It's the year 2027. After the ligament operation, Alexia's recovery, which initially seemed very promising, was marred by one complication after another. Time, slow recuperation, and age eventually distanced her from professional football.
Although...
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May 26, 2015
"You look very beautiful when you wake up, you know?"
Alexia laughed with amusement. She still couldn't fully open her eyes, content with feeling the tips of her fingers tracing her jaw, her nose, her lips.
"It's a life-changing sight, for sure."
"It is."
"With puffy eyes, crusty sleep..."
"And tangled hair."
"Yeah, that too".
"That's the best part."
The footballer shook her head playfully and snuggled further into the sheets, allowing her girlfriend's arms to envelop her in warmth, perhaps for a little more sleep.
"Have you had breakfast?" Alexia asked against Elenas's neck.
"I was waiting for you."
Alexia pulled away slightly and Elena frowned.
"What time is it?" she asked, not waiting for a response as she reached for her phone on the nightstand. It was already twelve-thirty. Alexia widened her eyes. "Damn it, Lena. Why did you let me sleep in so late?" She sat up on the bed. The brunette imitated her. "I can't trust you. What have you been doing all morning?"
Alexia put both feet on the floor, finally getting out of bed, and grabbed a pair of sports pants from the back of the desk chair. Elena accepted her decision somewhat reluctantly.
"Watching you sleep," Alexia took the time to roll her eyes before dragging her girlfriend out from under the blankets by her arms. "Okay... You were dead asleep," she shrugged. "I got out of bed several times, and you didn't even notice. I even did the shopping."
"You should have woken me up," she pouted.
"It's your day off. I like you well-rested," Elena said, her eyes locking with Alexia's, a playful glint in them. "...Most of the time."
It was being a good year, 2015. Spain could surprise everyone in Canada, and Alexia could achieve her first major title with the national team; she was in a good place. The probably best-ever Barça men's team had already won the league, and in a few days, they would conquer the Copa del Rey against Athletic Bilbao. Ada Colau had just won the mayoral election in Barcelona, and more and more estelada hung from balconies, predicting a clear victory for Artur Más with Junts pel sí and Alexia Putellas was waking up practically every morning in Elena Garay's ninety-centimetres bed.
It was a hot and dry May. Alexia looked forward to the scorching heat of June, that would force her to head to the beach. But she knew her Asturian girlfriend was already trying to find a way to shed her skin to cope with the predicted twenty-seven degrees. And it was Tuesday too and Elena had classes. Or well, had in the strictest sense of the word.
