A Storm Is Brewing

Don't Forget Me

Leah and I found a routine that worked for us. I would stay with her every night except Sunday and Thursday, giving us both space on those nights to maintain the rebuilding we were attempting. Of course, most of the time we would end up breaking the rules, one of us calling the other in hope of a should we just stay together this one night, next Sunday we'll stay separately. It was a big jump, going from months apart to living together again, and neither of us wanted to risk messing anything up again. After a few weeks, Leah arrived home from a meeting one night in a terrible state; her eyes were bloodshot, and her legs were unable to stop pacing around the living room.

"What is it, Le? What's happened?" I asked as I stood to take her into my arms.
"They just do this; sign us up for shit. They didn't ask, didn't say, oh by the way, does this suit you? No, they just decide for us. Who do they think they are?"
"Who? What's happened?"
"Arsenal. They've decided we're going to a six-week training camp—in fucking Dubai."
"What? When?" My heart dropped.
"Monday, Sophie. Monday." She sobbed.
"Oh." You weren't meant to say that out loud, Sophie.
"I'm so sorry. I tried to get out of it; I told them that I couldn't go. They said it's not a valid reason, though, and that I need to be realistic. Realistic—what does that even mean?"
"What's not a valid reason?"
"Apparently, missing you isn't a valid reason to not go to Dubai. How can they decide that? How can they say that my reason isn't valid? It's my fucking reason."
"Le, stop." I chuckled.
"Stop what? Why're you laughing at me?" She screwed her face up, trying to loosen her grip.
"I'm not laughing at you, Le. I promise. You're just really cute."
"Yeah, and really absent. Always absent. If it isn't the Euros, it's the World Cup; it's a runway show; it's a photoshoot; it's a training camp; it's a Champions League match." Her voice broke.
"You're here now." I whispered.
"Yeah, until Monday. Then I'm gone for six weeks, and then the WSL is back. Then I have the England matches. I just - I - ugh - I just want to fucking love you!"
"I know you love me, Le. I also knew what your career was when I gave you my heart to love. Distance was never our issue; why are you worried about it now?"
"What if you forget me? What do I do then?"
"Forget you? How could I forget you? You can't seriously think I could forget you in six weeks?"
"Of course I don't think that. I don't mean in six weeks; I mean through time. I mean, when I'm not around. What if, slowly, you start to think, you know, I'm okay with her not being around? Because that's what I'm asking you to do—I'm asking you to be okay when I'm not around—but I'm also terrified of you being okay when I'm not around. This doesn't even make sense. I don't make sense. How do I make it make sense?"
"Stop. Just stop everything. Okay? Stop talking, stop thinking, and stop. Hold onto me, okay?"

Leah exhaled deeply and nodded, tightening her grip around my back.

"In - and out. In - and out. In - and out." I repeated, rubbing circles on her back.
"I'm scared." She whispered.
"I'm not." I whispered back.

My response seemed to settle Leah, her grip not loosening as we stood in silence, holding one another. Her hand found my hair and brushed it back from my face, her eyes gazing deeply into mine.

"Don't forget me, Soph, 'cos I can't forget you."
"Okay, Romeo. I won't."
"Kick a woman while she's down, why don't you?" She chuckled.
"Always." I whispered as I reached up to peck her lips.

— — — —

Before we knew it, we had spent our last night together before Leah left for Dubai. I left that Sunday afternoon, and Leah's flight to Dubai was at 3.45 a.m. Monday morning, meaning it was silly for us to stay together when I had work at 8:30 a.m. She promised to try to get some sleep after a lot of persuasion, and I promised to make sure I was free to call her when she landed in Dubai. We had it all worked out: the time difference, her training schedule against my court schedule, and the day she got back. That didn't stop the empty feeling that I felt as I lay in bed that Sunday evening—the feeling of knowing that I wouldn't feel her in my arms for 42 more nights. As I opened and closed my eyes, attempting to force myself to sleep, my phone vibrated on the bedside table.