Chapter Three

“So, who was that girl you were talking to last night? She was an employee, no?”

He couldn’t help but sigh. Leave it to bumbling Gerard to have noticed that. Despite being friends with the fellow defender, there was a level of immaturity there. For example, he was fairly certain half the team already knew that he’d been talking to someone.
“Yes, she’s an employee there at the club,” he answered, pulling his jersey over his head. But that wasn’t enough for the tall defender.

“So, do you like her?”

He sighed, “I’ve talked to her once, Geri. It’s not like I know that much about her.” And it was true. They had talked for several hours, and that hardly enough to establish such a thing (even though some people could). “Wait a minute…the past few times we’ve gone there, you’ve always been looking out. Were you looking at her?” Damn, he was caught, by an idiot no less. A good idiot, but an idiot.

“Yes,” he admitted, “But we only talked last night.” Márquez then walked passed. “Hey, remember you’re running extra laps,” he said to the Mexican defender.

The man turned, glaring, “Says who?”

“I do, as your captain. And you would be wise to listen to me, Márquez. You do not treat women like that, drunk or not.” The man glared, but walked away providing no further argument. “Ooh, I shouldn’t mess with Puyi’s woman,” Gerard said with a faux tone of fright.

He turned and glared, “She’s not my girl.” “But she could be!” the other defender interjected brightly. Carles sighed, “Who would want to be with me? I may be a footballer, but you can’t call me attractive. Not compared to you.”

Gerard slapped him hard on the back, “Well thinking like that isn’t going to get you anywhere.”


~~

It was another long day after practice with Valencia, but the international break had arrived. He was unusually glad for it, ready to play in friendly matches with some of his closest friends: Pepe Reina, Xavi Hernández, Andrés Iniesta, Carles Puyol, and many others.

He was also excited because the game was in Spain, hosted at Camp Nou.

The stadium was impressive, as were the crowds. It never ceased to amaze him whenever he played there the size of the stadium, and the quantity of dedicated fans that supported the club.

“How was practice?” his mother asked as he set down his kit bag. He smiled, “Long but good.” His mother, Dorita, stood in the doorway of the kitchen holding his daughter, Zaida, in her arms. “Where’s Olaya?” he asked, wondering about his younger, several month old daughter. “Sleeping,” his mother replied. Zaida smiled brightly at him, holding out her arms for him to take her. He complied, lifting her into his arms, and spinning her around happily.

She giggled, snuggling into his arms. He could tell she was tired as well.

But he was just happy to see her with a smile on her face. After Patricia had left, she had been broken. Things had gone sour, and fame had turned her into a stranger.

He hadn’t realized she had been cheating on him until she became pregnant with Olaya.

The issue was not the birth of the beautiful girl, but that he and Patricia hadn’t been intimate in months. It was impossible for Olaya to be his. Things had gone downhill, and unable to resolve the relationship (which had been souring for years since his move to Valencia), they had broken up. She’d given birth to the little girl, named her, and then all but dumped her on him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love her, but she wasn’t his. However, Patricia wanted nothing to do with them, and planned on putting her up for adoption if he didn’t take her. He refused to have that happen.

He looked at his mother, who smiled sadly at him. Things weren’t ideal, but life was moving on. It’d been almost a year since the breakup, and he’d gone of several dates. But nothing had worked out. He hoped things would get better, and soon.

His daughters needed the best, and he wasn’t sure he could provide that for them.


~~

Nina laughed as Àlex glared at his brother. The two had just played an intense game of futbolín, and Xavi had won. And, as usual, he was gloating proudly.

They were at his family’s home in Terrassa. She had been all but adopted into the fold, acting as a little sister to the pair. She was rather close with younger sister Ariadna as well. The other female was out on a date, leaving her with the two brothers who were still arguing.

“You cheated!” “I did not!”’ “Yes you did!” “Lies!”

She rolled her eyes, “Boys, move on. Xavi won, like usual, and he did cheat because he’s a genius at the game.” Both deflated as their arguments were dashed.

“Fine, then let’s play video games instead,” Àlex said.

His brother nodded, and they headed over to where she sat on the sofa. Sitting on either side of her, they picked up the controllers, and began the debate over the game. They finally settled on Call of Duty, and she felt something deep inside her clench. It was a mix between anticipation and dread. War. It was all over that game. She hated it yet couldn’t pull herself away.
She knew it wasn’t real…but it brought back memories. Bad memories. Memories of death, of injuries, and pain.

