Starting over In Madrid - Season 2
Chapter 15 ➺ Broken nights
Summary: A new season begins for Nicky, the newly promoted photography director of Real Madrid. Navigating her new responsibilities while maintaining her secret relationship with Misa is not easy on a daily basis, especially when the unpredictability of life keeps making things even more complicated.
WC: 5K words TW: angst, claustrophobia
Chapter 12 ➺ Better and bitter Chapter 13 ➺ Dangerous steps Chapter 14 ➺ The fall
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Fall was drawing towards its end. The icy cold wind bit the trees and scared away the rare pedestrians of the Ciudad neighborhoods. The strong wind infiltrated everywhere, its gusts galloping through the alleys, punishing even the mighty ones daring to venture outside, leaving them numb and battered.
Sheltered by the thick concrete walls, the smoke of my cigarette rose in the air. The volutes danced and spiraled, indifferent to the wind knocking over the grass just ahead of the smoking area of the women’s training pitch. I took a drag from my cigarette. My gaze traveled over the mistreated shape of the tree’s foliage. Someone shouted in the distance, excited. A couple of panicked birds flew away, perhaps in hope to find of more welcoming place. I inhaled again, the poised smoke a swift relief through the slumber.
Numbness was my best friend. It had helped me pull myself back together and I wasn’t asking for more nowadays. Although, today, I tried to pull numbness back to me like air through my cigarette.
I couldn’t deny it. It was hard. Seeing her again. After a whole month. After all my efforts to avoid it, though I’d always known I would be on my way to the pitch sooner or later, seeing her had been hard.
The voices drew closer and the first players came off the training pitch a few feet away from me. Hayley waved to me as she exited toward the parking lot, a quick and brief hello before she looked back at her phone. She had tried to reach out to me when it happened but I had dismissed her. She was part of it somehow, part of the hurting part. Like the rest, hanging with Hayley would have been unbearable.
I pulled at the end of the cigarette, telling myself I should go back inside before she went that way too. But it was so tempting to see how I would feel, her being that close.
Blowing out smoke, my chest tightened. Numbness gone, I remembered that night so vividly. That night… when time had stopped.
Life frozen.
I had dragged myself to bed. I had been lying down, unable to sleep, unable to stop crying. The couple of minutes during which I didn’t cry had been spent staring blankly at the ceiling.
I relived so strongly how my body had seemed to be floating, heart ripped out, the bare flesh exposed to the unwavering truth. The realization was the worst part of a break up. The acceptance had been impossible. The pain never eased.
When we had broken up, her absence had suffocated me. Her presence lingered everywhere in my small home, her toothbrush waiting in the bathroom, a few clothes and underwear laying in my closet. Special ingredients for her diet were remaining safely stored in the kitchen. Her stuff had been where she had left them, where they belonged. Where she belonged, at home, the only acceptable truth to me. But the very fabric of reality had changed that night.
The night Misa went out of my life.
The night I had realized there would be no more calls, no more talking for countless hours. No more cuddling when the harshness of life would leave me raw and unsettled. No more football lessons, nor drawing classes. No more of anything we had grown to love together. A chill walk in the park. A quick jog along the stream. Listening to her heartbeat, my head resting on her chest, lost in my thoughts.
How was I living without her soft, warm brown gaze on me? How? Was it worth it then, keeping on being the photography director of Real Madrid? Was it worth it when nothing remained? Of course not. But it hadn’t been about me for once. We had broken up for her. And that was the hardest part to process.
I remembered so vividly that my sadistic mind had pictured her smile with her dimple on her left cheek and I that I had fidgeted, twisting the bedsheets to make the image go away. That night, I wouldn’t fall asleep for anything. I had known too well I would be dreaming of her holding me close as soon as I had closed my eyes.
I had tossed and turned in bed, my eyes burning from all the tears. I remembered how hard I had prayed she was slouched in the sofa, wasting the night on her phone before joining me in the bedroom. I had prayed so hard she was about to come, needy before sleep, as usual, to wake me up from this nightmare.
