No Safety Net
Alicia
Bruno’s office always has that heavy atmosphere, as if the air were thick with the clauses and zeros of the contracts negotiated here.
It’s the place where they decide whether you’re a star or finished, a place where they talk about numbers that seem straight out of a science fiction movie.
But this morning, all those trappings roll right off me; the contracts, the sponsors, and the absurd commissions don’t mean a thing to me.
My head, my heart, and every last breath in my body are focused on one person: Clara.
She left the club for me. She threw her career away to save mine, to keep those vultures from slapping that “troublemaker” label on me again.
Ever since we returned to our normal routine, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. No matter how hard I try to distract myself, the thought is still there, lodged beneath my ribs, stirring up an unbearable mix of blind rage and guilt.
I rest my head against the back of the leather sofa as I watch Bruno, who’s pacing back and forth across the office like a caged lion, his phone pressed to his ear.
He’s been arguing with someone from marketing for ten minutes now, and I can barely follow the conversation.
My fingers fiddle with a bottle of ice-cold water, twirling it over and over, while my knee throbs with a rhythmic twinge—a constant reminder of everything I’m about to lose if I don’t get my act together.
Although, for the first time in my life, soccer isn’t the center of my existence, and that’s what scares the hell out of me.
“Yeah, damn it, I know they want absolute exclusivity,” Bruno growls in a weary voice before reluctantly hanging up the phone. “But Alicia isn’t going to shoot any fucking commercial this week. Or next week. Period.”
He hangs up, flings the phone onto the table, and fixes his gaze on me.
“What did they want this time?” I ask curiously. Over the last few days, several sports brands have been contacting him, wanting me to be their main spokesperson. I’ve lost count. “Because for you to tell them to fuck off, it must be total garbage.”
“They were the competition for the sunscreen brand you sponsor.”
“Now I get it…” I murmur, closing my eyes and letting out a deep sigh that doesn’t manage to relax my muscles. I haven’t slept in days; my whole body is tense, and I seriously doubt that’s going to change. “Why did you call me here?”
He slumps into the armchair across from me and loosens his tie. Bruno always looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown: deep dark circles under his eyes, two-day stubble, and that habit of rubbing his forehead whenever he senses a catastrophe. And with me, catastrophe is his natural state.
“Do you want to tell me what the hell happened?” he asks in a much softer tone, leaning forward with both arms on his knees. “The club’s press officer called me to say that Clara quit because of you. And then there’s that dead-as-a-doornail look on your face…”
Alba, the captain, was right when she said rumors spread as fast as a sigh.
I glance down at the bottle and weigh the possibility of telling a lie.
I could come up with some cheap excuse, but I’m sick of hiding how I feel, tired of swallowing every blow while the world decides what kind of person I am.
“Yes, Clara resigned…” I finally confess in a whisper.
“I truly hoped it was just an unfounded rumor.”
The word “rumor” turns my stomach. Rumors about my strong personality, about my injuries, about supposed fights in the locker room or made-up relationships.
Rumors about coaches who’ve turned against me because I’m a troublemaker, when the reality is much dirtier, more painful, and, above all, much more human.
My entire career is built on that mountain of shit they call rumors.
“And yes, she did it for me,” I murmur, feeling my voice crack. “But before you treat me like a little girl, let me tell you that she made that decision on her own, to protect me.”
“Alicia, please…”
Silence settles over the office. Outside, through the large windows, the city continues at its frenetic pace. I can still picture Clara’s expression as she announced her resignation, the trembling of her hands, the way she looked at me as if I were the only thing that mattered in this world.
I run a hand over the back of my neck, trying to release the tension.
“I’m sick of all this shit, Bruno. Really sick of it.”
He remains silent, waiting, giving me the space I need to let it all out.
“I’m sick of having to keep my mouth shut while they make up crap about me.
In this sport, every time a woman shows some backbone, they automatically turn her into a danger, a threat.
And you know what’s worse? The worst part isn’t that—the worst part is that, in the end, you end up believing it and accepting that image because it’s easier to let them label you a troublemaker than to have to explain your side of the story. ”
Bruno rests his forearms on his knees, completely focused.
“I know this isn’t directly related, but… what happened with your previous coach?”
