If you’re ready
The drive back is nearly unbearable. Every slight movement of her legs sends fire up her muscles, her thighs screaming in protest as she tries to keep her breathing even. The bruises littering her body throb with every bump in the road, and her head pounds viciously, a sharp, unrelenting ache that only worsens the longer she keeps her eyes open. She wants to lean her head against the window, let the cool glass soothe at least a fraction of her discomfort, but even that feels like too much effort.
She tells herself she deserves it.
She deserves every sharp jolt of pain, every ache and throb that lingers beneath her skin. She’d let Pere down. Let the team down. Let Mapi down. They were right to punish her, to send her to the ground time and time again. She should be grateful they hadn’t completely ignored her instead.
The silence in the car is thick, tense. Mapi hasn’t spoken since they left the training grounds, and for a while, Ingrid lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she won’t say anything at all. Maybe Mapi understands why this had to happen. Why Ingrid had to suffer through it.
But then, barely halfway home, Mapi slams her hand against the steering wheel. “For fuck’s sake, Ingrid!”
Ingrid flinches at the sudden outburst, her already raw nerves nearly frying at the sharpness of Mapi’s voice.
“What?” she mutters, pressing her fingers against her temple, trying to rub away the ache forming there.
Mapi scoffs, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “What? You’re seriously asking me that?”
“Yes?” Ingrid says, exhausted. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to say that you realise how fucking stupid that was!” Mapi’s voice is sharp, filled with something Ingrid doesn’t quite have the energy to place right now. “I want you to admit that you pushed yourself too fucking far!”
Ingrid lets out a breath, tilting her head back against the headrest. “I didn’t push myself too far,” she grits out. “Pere told me to run. The team tackled me. I didn’t ask for any of that.”
Mapi lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head as she keeps her eyes locked on the road. “Oh, come on. You didn’t ask for it, but you didn’t stop, either. You didn’t take a second to breathe, to drink water, to check yourself! You just kept going, even when you were clearly about to collapse!”
“What was I supposed to do?” Ingrid snaps, frustration bubbling up now. “Tell Pere no? Tell the team to go easy on me? You think they’d have listened?”
“That’s not the fucking point, Ingrid!” Mapi’s hands tighten around the wheel. “The point is you didn’t even try. You didn’t care enough about yourself to stop!”
Ingrid clenches her jaw, looking out the window. She doesn’t answer, because what is she supposed to say to that? Mapi wasn’t wrong.
She hadn’t tried to stop it.
Because she hadn’t wanted to.
Mapi sighs heavily, rubbing a hand over her face as the car slows down at a red light. Her voice is quieter when she speaks again, but no less firm.
“You don’t deserve this,” she murmurs, and Ingrid hates the way it makes her chest tighten, the way it makes her throat feel like it’s closing up. “Not from them. Not from Pere. And not from yourself.”
“Yes, I do,” Ingrid whispers back before she can stop herself.
Mapi inhales sharply, gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t argue. She just presses her lips together and keeps driving.
By the time they make it back to their apartment building, Ingrid is barely holding herself together. Every step is agony, her muscles locking up, screaming with every movement. She forces herself to keep her posture steady, to walk as normally as she can. The last thing she wants is for Mapi to see just how much she’s hurting and start yelling at her again.
She focuses on her breathing, on the rhythmic scuff of her trainers against the pavement, but she can feel Mapi’s gaze flicking toward her, watching, assessing.
When they reach her floor, Ingrid expects Mapi to stay in the elevator and head toward her own apartment, but instead, she follows Ingrid inside hers without hesitation, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Ingrid doesn’t question it. She doesn’t have the energy to. She knows what’s coming -the conversation she’s been dreading since this morning, since the moment Mapi had found her outside her door.
And she is not ready.
“I’m gonna shower,” Ingrid mutters, already turning toward the bathroom as quickly as her aching body allows. She doesn’t wait for Mapi to respond, closing the door behind her and pressing her forehead against it for a long moment.
She feels like she’s suffocating.
Stripping off her training kit is slow, painful, every movement a reminder of how much her body has been put through today. She doesn’t look in the mirror as she undresses. She doesn’t need to. She can already feel the bruises forming, deep and dark, blooming across her hips, back, legs, and arms like some kind of cruel reminder of how much she deserves this pain.
