Don't Forget Me
It's been years, but Alexia is still clinging to the ghost of Jenni. Their ending happened with a bang, a clear severing of them by Alexia's mistake. And she'll shoulder all of Jenni's hatred or judgement or regret as long as the woman doesn't forget Alexia entirely. Because in the sanctity of remembrance, Alexia can still exist surrounded by Jenni's love.
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Two years have passed slowly and quietly, as if their breakup didn't shatter both their worlds into too many pieces to ever properly collect them all.
It is wild how quickly they move from "Let's book a trip to Ibiza" to "I can't do this anymore". In the moment it felt like the space of a breath, just a blip in time.
Alexia will regret it until the end of her days.
She fucked up in the worst possible way, a shitfaced moment in a club when Jenni was back in Madrid for the weekend and her hands and lips found themselves on someone who wasn't her girlfriend. A moment of drunken weakness that wrecked the strongest thing in her world, her relationship with Jenni.
The catalana broke the madrileña's trust two-fold when the striker found out through tagged photos of the event, a blurry (but clearly visible to her) Alexia in the background of a few selfies with her hands cupping the ass of dark-haired woman who wasn't the striker, their lips locked together.
Jenni brought it up as soon as she entered their apartment, mind thrumming with the information for the entire train trip back to Barcelona. A long journey that included plenty of texting with her girlfriend but no confession, no "we need to talk when you're back".
If you press Alexia up against a wall, she pushes back twice as hard. So Jenni's sarcastic comment, designed to hide how deeply hurt she was by the breach of trust and the deceit in not being told by Alexia herself, arched the midfielder's back up high and tight. And in the heat of the argument, truthful statements started to land like lashes from both of them, stinging the whole way down.
It has been two years of watching the woman she loves grin at her through social media only. And it has been complete and utter hell for Alexia.
People take sides after the end. That is the inevitability of a split, even more when one is clearly in the wrong as was the situation with their breakup. You intertwine your lives when together. And after years, the staying power starts dictating a permanence that has friends of one becoming friends of the others, family crossing boundaries under the relief of something slated to go the distance.
Alexia knows Jenni never uttered a bad word about her to teammates or joint friends. But Jenni's childhood friends and her close family? They have to know the truth. Because the hatred in their glares, the avoidance of even being within fifteen feet of the catalana at National Team matches when they used to run to hug Alexia, speaks louder than any words ever would.
Their beginning felt like luck.
What are the odds of finding your soulmate through a shared passion like football? What the the odds of both being so good at it that they're both at the top of the sport in their country at the same time? What are the odds of finding your person when you're merely 20 with the whole rest of your life ahead of you?
Seven is a lucky number. A number of prosperity and good fortune. A number of religious and cultural significance. Seven was even Jenni's number at Barcelona when her iconic number 10 wasn't available for a spell.
Seven is no longer a lucky number to Alexia. Not anymore.
Weeks away from their seventh anniversary together, they split back into two. No good fortune there, just misery and pain.
The special anniversary dinner reservation had been scheduled for months, Alexia had gotten into the most exclusive restaurant in all of Barna. The surprise get-away trip for their next break in the schedule was ready to be revealed come dessert time. Even now, Alexia still has that red envelope with the details, the trip that never happened, tucked away in a box deep in her closet. She has never been able to work up the nerve to throw it out. Because finally letting that slip from her fingers into the trash where everything else lies in waste would mean her connection to Jenni is no longer worth more than the junk set out at the curb for someone else to deal with—out of sight, out of mind.
But Jenni is never out of her mind, not even a little bit.
And Alexia wishes on everything she can—shooting stars and eyelashes on fingertips and birthday candles and especially when she catches the clock at 11:11—that she's never far from the madrileña's thoughts either.
Because the worst possible fate in the world is to be forgotten by Jenni. The striker can regret Alexia all she wants as long as the catalana isn't wiped from her memory, isn't wiped from her soul as if they never meant anything at all. Jenni can pray all she wants that she never met Alexia as long as she doesn't replace the midfielder in her memories.
Alexia's biggest regret in life will be messing up what she had with Jenni, for imploding the relationship that was meant to weather forever. Not a day will go by that the dark-haired woman doesn't pop up in some way throughout her life.
Although the catalana and her terrible choice was the cause of their undoing, her love for the madrileña thrums loud and throbbing throughout her body. Jenni. Jenni. Jenni.
Her world hasn't been the same since the dark-haired woman called it quits and walked out of their apartment and Alexia's life that fateful night years back.
And now here she sits, in the dark of her apartment, the girl she slotted in to fill the ache almost immediately after Jenni left off gallivanting somewhere in Madrid, single again. That relationship lasted longer than it was destined, largely due to the footballer's ACL injury leaving her a broken shell of a human who clung to any shred of affection thrown her way. Olga was decent like that. But what they had was never meant to be forever. It never held a candle to Jenni.
Sadly, Olga knew that fairly early on. But she wanted Alexia anyways. Her prestige, her contacts, her body. Even with her broken and unobtainable heart, the catalana was still a prize to have locked down, even if it was not in totality. But the tighter Olga clung, the more jealousy showed when Alexia crossed paths with Jenni on the National Team, the farther away the midfielder drifted.
Olga never explicitly demanded she pick between her and Jenni. Because they both knew what Alexia's choice would be in the matter. And so it remained an unnamed but well known elephant in the room of their relationship.
Alexia could feel the ending barreling towards them, Olga done and the footballer herself too disconnected to care to fix it.
