I Think About You (So Don't Let Go)
As Katie drives home from the game, it’s all she can do to keep the tears from flowing down her cheeks. Her vision blurs so much she has to pull over twice, steadying her breath. She had known going into the game that it was going to be a tough game, the atmosphere tense and ripe with anticipation. Viv going down like that was not something anyone was expecting, honestly, and to watch it happen had made Katie’s heart drop into her stomach. Watching Beth crutch after Viv on the stretcher might as well have been salt in the wound.
Her heart hurts for Viv, her heart hurts for Beth, and her team. They all left the game with a general air of sadness and discouragement that Katie had now taken with her in her car ride.
She’s tired yes, but it runs deeper than that somehow. This isn’t just surface level tiredness, this is exhaustion from multiple fronts. Between the grueling past few months of the WSL season and all the injuries that apparently came with and the international fixture which had been surprisingly demanding (despite the reward), the Irish footballer is left feeling drained and weary. The only thing getting her through is the fact that in just a week, she gets to go be with her family and Ruesha.
She gets a break, and a holiday one at that.
And it would have been enough, if Viv hadn’t been stretchered off the field, Beth crutching after her desperately. Because now any restraint that Katie had been feeling about her exhaustion was flying out the window in favor of the fat, bumblebee-like tears rolling down her cheeks. She isn’t really a crier, she’s normally one to keep it in and shoulder on, but tonight for some reason she can’t seem to stop herself.
The brunette manages to get herself together enough to drive home, her eyes intensely focused on the road, the music blaring in the car, trying desperately to distract herself to keep from crying for the rest of the drive.
To get home to her empty, cold, dark flat. She didn’t exactly want a roommate per say, but there's something about coming home to an empty house that always makes Katie just a touch quieter.
But it’s better than being on the pitch, or in the changing room, with everyone hushed, concerned and silent thinking about their teammate and loss.
When Katie finally makes it to her driveway and shuts the car off, her shoulders seem to collapse in on themselves, her chest caving inward as the weight of the night rests on her shoulders. It’s raining outside, the gentle pattering of the raindrops hitting her car and the street the only noise besides Katie’s quiet sniffling.
The winger doesn’t even bother moving quickly when she gets out of the car, instead letting the rain drench her, the little jumper she had thrown on over her kit top doing nothing to stop the wetness from seeping into her. She hadn’t bothered with showering after the game, intent to just get out of the stadium and get home, run the shower as hot as she could and try to scrub her skin raw like she wanted to scrub the memory of tonight from her brain.
She opens the backseat of her car, grabbing the small duffel bag holding her stuff and throwing it over her shoulder, turning to make her way toward her front door. She keeps her head down, shielding her eyes from the rain as she walks up the driveway.
She turns the key into the door, stepping in swiftly, closing it silently behind her. She toes off her first shoe, then her second, not even bothering to put them in the hallway closet like she normally did. She was about to move into her flat and toward her bedroom when she heard a rustling noise.
The brunette freezes, her head suddenly clearer than it has been for hours. She hears more shuffling, and when she silently looks around the corner, she can tell that a light is on in the kitchen.
Katie always shuts the lights off before she leaves her flat (thank you, energy crisis).
The winger grabs the nearest blunt object she can find that could be categorized as a weapon, a long stick-like structure used to securely lock the door from the inside. She fists it in her hand, silently moving toward the kitchen, grateful that she wore her socks home, her feet silently padding toward the kitchen. She silently drips onto the hardwood floor, rainwater dripping from her soaked jumper.
Only one light is on in the kitchen, that much Katie can tell, and there’s someone moving about in there. The problem is that her flat isn’t terribly open concept, so the view into the kitchen is obscured.
Katie braces herself, before she turns the corner, her duffel in one hand, still slung over her shoulder and the lock protector in another, raised above her head.
But what she finds completely stumps her.
Because it’s not some crazy intruder, or any sort of robber in her kitchen. It’s Ruesha, who's standing there as she shimmy’s slightly, clearly dancing with her back to Katie as she mixes something in a bowl. But the brunette can only stand there with her jaw on the floor practically, staring at the back of her girlfriend, who is swaying from side to side, headphones in her ear, the cord dangling down to attach to her phone which is in her back pocket.
Ruesha is here in her kitchen, making food.