And in spite of my efforts, I had sunk into a troubled dream where I looked for her in a thick dense forest, the hard sun filtering through the foliage above. The young goalie had been far away, smiling as she hid behind a tree. When I finally had approached her in my dream, Misa’s broad smile had disappeared completely and I had woken up with a jolt. My arm had probed the bed for her comforting body and had fallen onto the cold flatness of the mattress.
I closed my eyes. The pain was so vivid from the memory. Mechanically, I lit up another cigarette.
It hadn’t eased for days. A sour suffocating pain had inhabited my chest when I had gone back to work.
I had cried in my car, parked at the opposite side of the parking lot, some low trees and bushes granting me the privacy I had needed to recompose myself. But it had been no use. I had barely set foot into my office, fresh tears had rolled onto my cheeks. I had locked myself inside. Turning on the computer had not helped me, the numerous tasks filling my to-do list as the device had synchronized. Stress had been taking over me, accentuated by an emotional exhaustion. Her presence had leaked everywhere here too. From the field in the distance, to the photo studio, the Ciudad was where everything had begun, the witness of our friendship and attraction slowly turning into love and care. The Ciudad was her as much as she was Real Madrid. Somehow, the Ciudad was now the ghostly reminder of my gone happiness.
I had tried to focus back onto work. I had really tried my best. But I hadn’t been able to avoid what was bound to happen. A few days had passed and I had received a new batch of photos from my assistants. My eyes had immediately filled with tears seeing her features. Once again, she was everywhere, even in the very content of my work, having me trapped in an infinite sadness as more pictures of her had downloaded. I had quit my office to get some air, but mostly to smoke the cigarettes I had bought that day. Obviously, smoking hadn’t appeased me in the slightest and I had ended up in the closest restrooms, sobbing in despair as I had grasped the thin lace bracelet I hadn’t had the strength to take off yet.
Angela had helped me a lot. I had spent countless hours on the phone with her, smoking like a fireman, intoxicating myself with regrets as my best friend had tried to help me navigate through guilt and resentment. I had cursed myself for not seeing it coming. What had I been thinking dating a woman like her? What had I been thinking believing this could work? I had genuinely thought I could have made her happy. I was still convinced we were happy somehow. So when did it go so wrong? Had it been it my accident? Or work? How many times had I wished I could go back in time?
Time had not rewound but had passed, and time had helped. I had started to get better day after day. Not to say enjoyable, but life had seemed livable again. I had got used to the faded taste not leaving my mouth, smoking not helping, the cold gray weather of November matching my mood. But it had been the thing I had dreaded the most that had relieved me the most in the end: photography. The lights, the frame, the energy… through the lens, all my negative emotions were turning into beautiful frozen spectacles. Nothing really appealed to me anymore apart from taking pictures. Things happened or did not and I didn’t care and I clung to that remaining sparkle of energy photography was to me.
During that month, I took thousands of photos, through numerous walks in town and countless nights in clubs. Dancing people had been growing on me. Their joy fascinated me, inaccessible, a mask hiding their own bruises. We were all bruised. It made me feel less bad knowing you could be bruised and beautiful. Bruises don’t show when you dance, let alone when you create something beautiful out of bruised dancing people. My camera had snapped restlessly the swirl of colorful blurry shapes and wild bodies. I had become a recognizable customer among the few lesbian clubs of the capital. I had met people, could have slept with some, except that I had no interest in hookups. I had not interest in anything else than capturing the frenzy of the night that swallowed everything.
Being a photographer during the night had slowly helped me reconnect with my passion for sport photography during the day. I had realized I could turn the pain into vivid visual emotions there too. Moreover, my first exhibition was still up. So, work had turned back into the creatively challenging place I needed so much. Like a therapy, I hadn’t counted the hours, selecting shots, retouching, imagining the exhibition, the scenography… The players were just models. She was just another model, a particularly pretty model, nothing more. Almost.
