bringing lucy home

Chapter 9: Distractions and Disasters

It was more than the usual pre-match nerves that had Lucy feeling like her stomach was in knots.

"I just need to push this out of my head a little longer," she kept telling herself. "Focus on the match." Nikita kept giving her looks, worried glances because she noticed that Lucy was on the verge of falling apart again. Lucy avoided eye contact at all costs.

Warming up on the pitch, Lucy's hands were shaking and she held them tight behind her back to hide the fear and worry. She was the captain, she had to stay strong at least for the girls.

When the whistle blew and the match kicked off, Lucy tried to zone in on her job, the present, the match, but still Keira's message haunted her, her own choices haunted her, her insides felt empty.

The anxiety began to take over her, but she kept forcing it out of her mind. She could hear her coach yelling at her from the touchline, Look alive Lucia! Focus on the ball! Cover her, cover her! Number 6!

Too many voices in her head. Keira's sad, small, beautiful little voice, pleading with her. "I love you, I need you. I need you here back in Manchester." Georgia's threats, loudly in the background. She could hear Steph's voice, too, telling her to make the right decision. Her coach's voice, the French commands coming from the touchline mixing in with the words of everyone around her in and in her head. Her teammates shouting at her and each other. Nikita's voice, telling her she's not ok. Her parents. Lucy Stan. All of them, seeming to scream at her.

Greenwood passed back to her. "Lucy! Upfield!"

Lucy took the ball and ran upfield, trying to find someone to pass to. Her feet seemed to stick on the wet pitch, her legs felt heavy and weak. Her vision was blurry, her head was pounding, filled with the voices of too many people. Players on the pitch shouting in French filled her ears, Keira's voice filled her head...she felt like she was going to burst when...

Next thing she knew she was on the ground. The ball wasn't at her feet. Her feet. She was clutching it to her, shaking in pain. A shrill ringing was now the only sound in her head as faded shouts from other players echoed around her.

She was curled in a little ball near the right side of the pitch. She couldn't move, she was frozen in pain. She opened her eyes, slowly. They widened in fear as she realized what had happened. She couldn't breathe, she was shaking, her body was tight, and her ankle was throbbing. Beyond that, she couldn't feel a thing in her leg. Something was wrong. No, no, no no. This can't happen.

Two medics ran onto the pitch and lifted her into a stretcher. She was confused, and terrified, but when she opened her mouth the words couldn't come out. Her jaw was trembling and her head was aching with fear. The anger, worry, distress overcame her and she began silently sobbing as she was carried down the tunnel.

Her eyes were barely open and her sight was blurred, the lights in the tunnel were like faded bright streaks as she was hurried to a doctor. Unlaced all the way, they took of her muddy boot. Her sock was cut off, and she strained her neck to see down at her ankle, the source of her pain. Gushing blood under her sock, her ankle was twisted bruised and mangled. The white of her bone was poking through the skin at a horrifying angle. The whole mess was covered in blood and grass. She groaned loudly and dropped her head.

"Its going to be ok," a medic assured her, stroking her head. 'its going to be ok."