The second she steps under the hot water, her muscles loosen just slightly, and she lets out a shaky breath. The warmth soaks into her skin, dulling the ache but doing nothing for the exhaustion weighing her down like a lead blanket.
She doesn’t know how long she stays there, watching the water swirl down the drain, feeling the sting of her bruises intensify with every passing second. Eventually, though, she forces herself to shut the water off, wrapping a towel around herself and shuffling toward the mirror.
Her reflection looks as wrecked as she feels.
Dark circles under her eyes, her skin pale and drawn. The bruises are angry, blotches of deep purple and red standing out starkly against her skin. Her stomach twists at the sight, but she shoves the feeling down, reaching for her favourite black hoodie and sweatpants. She tugs them on quickly, hiding the evidence of today beneath layers of fabric, as though that alone will make it disappear.
She brushes her hair, puts on deodorant, stalls for as long as she possibly can. But she knows she can’t delay this forever.
With a deep breath, she steps out of the bathroom and heads to the living room.
Mapi is sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone, but Ingrid barely registers that. Her eyes are drawn instead to the tea and toast sitting on the table in front of her usual seat.
Ingrid swallows hard.
Mapi looks up, patting the empty space beside her. The moment Ingrid sits down, her body protests, muscles aching, and her hands tremble as she lifts the tea to her lips. The warmth soothes her throat, but it does nothing to settle the turmoil inside her.
Mapi is silent beside her, watching, waiting. Ingrid knows she won’t push, won’t force words out of her. But that almost makes it worse. Because it means it’s on Ingrid to speak first.
She takes a deep breath, but it stutters on the way out. Her fingers tighten around the mug, and before she can stop herself, the words start spilling out.
“I wasn’t always like this,” she says quietly, staring down at her tea. “I used to be happy. Confident. Before-“ She swallows, throat tight. “Before Isabelle.”
She doesn’t have to look at Mapi to know she’s listening intently.
“She-“ Ingrid shakes her head, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. “She didn’t hit me or anything. It wasn’t like that.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I almost wish she had. At least that would have been obvious. At least then, I would have known I needed to leave.”
Mapi’s brows furrow. “Ingrid…”
“But she didn’t,” Ingrid continues, voice trembling. “She just…picked at me. Broke me down piece by piece. Made me believe I was never enough for her. That I was lucky she even put up with me.” She exhales shakily. “At first, it was small things. Telling me I was too sensitive, that I overreacted to everything. And then it was -God, it was like she had a checklist of my insecurities, and she knew exactly how to use them against me.”
Mapi’s jaw clenches. “That’s not-“
“She made me believe I was difficult to love,” Ingrid interrupts, her voice hoarse. “That I wasn’t good enough. That no one else would want me.”
Mapi shifts beside her, radiating barely restrained anger, but she doesn’t interrupt again.
“I should have left,” Ingrid whispers, gripping the mug so tightly her knuckles turn white. “I should have seen it for what it was, but I didn’t. I stayed. For two fucking years.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she grits her teeth, forcing the tears back. “I stayed because I thought she was right. Because I thought…I thought I deserved it.”
Mapi’s hand twitches on the couch between them, like she wants to reach for Ingrid but isn’t sure if she should. Ingrid doesn’t give her time to decide.
“And now I don’t know how to undo it,” she confesses, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to stop punishing myself. It’s like-“ She lets out a shaky breath, rubbing at her eyes. “It’s like I don’t know how to exist without it. Without believing that I deserve to feel this way.”
“Ingrid,” Mapi says, voice firm yet gentle. “That’s not true.”
Ingrid lets out a breathless laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Isn’t it?” She gestures vaguely at herself. “I ran from training. I ignored everyone, I shut down. And then when I finally came back, I let Pere punish me without complaint. I let the girls take their anger out on me. I didn’t eat, Mapi. I knew it would make everything worse, and I still didn’t fucking eat because some part of me believed I deserved to feel like this.”
Mapi inhales sharply, her hands curling into fists. “You don’t.”
Ingrid finally looks at her, and the raw emotion in Mapi’s gaze nearly knocks the breath from her lungs.