But today, in bone and flesh, jumping and diving even better than she did, she had been more. So much more than a model. Misa had made my numbness dissolve in a heartbeat. It had been a whole month and I felt so lost, smoking in the concrete corner. The last players exited the gray building as I waited, alone, for what exactly? To see her? She had to go out from a different exit because I hadn’t seen her.
I exhaled the smoke deeply. Was I relieved? Disappointed? I didn’t know. What I did feel was the leap of my heart when the door opened once again, and the goalkeeper went outside, wrapped up into the club’s puffer jacket.
She paused, looking all around her, until her eyes fell on me. My heart was caught in my throat, my hand frozen with the cigarette a few inches away from my mouth. She was nibbling at her lower lip. Obviously she was uncomfortable. But to my surprise, Misa started to walk toward me. I blinked just to be sure I wasn’t seeing things. I suddenly became aware of the coldness of the air. The wind messed her hair up until she joined me inside the shelter smoking area.
She stopped in front of me, her hands in her pockets, looking at her feet.
“Hey“, she said.
I had not heard her soft, roughened voice since then. Our goodbyes on the phone had been the last words exchanged.
“Hey“, I answered, amazed.
“Eh… I have something to tell you. It’s been a couple of weeks since the whole team guessed the “misacertijo”. Everyone is convinced it’s you I was… seeing. I haven’t confirmed it, I said we’re just friends.“
“Oh, you said we are friends?“ I replied, an ironical smile stretching my lips. Misa lifted her gaze up. How weird it was to be that close to her and to look into her eyes. “I mean, it’s obvious that we’re not even friends anymore, right?” I pointed out.
Of course everybody had guessed who Misa had been dating. We stopped seeing each other from one day to the next. The conclusion hadn’t been hard to make.
“Eh… no. But you don’t speak to Hayley either. I said you took your distance with players. I wanted to tell you but you never showed up onto the pitch…”
Something wriggled in my body as I searched about what to answer. I took a puff of cigarette. A gust of wind swept her hair and hauled her smell to me. I closed my eyes, the pain growing back, prickling. I couldn’t stand it. She had to go.
“Hum… ok. Thanks for telling me.“ I acknowledged and Misa furrowed her brows.
“You’re not worried about it?“
“Why should I worry? It’s over.“ I replied more bitterly than I wanted to.
Misa gaze grew so intense it made my throat tighten. She had to stop looking at me like that. I took another puff, the only possible respite to avoid her penetrating look. She shifted her weight.
“I heard your photo exhibition’s getting ready?“
My breathing quickened slightly. What was the fuck she was playing at, engaging in small talk as if nothing had happened.
I looked away, uncomfortable.
“Yes it is. It will take place near Gran Via. The opening night has been scheduled on the holidays’ eve.“
“Well done, I’m happy for you“, she said.
I could feel her gaze burning on my face and I dared to glimpse at her. She looked unsure and…sad. Something hot and growling in my stomach stirred again. I could feel numb, or hurt. But I couldn’t feel sad again. Sadness was a forbidden feeling for me. Although, if there was something worse that feeling sad, it was seeing my own sadness on her face.
My heart was screaming in pain. I had to make sadness go away…
“Thanks,“ I said, hoping the sound of the wind hid the trembling of my voice. “Congratulations to you too. Today’s practice was something. You seem to be doing great.“
Misa’s lips drew into the beginning of a smile, her brown eyes back onto mine.
“I’m working very hard, thanks.“
We locked eyes a moment, a moment while there seemed to be thousands of things going on inside her head. She opened and closed her mouth several times as I kept on smoking to hide my confusion. Of course, she was giving it all. She had always given it all. It was one of the things I loved the most about her…
“What about that?“ Misa asked finally, pointing at my cigarette with an evident disgust.
