ve never felt that way, I've seen you get red cards and you looked like I felt that day,” I elaborated.

“Ok but shove it where?” Fabio pressed initiating yet another rousing chorus of cackles.

“Useless, you guys are absolutely, completely useless.”

We moved to another topic quickly enough after I threatened to tell Ancelotti that they were ditching practice to tease me.

But then of course Martha got called away to the hospital for yet another emergency consultation and mentioned something about the checkups resuming tomorrow before rushing off. I had no idea just how in demand my aunt was in the medicinal world.

“I don’t have a ride,” I shouted after her.

“Iker or someone will just have to drop you off,” Her voice echoed as her clacking heels announced her departure.

“Wow, don’t I feel pathetic,” I frowned, “It’s a terrible thing to not have a driver’s license. Shit, I wouldn’t wish this on an enemy.”

Gareth and Fabio briefly pulled sympathetic faces before turning on music and texting one of the cafeteria workers to bring over food. Somehow Martha’s departure spelled out everyone staying around the clinic to keep me company even though I had a shit ton of paperwork to sift through.

After Sergio ushered in Karim and Marcelo, I vaguely wondered where Ancelotti thought his players were disappearing off to, but of course I knew better than to ask.

When Cristiano walked in about an hour later as no one had mentioned that Martha had been gone since early noon, and he had an appointment at two, he was lucky enough to walk in on Gareth and Karim role playing our confrontation with Karim being the lucky one to deliver the line, “you know what you can go ahead and shove it, and if you cannot talk to me at all that be grand.”

Gareth had his arms crossed and frown taking up half his face when he returned, “gladly.”

“Fantastic,” Karim snapped, literally snapped his fingers, and turned to stomp off.

No one had realized Cristiano had even walked in until the end bit when Karim was marching towards the door and Cristiano was looming creepily in the darkness.

“So Martha isn't here I'm guessing.”

“She got called away,” Gareth answered.

“Maybe we should go back to training then, no?”

No one spoke, but the half dozen players crowding the waiting area all got up and filed out without another word. Sergio stuck around until Cristiano had gone, and when he opened his mouth I cut him off before he could even suck a breath in.

“No smack talking teammates, that’s a golden rule buddy,” I reprimanded.

“Yeah, but he,” Sergio began.

“Doesn’t matter, I didn’t come to work here to become a cause of strife, “Just leave it, and you guys should have gone back to training hours ago anyway.”