“You don’t deserve any of that,” Mapi says fiercely. “Not from them. Not from yourself.”
Ingrid swallows hard, and for the first time, she hesitates. The next words are heavier, harder to say.
“But I do,” she murmurs. “Because I keep doing this. I keep ruining everything. I let myself believe I could be happy here, and now I’ve messed it up. With the team. With-“ She breaks off, shaking her head.
“With me,” Mapi finishes quietly.
Ingrid flinches. She stares down at her lap, unable to look at Mapi as she forces the words out. “I like you,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. “More than a friend should.”
Mapi is silent for a moment, and it’s torture. “I know,” she says softly.
Ingrid’s head snaps up, heart lurching in her chest. “You-?”
“I know,” Mapi repeats. “I’ve known for a while.”
Ingrid opens her mouth, but no words come out.
Mapi exhales, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to push you. I knew you had been hurt before, I just…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know how much.”
Ingrid blinks rapidly, trying to process everything. “I don’t -I don’t know how to do this,” she admits, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to like someone without expecting them to hurt me. I don’t know how to trust that this won’t end the same way.”
Mapi nods, her expression unreadable. “That’s okay.”
Ingrid frowns. “What?”
“It’s okay,” Mapi repeats. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”
“I don’t want to be like this,” Ingrid whispers. “I don’t want to be broken.”
Mapi shifts closer, carefully reaching for her hand. When Ingrid doesn’t pull away, she intertwines their fingers, trailing the pad of her thumb over her knuckles.
“You’re not broken,” Mapi says, her voice steady. “You’re hurt. But that doesn’t mean you’re broken.”
Ingrid squeezes her eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
Mapi gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “Then let me help you.”
Ingrid lets out a choked sob, and Mapi doesn’t hesitate this time. She pulls Ingrid into her arms, holding her tightly as she breaks down completely.
Mapi holds Ingrid as tightly as she dares, her arms secure around her waist, her chin resting lightly atop Ingrid’s head. She strokes slow, comforting circles into her back, occasionally threading her fingers through Ingrid’s thick brown hair. Ingrid shakes against her, silent tears dampening Mapi’s hoodie, but Mapi doesn’t care. She would hold Ingrid for as long as she needed.
She exhales quietly, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor as she debates whether to say what’s been on the tip of her tongue for what feels like forever. Ingrid has been vulnerable with her, completely raw in a way Mapi has never seen her before. She deserves honesty in return.
“Ingrid,” Mapi murmurs, her fingers continuing their slow path through Ingrid’s hair. She feels Ingrid shift slightly but doesn’t pull away. “I need you to hear me, okay?”
Ingrid nods against her, hands still tightly fisted in the fabric of Mapi’s shirt.
“I like you too,” Mapi confesses softly. “Not just as a friend. More than that.”
She feels Ingrid freeze in her arms. Her breath catches, her body going tense, and Mapi rubs her back a little more firmly, silently reassuring her that she’s not going anywhere.
“But listen to me,” Mapi continues, voice gentle but firm. “Nothing has to happen. There’s no rush, no expectation. If you ever feel ready, I’ll be here. But if you never do, that’s okay too.”
Ingrid remains frozen for another few beats before she slowly nods against Mapi’s chest. Her fingers relax, no longer gripping Mapi’s hoodie like a lifeline, but she doesn’t let go.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” Ingrid admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
“And that’s okay,” Mapi says without hesitation. “You don’t have to have the answers right now.”
Ingrid lets out a slow, shaky breath, finally loosening her hold and leaning back just enough to look at Mapi. Her green eyes are glassy, still red-rimmed from crying, but there’s something else there too. A flicker of something softer, something almost like relief.
“You mean that?” Ingrid asks, voice small.
Mapi nods, tucking a strand of hair behind Ingrid’s ear. Her thumb lingers on her cheek, gently wiping away wetness staining her skin. “Every word.” She promises.
Ingrid stares at her for a long moment, like she’s searching for any trace of a lie. When she finds none, she exhales and leans forward again, resting her forehead against Mapi’s chest.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Mapi presses a light kiss to the top of Ingrid’s head. “Okay.”