It made me furious, suddenly, completely. I didn’t know at first, exactly why. I pursed my lips, my face hardening. I got it: her judgment about what I was doing with my life, a life she had chosen not to be part of, was the last thing I needed. Moreover, I was smoking again because of her!
I looked away.
“This is none of your business“, I replied coldly.
I crushed my roach in the ashtray, taking the path to the parking lot without another glance.
And of course, back at home, I cried again for hours, like the whole month had been nothing. Like we had broken up yesterday.
***
That was it! I had just got the last batch of framed photographies, the only missing pieces for the exhibition! The opening was tomorrow and everybody had feared that the five large photos would never arrive. Due to the extremely short timing, I had gone fetch the frames myself at the printing company to keep them safely in my office at the Ciudad. I still had a few things to check with Eneko before going to the gallery. With the exhibition going on I had not been very present. The short filmmaker had been under a lot of pressure and I wanted to make sure he was going to be all right with all the tasks. Christmas time was a busy period. Everybody wanted their funny Christmas special challenge, their ugly jumper photo shoot or their corporate best wishes announcement, all of that on top of the exhibition’s install. Inma, Eneko and I couldn’t rest.
Phew! At least I had the prints now! I exhaled in relief and effort as I pulled the large frames out of my car. They were heavy and I struggled to find a good grip while being able to see where I put my feet. The glass doors of the building opened automatically, letting me inside and I managed to press the elevator button by touch. With my claustrophobia, I had genuinely wondered if I would risk my life more by taking the elevator than climbing the stairs with ten kilos of sight-blocking-forty-inches frames in my hands. The elevator had won.
I stepped inside walking backward and felt movement near me, followed by the dialing sound of a button pressed. I could see nothing but I knew someone had entered as well. The doors closed themselves and the person spoke.
“Bueno’ dia’, a cual piso va? Puedo ayudarle?”
The voice and the accent were unmistakeable, leaving me wordless. My hands began to slip along the craft paper wrapped frames and the weight lightened suddenly. The frames slid aside, revealing our faces. Misa’s surprise was so manifest I felt my heart leap again.
“Er…Hi. Thanks.” I stuttered. “I guess you know what my floor is…” I added with an embarrassed smile.
She smiled back mildly, her brown eyes resting on my face a second before she freed a hand to press the said floor button. Once again, I was totally confused by her proximity, but at least, I wasn’t focusing on being inside the elevator.
Misa grabbed the frames back, lifting the weight off me completely.
“It’s very heavy“, she simply said as I let her take the package.
I bit my lip. She hadn’t changed, playing the good knight like I was some sort of fragile lady.
I sighed heavily, getting more upset. Why was she doing that? Charming me? She was the one who broke up and obviously she was doing fine without me. Her goalkeeping performances were back on top.
“Eh… Nicky?“ She asked from behind the frames, sending a jolt through my body. I hadn’t heard her saying my name since two months now. “Can I… no, perdon… Are you okay if I come at the exhibition’s opening?”
The elevator stopped suddenly and everything went dark.
No, no, no! Not that!
“Mierda…“
I rested my back against the cabin wall. I couldn’t see a thing. All my senses were gone with a growing dread freezing my body.
“Nicky! Don’t panic! It’s just a power cut.”
There were rustling sounds of paper, punctuated by swear words, and a light appeared from Misa’s phone. I had not moved. I could not move, putting all my focus onto my breathing.
You’re not trapped in the elevator. Breathe. You’re not trapped in the elevator. Breathe. You’re not trapped…
But I sensed it coming. My hands were getting numb and my legs started trembling. I knew I was going to have a panic attack in a few seconds.
“Please, let’s sit down.” Misa had leant the frames against the wall.
She was close. So very close. I swallowed nothing. My chest hurt with the suffocating feeling of imprisonment. With no reaction from me, Misa took my hand. Her moves were gentle. I needed gentleness. I told myself to breathe again but I couldn’t find any air and my teeth began chattering.
“I swear I’m not cold!“ I whined in panic.