Ruesha is here, in her kitchen.
Ruesha is here.
Ruesha.
Katie doesn’t have time to announce her presence or alert Ruesha that she is also standing in the kitchen before the blonde is turning toward the sink, where she sees Katie out of the corner of her eyes and promptly screams bloody murder, both of them jumping back at the noise.
“Christ on a cracker, Katie. Don’t sneak up on a girl like that,” Ruesha says, pulling her headphones out of her ear with one hand while the other clutches at her chest with little grace. If Katie were in any other state of mind, she would point out how Ruesha set herself up for failure by having both headphones in with loud music, but this Katie can’t bring herself to care.
No, this Katie is still rooted to her spot on the floor, still holding the lock stick and her bag in either hand, unable to move. She genuinely can’t believe that Ruesha is here, as though the blonde had someone known how much Katie needed her right now. She’s staring at Ruesha with giant eyes, and for once she feels something she’s felt so little of these past few weeks.
Relief.
Ruesha notices after a moment that Katie is standing there peculiarly, staring at her with wide eyes. She cocks her head, her eyebrows furrowing in concern as she looks Katie up and down.
“Katie, is everything alright?” Ruesha inquires smoothly, her eyes roving over Katie’s face. The brunette nods slowly, swallowing gently as she looks Ruesha up and down, trying to catalog every single thing about her girlfriend in that specific moment. She’s wearing a white t-shirt that Katie is pretty sure was once hers, given its from her old secondary school, and some straight leg jeans with little rips at the knee. Her socks are mismatched, one black and one a reddish-maroon, and she has her hair down and flowing over her shoulders. She’s looking at Katie with such a gentle concern, as if she can see right through the winger.
For weeks, Katie had felt run down and bone tired, but with such a need to keep everything up for those around her. She was the fun one, the smiley one, the one who was always goofing around, and she felt the need to continue that, even if her heart wasn’t in it.
But Ruesha didn’t need her to do that. Ruesha just needed her to be here, and the striker could tell right away that something was off with the brunette. It was a relief unlike anything that Katie has remembered feeling recently.
“You’re here,” Katie breathes out softly, like she can’t quite believe the words herself. Like if she says them louder, that Ruesha will just up and disappear. The blonde quirks an eyebrow, as if she’s not entirely sure what Katie means exactly.
“Yeah, I am. Planned on coming up early to surprise you, sounded like you needed it on the phone the last few days and weeks,” Ruesha says gently, mirroring Katie’s slow nod. She has a small smile on her face, even if her eyebrows are creased in concern as Katie stays frozen in her spot in the kitchen entrance.
The brunette feels her vision blur over, Ruesha turning into a hazy blur behind the sea of tears in her eyes. She drops her bag and lock stick on the floor, where they fall with a thud and clatter respectively, as she surged forward toward the blonde.
Katie nearly tackles Ruesha back with the weight of her hug, wrapping her arms around the blonde’s neck, pressing their bodies together back into the counter of her kitchen.
Ruesha wraps her arms around Katie’s abdomen on instinct as the brunette burrows her face in Ruesha’s neck, her hands coming to wrap around the back of Ruesha’s head, her fingers lightly threading through the hair at the base of her neck. Katie is extremely wet, but Ruesha could really care less, more concerned about Katie’s action than the state of her outfit.
“You’re here, Rue,” Katie half says, half sobs into Ruesha’s neck. The blonde doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls Katie tighter into herself, resting her head down onto Katie’s shoulder.
“Yeah, Kates, I’m here. I’m always gonna come for ya if ya need me,” Ruesha says after a moment, her answer muffled in Katie's hair, but the brunette hears her perfectly.
Katie lets the comfort of Ruesha wash over her, the peony and bergamot perfume that Ruesha sprays on every morning. The blonde’s arms are tight around her, warm and secure as Katie grips onto her tightly, as though she's a lifeline. Katie can feel the soft rise and fall of Ruesha’s chest pressed against hers, and she melts into the contact as Rue’s hands come up to rub gently up and down her back.
Katie is struck in that moment about the fact that this flat is not her home. It’s dark, and barely has any decoration despite the fact that Katie has lived here nearly a year. Katie lived here, yes, but this is just a house, not a home.
This person right here, who wrapped her in a fierce hug, no questions asked, is her home.
Ruesha is home.