breathe | r lewandowski

3

I only saw Dylan once more before we left for China, and in that one meeting she spoke less than ten words to me, we had sex, and then she left. Each time we see one another it's like we're different people, sometimes I don't recognise her go a few seconds and then I realise who's knocking at my door.

I half expected her to call on the morning of my departure, but my phone never rang.

I hauled my case out of my house and jumped into the back of a cab that had been sent to pick me up, the club knowing that if I didn't have a reason to leave the house, such as a car waiting for me, I wouldn't leave the house.

My eyes were droopy and dark, my hair a tangled mess and my lips: a frown as always. I was incredibly tired after staying up late the previous night for some reason, not being able to sleep which was strange for me. I hoped that I would sleep on the flight and the time would pass quicker.

Upon arrival at the airport, I rolled my eyes once I saw the team and staff in a large group of red tracksuits clumped together outside the departure entrance.

Pulling my suitcase behind me, I let out a sigh and put on a false smile to greet Pep who was stood waiting. Once I was there, we moved inside, meaning I was the one that kept everybody waiting and half the team would probably be annoyed with me. But that didn't matter, it meant they wouldn't talk to me.

After checking in and passing through security, Albert invited me to grab some breakfast with him. I accepted, using it as an excuse to get away from Mario who seemed extra clingy that morning. We took a walk through the terminal and eventually sat down in a small café overlooking the runway. It was still dark outside and the lights that lit up the tarmac gave me an eerie feeling as planes blindly rose up into the ebony sky.

I tried not to think too hard, sipping my coffee in attempt to wake myself up and pay more attention to Albert who was telling me about his newborn grandson. The thought of having children somewhat repulsed me.

"Excuse me? Would you mind if I sat with you? I'm sorry to interrupt, I was with Pep but I lost him in the Duty Free..."

Ilooked at her. She had deep brown eyes and thick brown hair pulled up into a bun. Her face was naked, no makeup on at all apart from her olive skin giving her a natural bronze and a gleaming shimmer upon her cheekbones. She was tall and slender, her eyes slightly narrow and her lips full. She was beautiful, even more beautiful than Dylan.

"Of course, can I get you anything to drink?"

"Oh no thank you Albert, I just finished some coffee actually." She paused and looked directly at me and I noticed freckles lightly scattered across her nose and cheeks, "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm Jagger."

"Jagger?"

As soon as I repeated her name, I realised how rude I sounded. My tone was bitter and negative, as if I was taunting her for having such a strange name. Which, in a way, I was. Although it intrigued me.

"My father was English, he liked The Rolling Stones I guess."

I smiled at her, suddenly experiencing the feeling of grin on my lips for the first time in a while - I didn't like it.

Jagger blushed, her tanned cheeks glowing even more and her eyes lightened as she took a seat in between Albert and I.

"So you're our new saviour then?"

Albert looked at me suddenly, as if he'd never heard me start a conversation before. To be true to him, I probably hadn't. But for some reason, I felt more calm that gloomy morning in a busy airport, and Jagger was something new.

"You could say that I suppose. Or someone that just likes to help and gets a buzz out of organising stuff."

She laughed again and I chuckled out of spontaneous impulse. Albert said she was Spanish and her appearance backed him up, however with a name like Jagger and a strong German accent, there was more to her than just being a Spaniard.

I felt myself dropping out of the conversation as Jagger and Albert engaged more and more. They spoke loudly and it soon all became a muffle to me. Jagger's voice was soft and hollow, pretty; it matched her face. I expected to her to have a name like Florence or Ava, something light and stereotypically feminine. However, Jagger was cutting edge. It was heavy and more on the masculine side, but it suited her.

Kind of like Dylan.

"Are you expecting a call?"

"Huh?"

Again, I mentally punched myself for sounding so rude to someone I had only just met. I didn't care about being rude to my team mates, they were all used to it, but I didn't want to make the wrong first impression.

Jagger smiled at me, as if she knew I was half asleep as I stared out at the runway as if it was the most interesting thing I'd ever seen.

"You've been checking your phone every 10 seconds, that's all."

"Oh," I nodded slowly, realising that I had been subconsciously checking my lockscreen for a notification from Dylan. Maybe a text or a voicemail. Something, anything.

Rising to her feet, Jagger brushed herself down and I took in her outfit. She was wearing either leggings or skinny jeans - I couldn't quite tell. She had the Bayern polo shirt on and a black leather jacket over the top, perhaps living up to her rockstar name.

"Don't worry," she smiled again, looking down at me, "I'm sure she'll call."