The title screen came up, and she felt her muscles tense. She felt ready for action, in that instance. Her hand twitched, searching for her gun. Only its absence brought her back to reality.

She watched the game for a total of five minutes before realizing it just wasn’t going to happen.

She sighed, “Well I’m going to get going guys.” “Why? Oh, are you bored? You can play,” Xavi offered, holding up the controller.

She shot him a heavy look, “No…war games just aren’t my thing.” “But you should be good at them!” he argued.

She should be good at them. She was sure she was.

She reached down, grabbing the controller. She propelled the character forward. She quickly figured out which button did what by trial and error.

“This is what it looks like in battle. Everything is fast, fleeting. It doesn’t seem real. One wishes it was just a game, but it isn’t.” She sank into the sofa once again, her eyes on the screen. She felt their gazes on her, knowing she had their rapt attention. She’d never talked about her time in the military before.

“It’s hot. Even though it’s morning, it’s already above 90 degrees. Sweat is trickling down your brow, getting into your eyes. But you can’t wipe it away, because you have to hold your gun, and be prepared for anything. Every time you try to breathe, sand seems to fill your lungs. Your throat itches, but you can’t waste water. There’s a limited supply, and no guarantee of more.”
She heard gunfire, and made the character duck down. Several animated characters weren’t so lucky.

“Those that just died were your countrymen, and your friends. They might have been your companion for a few weeks, or several years. You may know their families, the name of their pets. But you can’t mourn them. If you stop, linger for just one second, you die too. You have to keep moving, keep fighting. You can’t think about their kids, or their friends. You can’t think about the vacant look in their eyes. You can’t watch the bloodstain grow.”

She moved the character out, shooting the enemy with deadly accuracy.

“But at the same time, you can’t celebrate killing the killer. They’re just as human as your friend. They were a son, maybe a brother or uncle, and quite possibly a father. They had a family, and a life. Their son or daughter might be fatherless. How can you know? You can’t. You don’t have time.”

She sighed, and passed the controller back to Xavi, “You see, that’s the true horror of war. You watch friends die, and are put in a situation where you can’t grieve. One has to keep going. Keep fighting. Survival becomes most important. It’s physically and mentally exhausting. It stays with you…”

She fell silent, and sighed.

“Sorry, I’m sure that was depressing. I’ll just go…” She all but fled from the house, and retreated to the closest metro stop. The twitch in her hand was worse than it had been in months, and she was glad to get to her small apartment.

Lola came running up to her, barking. She picked up the small Chihuahua, and curled up on the sofa. Memories flashed before her eyes. Memories she’d spend months trying to forget. She wanted to forget, to move on. But it seemed like that was impossible.
Memories turned into dreams, and dreams turned into nightmares.


~~

The trash resonated loudly in the nearly empty dumpster as she threw it in, retreating immediately to avoid the smell that issued out of the alley.

Her poor white pants already had a purple stain on it from some alcoholic beverage a drunk partier had spilled on her as she’d tried to do her daily tasks. She sighed as she reentered the loud building, and the loud bass pounded through her entire body. She usually left work with a headache as a result, and kept large bottles as painkillers around her apartment to help.

“Adela, take your break,” Núria said to her. She nodded, glad for that hour to come.

She grabbed a bottle of water, and headed toward the exit. She was nearly there when a hand caught her arm. She stopped, turning, dreading what drunk customer she might face. But instead she was met with kind eyes and a mop of curly hair. A smile appeared against her will.

“Are you off already?” he asked. She shook her head, “I’m on break. But you didn’t have a game today.” He grinned, “Don’t always have to have a reason to come here. Come up with me?” He gestured to the VIP lounge.

She nodded, alighting the stairs behind him.

Once inside the much quieter area, they sat. “I know you don’t get off for a while, but I would like to get to know you more.”
She smiled, “Well, you did offer a drink, after all…”

He smiled, “I did offer that. Meet me here, and I’ll be sure to get something for you.” Again, she could have sworn his words rang
with a flirty edge. But she wasn’t sure. She never was particularly good at discerning such things. But it was there, she swore it was. Then again, she was just a waitress in a club, with a stain on her pants. Why would anyone be interested in her? Especially someone as handsome and talented as him.

She nervously clenched the bottle in her hands. She didn’t even know what to think anymore. So she decided not to think about it at all, and enjoy whatever this was.