“Shhh, it’s ok. We sit down. It will pass“ She said guiding me all along as I crouched and sat onto the cabin floor. Now freed from the duty of keeping me standing, my legs were shaking so much it was scary.
“It will pass,“ Misa repeated. Her thumbs brushed the back of my hands. I just realized I was holding hers like crazy.
“Misa…” I muttered. I needed her. It was too hard. I needed her closer. “Misa, I can’t breathe!”
I pulled at her hands as tears of panic rolled onto my cheeks.
The brunette slid closer and I grasped her strong arms, my breaths quickening.
“Take deep breaths Nicky, I promise it will pass.”
And she wrapped her arms over me.
“Take deep breathes, like this” she repeated, filling her lungs with air and making her chest rise against me. My heart was pulsing in my ears, making me feel more disoriented but I mimicked her, inhaling deeply.
“Very well, now we blow out.”
Again Misa exhaled. The smell of her breath reached me as I mirrored her. My face fell against her neck. Her smell wrapped another layer of herselfness all over me. It was working. My breathing had slowed and my chest felt less tense, but my sobs were unstoppable. Lost in her embrace, I just couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t even know why I was crying anymore. I just wanted to spill whatever needed to go out from my body.
“It’s only a moment,“ Misa said softly, her palms brushing my back in an attempt to soothe me. “I’m sure we’ll be out soon now.“
But was I wanting it to be over soon? My hands had stopped shivering. I had closed my eyes. We could be anywhere now. We could be anytime. Maybe we were still we. It would make sense given that we were holding each other like we always did. But the power did go back on that instant, blowing up my desperate thoughts. The lights filled the tiny space, dazzling and the elevator’s automatic message announced blankly: “System launched successfully. Restart may take a few minutes."
Frozen against Misa’s chest, I didn’t dare to move.
“It’s over, you’ve been great.” The goalie patted my shoulder.
I pulled back, wiping the tears from my eyes, breathless like after a run. I felt so drained I was unable to quit the shelter of her arms. Misa didn’t rush me. My eyes fell on hers, filled with their usual intensity, and travelled down to her mouth. Her lips were inches away, parted, waiting… Her eyes went shinier as I brought my face closer forgetting everything I had ever told myself since we broken up. I felt her hands pulling me closer and at that precise moment, when our lips were about to brush, the elevator motioned upward again.
We parted in haste and got up just in time for the doors to open on the next floor. A lot of people were chatting in front of the cabin, they had probably met here when the power went down and were going back to their business.
Shaky, Misa and I took the frames out of the elevator.
“I’ll be ok. Thanks.“ I told the goalkeeper. After what had nearly happened, I needed my space now more than ever.
“De nada. Oh, about the opening night… what do you think?“ Misa asked in a low voice. She was back to peering at her feet.
I hesitated, in no ability to clear my confused thoughts.
“See you tomorrow”, I replied finally with half a smile.
***
Champagne and cocktails flowed freely while lounge music filled the vast reception hall. Bottles were opened and poured in stemmed glasses at an enticing rhythm, the loud pops creating a funny addition to the quiet notes in the background. But despite the wonderful decor, I was nervous.
Of course, I was nervous. I wasn’t used to being under the spotlights, moreover in a foreign country, at a party of the most famous football club of the world. Ana was eagerly twitching beside me. It had been her idea to pair the exhibition’s opening with the traditional Christmas party. Every year the club organized a special event for employees, members and a well selected guest list. For this edition, the pairing had led them to choose a gallery in the center of the capital, with a vast reception room adjoining to it where the party would take place later. It was meant to be quite a show. On her side, Ana had been very attentive to be seen as the thinking head of all of this. But for now, she, Inma, Eneko and I, were standing in a neat line facing the entrance to welcome the guests.
The first ones to arrive were a group of employees from the commercial department, quickly followed by some of the players. Everybody had put on their best outfit in a demonstration of good and not so good taste. Olga was in a rather odd dress-suite but Maelle wore a smart sparkling skirt and a white shirt.
