Schritt für Schritt (step by step)

April 19th

A/N: 

Hi everyone! I started writing this story right after Leah tore her ACL because I felt the need to process the idea that she won't be in the WC or in the England squad, hell, she won't be on the pitch the next nine months...

Well, anyways. Here it is. It's probably not going to be extremely long and there might be some time between updates (don't really know that yet, hehe). It's my first story and English is not my first language, please be nice! (I'm always open to constructive feedback, though). 

Leah

She knows what injuries feel like, she's had them before. There would be a small movement, a turn, a knock, the stopping of flowing movements, the fall. The pain. The desperate panic. She's also seen them happen to other people. People she loves, breaking apart inside their bodies and their minds.

She only ever imagined what ACL-injuries would feel like. Beth described it as actually feeling something tear, something that held you together before not holding you together anymore. She imagined it to feel humiliating – though that's never what she thought of her team-mates crumpled up on the pitch –, humiliatingly raw, like the innermost thoughts and feelings would just be turned outside for everyone to see. She deemed this to be humiliating as she has taken on a beautiful, strong mask for the public who loves and judges her every minute of the day. She used to imagine herself crying, not only because of the pain, but because of a not-so-short future so different from what she'd thought it to be five seconds ago. She imagined the concerned expressions on her friend's faces, Lia, always the mother, putting a comforting hand on her hip, commentators doubling down on their theories of what could have happened. She imagined the immobilizing feeling of wrongness. The immobility. Then she would stop imagining.

So, Leah knows.

She knows the moment she feels her knee tear and buckle underneath her. The immediate stab of pain streaming through her bones and her blood and the oxygen in her blood. She knows as she crashes down on the green and as she feels herself waving for a change and for help and for it to stop. She knows as she hides her face from the caring and dooming camera she knows will be zooming in on her as the tears she hates fall down unhinderedly. She knows as she feels Lia's hand on her hip and the arms of humiliation around her. She knows about the expressions and the theories and the stories of tomorrow in the newspapers.

She knows her ACL is somewhere in her, exploded – because that's what they do, they explode – pulling back slowly, both ends looking more and more like cherry trees blooming in spring.

Lia

Lia knows too. Looking back, it's interesting to think how Leah it was. While Beth really didn't try to hide anything and Viv tried to hide everything, Leah's first thought was with the team, waving to the bench and only then burying her face in her arms for only her to know what was being shown on it. It was so Leah, how she stated: "it's my ACL", again and again for only Lia and the medical team to hear, and then getting up and walking her mask and herself off the pitch. Stoically. Wally knows because of the Leah-way Leah reacted to an injury Leah knows as well as you could know an injury you haven't had.

They know each other quite well. Leah is forward-minded and strong-willed and calm on the pitch, even if the referees would say differently. It's not necessarily about the words she speaks, but rather about her presence that is so crucial to the way the team was functioning – the opponents wouldn't feel like dealing with eleven players, but with a luring, hunting animal, or rather a liquid, red and white, flowing into spaces between the other players. But today they are playing in pink. And pink Leah is now glued to the grass, screams stuck deep in her throat, a wounded lioness, a wounded soul.