The question stings like a needle piercing my skin. I look toward the shelf, at the trophies and the photos of my goals. For years, I’ve avoided talking about it because every time I do, I feel small, dirty, and guilty. Clara is the only person I’ve ever told.
“He sexually assaulted me,” I finally blurt out, my voice barely above a whisper.
“He made me believe that if I didn’t go along with his games, my career would end right then and there.
At first, I gave in out of fear—out of panic at losing everything—but there came a point when I snapped.
When I rejected him… everything went to hell.
False accusations, rumors of instability, covert punishments.
It was hell. Or rather, the beginning of my personal hell. ”
Bruno turns pale, and the worry on his face deepens.
“Alicia… damn. I had no idea it was that serious.”
I shake my head.
“I don’t want pity.”
“It’s not pity,” he insists gently. “It’s just that now I understand why you’d blow up every time someone tried to control you. You’ve had to build walls of stone around yourself just to survive.”
I let out a hollow laugh, one that scratches at my throat.
“Clara’s the only one who’s understood. From the very beginning.”
I feel an iron knot growing in my throat as I think of her. She’s never judged me. She’s accepted my chaos, understood it, and, above all, protected me. I love her. I love her in a way I can no longer—nor do I want to—hide. I’m sick of love feeling like a crime.
“I want to give an interview, Bruno. I need to talk.”
He furrows his brow, surprised.
“Talk? To whom?”
“I want to tell it all. My career, the rumors that have dogged me, the reality of what happens when a female soccer player is no longer ‘convenient’ for a club. And yes, I want to talk about Clara. She deserves it after everything she’s done for me.”
Bruno freezes, processing the bombshell I’ve just dropped.
“Alicia, listen to me. This is huge. The season starts next week. The press is going to tear you apart.”
“Let them try,” I reply with a determination that courses through my body like fire.
“This time, I’m the one telling the story.
I’m sick and tired of being used to sell a modern image of soccer and then being asked to hide so as not to cause a stir.
I’m fed up with the idea that love between two women has to be lived in silence, as if it were something dirty. ”
My chest is rising and falling rapidly. I feel anger, yes, but also a freedom I’ve never known before.
“Are you aware of what this could lead to?” he asks, leaning closer to me. “Not just for you. For Clara. For the club.”
“I’m perfectly aware. And that’s exactly why I have to do it. Clara sacrificed her career for me. I’m not going to just sit idly by.”
Bruno rubs his face slowly, deep in thought.
“If we do this, there’s no turning back. You’ll be on every front page; they’ll bombard you with personal questions. There will be people who support you, of course, but others will try to bring you down harder than ever.”
“I’ve been dodging blows my whole life,” I reply. “The difference is that now I’m not going to hide. I want everyone to know the truth. That, apparently, love makes us less professional.”
Bruno lets out a small laugh, a mix of exhaustion and admiration.
“You’re completely crazy.”
“That’s what they say,” I reply with a half smile, the first sincere one I’ve let slip in days.
“And, unfortunately, half the time they’re right,” he adds affectionately. “But if we’re going to get into this mess, we’ll do it right. No trashy talk shows. I’ll find a reputable outlet, a journalist who respects your story. But promise me you’ll think it over one last time tonight.”
I nod, though my mind has already wandered off. I get up; Bruno stands and places a hand on my shoulder in a protective gesture.
“I’ll pull some strings,” he promises. “But, Alicia… do you love her enough to risk everything?”
There’s no irony in his question. He’s worried, and my heart sinks.
“So much. She makes me feel alive. Her hands, her voice, her confidence… the way she looks at me. I can’t keep hiding something this big, and I can’t let them keep pointing fingers at me and ruining my career over past rumors that have nothing to do with reality.”
I leave the office with my heart racing a mile a minute.
It’s cold outside, and the wind ruffles my hair as I wander aimlessly down the street.
I think of Clara. What she’d say if she knew what I’m about to do.
She’d probably get angry, be afraid for me, and try to stop me with a thousand logical arguments.
But it’s too late. The problem has never been falling in love; the problem has always been fear.
And I’ve spent many years letting fear take the wheel of my life. It’s time for me to take it back.