As for me, I had spent hours deciding what to wear for that prestigious occasion. I didn’t want to be too formal but not too relaxed either. Thus, I had sent dozens of very doubtful selfies in front of the mirror to Angela.
“Nicky, we talked about this a hundred times, you’re not wearing a shirt!“, Angela had said on the speaker.
“I have nothing else! All the tops I have are shirts or T shirts!“
“Go for a dress then! The dark blue one, you look stunning in it!“
“But I never wear dresses, I feel weird in a dress…“ I had moaned, searching the pile of clothes.
“You said you didn’t want to wear pants either, that it was too common! You said you wanted to stand out but in a good way… That were your precise words and we both know what you want deep down…“
I had rolled my eyes. “Well, I don’t! You do?“
“You want to be sexy as hell so you can impress everyone this evening“, she had answered.
My brain had instantly pictured the face of the goalkeeper gagging, looking at a very attractive version of me. My lips had stretched into a smile and I had surrendered, “Ok, I’m trying the blue one again, but I’m not putting stilettos. I hate stilettos… What about boots?“
“Humm, with heels if you want your outfit to remain chic….“
I had dug out a pair of ankle high varnished black boots with medium heels I had had probably bought for some kind of party and worn two or three times in my life. I had put them on, shoved my hair to the side and sent a photo of my reflection to Angela.
“You’re stunning Nicky! it’s giving an Im-good-on-my-own-boss-girl-and-look-at-what-you-lost vibe. I say perfect.“
“Perfect“, I had echoed.
So here I was, wearing a silky dark blue dress and heeled boots, casually chatting with people, a cup of champagne in one hand and a small bag in the other, giving a very worldly version of Nicky to the now crowded place. I didn’t know where to look, everybody greeted me, congratulated me. I shook hands of people I had no idea who they were, explained my work dozens of times and emptied several glasses far too quickly.
An hour or so had passed and I was in a long conversation about my vision of sport photography with a journalist named Franck when Misa arrived. She hadn’t overdressed. She was wearing simple brown suit pants and a silver long sleeve top. I followed her from the corner of my eyes, watching her looking around, clearly searching for something or someone in the crowd.
She took a glass, her moves unsure, and looked a moment at the photographs hung on the walls. She was getting closer when she turned her head. Our eyes finally met. Her lips parted slightly before she closed them again and looked away. Misa had always been pretty bad at hiding her emotions.
A second later she had disappeared into the crowd and I excused myself to Franck, unable to talk or listen anymore. Knowing Misa was there had troubled me, a now usual feeling. I quickly exited the hall to the terrace to light up a cigarette, took a few puffs and breathed in relief the sweet poison filling my lungs. It was a pitiful compensation. I had not felt the satisfaction I had expected when she had seen me. I didn’t know anymore what I wanted her to feel. Impressed? Angry? Sad? She had definitely seemed sad rather than impressed or angry.
As a matter of fact, so was I now, smoking on the terrace on my own. Back then, I had dreamt to celebrate the opening of my first exhibition with her.
With her…
I pulled at my cigarette, forcing my mind to go blank again, my now well known strategy to retain some of my sanity, when I heard a soft voice close by.
Her voice.
“Léa please don’t…“
She was probably just around the corner, only a few feet away, still she could not see me and I could not see her.
“Why not, I like you Misa. And you like me“, Léa’s assured voice replied.
“I’m sorry, I don’t like you like this…“
I was frozen, torn between hearing what I shouldn’t and knowing what was going to happen.
“Don’t you think it could change?“
“I…I don’t know Léa… I don’t think so.“
There was a silence during which I dared to pull at my cigarette.
“It’s her, right? You’re still in love with her?“ The low, sad voice of Léa inquired.
My heart was drumming in my chest, my hurt and mangled soul hanging on her answer as I held my breath for what seemed the longest seconds of my life.
“Of course I still love her“, Misa’s broken voice echoed in the cold night.
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