So, once the catalana's relationship finally implodes, she finds herself scrolling through Instagram more often than before, hoping to catch glimpses of Jenni, her only insight into the madrileña's life these days.
She looks happy, sun soaked in Mexico, surrounded by smiling friends and pulling pranks in the vlogs posted by her team. Her dimples show in practically every image, always a tell that she's truly smiling from the depth of her soul.
Barça plans a preseason tour in Mexico that is optional for all the National Team players. Alexia jumps at the chance to see Jenni in person again after a year of Spanish call-ups that didn't include the striker's name sitting next to Alexia's like normal. It's been agonizing and only fueled her worry that Jenni has forgotten the catalana completely.
Alexia is tapped for media day before the Barcelona vs. Liga MX Femenil All Star match. She is the captain after all. And she knows Jenni will be there too, the media keen on highlighting the rivalry between the two former teammates for club and country. They are known as a duo for a reason, their connection on the pitch visible to anyone with eyes.
She sees familiar dark hair as she walks into the room where the coaches and players tapped for media day are waiting to be called into the actual conference room.
Jenni is sat off by herself, phone in hand.
Alexia abandons Pina behind her and crosses the room quickly, slowing only once she's steps behind the madrileña, breath hitching at finally seeing her ex-girlfriend again in person. The last time was months ago at Lola's wedding. And fuck, does that memory have the catalana closing her eyes as Jenni in that plunging blue dress crosses her mind.
It took everything in Alexia the first time Jenni turned away to not reach out a finger and trace the tattoo inked down the woman's exposed spine. One because it had been so long since she had that view. And two because her hands still reached for the madrileña even if the woman wasn't aware of it.
She heard Jenni talking to Misa about her girl back in Mexico. It had Alexia's jaw clenching, her fingers reaching for alcohol even though it's not her one week a year that she drops her diet and eats and drinks whatever the fuck she wants. She self imposed that rule after that terrible night in Barcelona that stole her future dreams in one bad decision.
But her soul needed the numbing factor to make it through Lola's wedding, to turn her brain off so it wouldn't point out how her and Jenni would have been married years ago if she hadn't ruined everything. Alcohol was the biggest culprit in her lowered inhibitions, a decision made that otherwise would have never crossed her mind. And so Alexia struck it from her life under the guise of performance.
Really it was because every time she drank after they broke up, Alexia's stomach turned at the first drop of alcohol, body revolting like it still carried muscle memory of the mistake made the last time the devil drink coursed through her bloodstream.
Shaking her head to clear the memories, Alexia's hands wrap around Jenni's head from behind, covering the striker's eyes. "Guess who," she states quietly.
Jenni's body, which went tense at the feeling of her vision being taken away, relaxes instantly. Alexia can hear her audible sigh and the slight chuckle that slips from her lips.
"Ale," the madrileña breathes out, twisting in her seat as the catalana's hands fall away, the striker moving to stand and walk around to meet Alexia in the open space in the middle of the room.
Pina walks up at that moment, a Barcelona intern trailing behind her with a phone out and already recording.
"Jenni," the young striker says with a grin.
"Pina!" the older woman returns, the two embracing in a hug as the young catalana's hand comes up to cup Jenni's head affectionately. She grew up on the team, under Alexia's guidance, which meant by extension she spent a lot of time with Jenni too, learning to hone that slingshot one-step rocket off her left foot from some of the best in the game.
"Missed you," Pina states quietly as their hug ends, Alexia standing next to her shoulder waiting for a turn to address the madrileña herself.
Jenni gives the young footballer a grin and quiet, "Ditto, petita." And then she's reaching for Alexia.
And the midfielder can finally breathe, a large smile appearing as she wraps her own arms around the madrileña's back, rubbing the striker's shoulder affectionately. "Hola," she sighs.
"Ale," Jenni replies quietly, words whispered in the midfielder's ear, just meant for her.
"Didn't forget me then?" the catalana states in a joking manner even as her heart hammers to hear the response. It's a fear that has lived deep inside even since Jenni walked away. And she's never had confirmation one way or the other just how much of Alexia the striker cut from her life. Down to the bone? Did she scoop out all the parts of the catalana she could find, disinfect the area, and move forward towards healing?
"How could I ever forget you?" Jenni replies softly as her body retreats from the hug, a hand reaching out to teasingly tug at the midfielder's collar.
Alexia's soul sings, her smile shining from ear-to-ear. Because her girl just said the words she's needed to hear for years.
As long as Jenni doesn't forget Alexia, doesn't desire to wipe her completely from her memories, burn their time to the ground in the name of cleansing for a future that doesn't include the catalana, well, Alexia will always have hope for a tomorrow.
Because Jenni could never forget her. She said so herself. And that means the absolute world to Alexia. You don't hold onto someone, an ex, unless there is still love blooming there.
And tomorrow after the match, Alexia will tell Jenni her truth. That loving the madrileña is her biggest accomplishment in life. And losing her, the biggest regret. She has never put those feelings into words directed at the madrileña before in quite that context. But with the knowledge that Jenni hasn't forgotten her, and hasn't even tried, Alexia feels a bravery thrumming through her veins she had no idea existed.
While she needs Jenni to not forget her, what Alexia desires even more is for the woman to remember just how much the catalana loves her. Present tense. It has never flickered, never waned. If anything, her love has grown stronger with the distance and time and anguish of it all.
Because the one thing Alexia cannot forget, no matter how many years pass or how far apart they live, is how her heart is made for Jenni, owned by Jenni.
And Alexia needs the striker to not forget that either.
