Cuts and concussions
The elbow had come out of nowhere. Ingrid saw it just as it connected with Mapi’s face, the sound of it snapping through the air as her girlfriend crumpled to the ground. Her heart plummeted, the whistle blowing sharp and piercing, but it barely registered over the sudden roar in her ears. Mapi didn’t move right away, her forehead pressed against the backs of her wrists as she lay on her stomach, her body unnervingly still.
Ingrid sprinted over, not thinking twice about anything but reaching her. She dropped to her knees, skidding slightly on the turf before leaning over her. Her hand instinctively found the back of Mapi’s head, her fingers trembling as they pressed over the familiar bun.
“María, det er meg,” she murmured quickly. “It’s me. I’m here.”
Mapi’s breathing was uneven, stuttering, her body shifting slightly under Ingrid’s touch. Cheeks wet with tears, she still hadn’t lifted her head, and Ingrid’s heart ached at the sight.
“Baby,” she whispered, her voice low but urgent. “Let me see you. Just a little, okay?”
Mapi groaned softly, a choked noise that broke Ingrid’s heart all over again. Slowly, Ingrid coaxed her onto her back, one hand supporting Mapi’s head, the other pressing gently to her shoulder.
When Mapi’s face came into view, Ingrid immediately caught sight of the blood dripping from a nasty cut just below her eyebrow. The crimson stood out starkly against her skin, and Ingrid’s stomach twisted. Before she could say anything to comfort her—to say anything—the medics were suddenly there, crowding around them.
Ingrid stayed close, refusing to let go of Mapi’s hand even as the medics assessed her. Her thumb rubbed over Mapi’s knuckles, a silent reassurance as the Spaniard winced under the bright stadium lights.
The medics exchanged quiet words in Spanish, words Ingrid couldn’t quite catch over the roaring in her head, but when they started helping Mapi up, Ingrid knew what came next. She kept her hand wrapped around Mapi’s, trailing behind as they led her off the pitch. Mapi’s head drooped, her other hand clutching at her side, and Ingrid could feel how tightly she gripped her fingers.
Fifteen minutes later, Ingrid herself was subbed off. The coach had said something about needing fresh legs, but Ingrid barely acknowledged it. As soon as her cleats hit the tunnel floor, she was running, her legs carrying her faster than they had all game.
She found Mapi in one of the medical rooms, the door slightly ajar. The room was dark, the medics having dimmed the lights to ease Mapi’s sensitivity, and Ingrid’s eyes adjusted quickly as she stepped inside.
Mapi was on the bed, her arms covering her head as she lay curled on her side. The medics turned to Ingrid, explaining quietly in English that Mapi had suffered a medium to moderate concussion and needed some butterfly stitces for the cut on her eyebrow. Ingrid barely nodded in acknowledgment, her eyes fixed on her girlfriend the entire time.
When they left, Ingrid moved towards Mapi, slightly breathless from her sprint. She stopped at the edge of the bed, her heart aching at the sight of the Spaniard looking so small and still.
“María,” she said softly, her voice catching slightly.
Mapi didn’t move right away, but after a moment, she shifted, lowering her arms just enough to look up at Ingrid. Ingrid felt an instant pang in her chest as her gaze landed on the bruising and swelling already forming around Mapi’s eye.
“Hi, baby,” Ingrid whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed as her fingers found Mapi’s jawline. She traced it gently, her touch featherlight as if afraid to hurt her more.
Mapi grimaced but didn’t pull away, instead reaching up to take Ingrid’s wrist. Her lips pressed softly to Ingrid’s palm, a weak but familiar gesture that made Ingrid’s throat tighten.
“You ready to go home?” Ingrid asked quietly, her green eyes searching Mapi’s brown ones.
Mapi gave a small nod, her movements slow and careful as Ingrid helped her sit up. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet barely touching the ground as she leaned forward slightly, her hands bracing on either side of her.
Ingrid stepped between her legs, her hands finding Mapi’s sides, holding her securely but gently. Mapi’s forehead dropped onto Ingrid’s shoulder, her breaths warm against Ingrid’s neck as her hands clutched at the Norwegian’s jersey.
For a moment, they stayed like that, neither speaking, the quiet of the room broken only by the sound of Mapi’s uneven breathing. Ingrid rested her chin lightly on top of Mapi’s head, her hands sliding up to gently cup the back of her head and the small of her back.
“You scared me,” Ingrid murmured, her voice barely audible. Mapi’s grip tightened slightly on her jersey, and Ingrid exhaled, steadying herself. “Let’s get you home.”
With care, Ingrid helped Mapi stand, keeping one arm around her waist as they made their way out of the room. Mapi leaned heavily against her, her steps unsteady, but Ingrid didn’t rush her.
The ride home was quiet, Mapi sitting slumped in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window. Ingrid kept glancing over at her, her worry etched into every line of her face. She reached over occasionally to rest a hand on Mapi’s thigh, grounding them both with the contact.
When they finally arrived, Ingrid helped Mapi out of the car and into the flat. The lights were low, the atmosphere calm, but Ingrid could still feel the tension in Mapi’s body. She guided her to the bedroom, sitting her down on the edge of the bed before disappearing into the bathroom to grab a clean cloth and some water.
When she returned, Mapi was still sitting there, her hands resting limply in her lap. Ingrid knelt in front of her, soaking the cloth before gently dabbing at the cut on Mapi’s eyebrow. Mapi flinched slightly, but Ingrid’s touch remained steady, her green eyes focused on the task as she she applied a small amount of antiseptic before carefully placing a butterfly bandage over the cut.
“You’re going to be okay,” Ingrid said softly. Mapi’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze finding Ingrid’s, and for the first time that evening, a small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
Ingrid leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Mapi’s uninjured temple, her hand cradling her face. Mapi closed her eyes, leaning into the touch, and for a moment, they simply stayed like that, the silence comforting rather than heavy.
Ingrid stood, stepping back just enough to help Mapi out of her kit and into one of her oversized shirts. Mapi didn’t protest, her movements slow but cooperative as Ingrid worked carefully around her injuries.
Once they were both in bed, Mapi curled into Ingrid’s side, her head resting on the Norwegian’s chest. Ingrid’s arm wrapped around her, her fingers brushing lightly over María’s tattooed shoulder as she pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Du er min, alltid,” Ingrid murmured softly, her words a quiet promise.
Mapi didn’t respond, but the way her hand tightened around Ingrid’s shirt said everything.