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It was New Year’s Eve and Vivianne Miedema and Beth Mead had attended a celebration which mainly consisted of WSL players along with their friends and loved ones. It was quite a big celebration being hosted in one of the player’s semi-large houses and the noise from the chatter and booming music along with the strong smell of alcohol was a bit overwhelming for Viv at first.
As the pair hobbled along on their crutches, Vivianne couldn’t help but feel a little humiliated after she was met by stares and devastated looks from players she had tackled and defeated before her devastating injury.
But it was the same situation with Beth.
Beth understands.
As long as Beth is by her side during this, she’s going to be fine-
“Hey Viv, I’m just gonna catch up with a couple of friends real quick. Feel free to get some drinks!”
Oh.
But before Viv could speak, Beth had already hopped over to a huddle in the corner of the room, being met with ecstatic faces and hugs by the people she had gone to. She had that effect on people. She shined like the sun. She was Viv’s sunshine. But now with her gone, Viv had been left to fend for herself amongst the sea of drunk, rowdy people.
She decided to slowly limp along towards the direction of the kitchen, but it wasn’t very long until she was met by people who bombarded her with pity.
“Aw Vivianne,” said a random girl who Vivianne was certain she had never seen in her life. “I’m so sorry about your knee. It must be so annoying to have a season ending injury like that.”
Of course someone had to remind her - it’s not like she KNEW that she had a season-ending injury that she had definitely NOT cried about for hours on end with Beth consoling her who also had had tears streaming down her face.
Viv simply nodded and used the usual ‘oh it’s annoying and this could’ve been prevented but it’s no use being frustrated about things that have already happened’ reply and continued on.
“Vivianne, acls suck don’t they.”
“Miedema you were a joy to watch, it’s a bummer that you’re in crutches now.”
“Viv, it’s kinda ironic that you get a knee injury right after talking about how hectic the schedule is in women’s football, isn’t it?”
She acknowledged them all but was desperately trying to tune their words out. Every sentence that they said made Viv feel a tiny bit smaller, a tiny bit less motivated and a whole lot more humiliated.
“Viv, will you still be playing at the world cup? ‘Cause your knee and all it’s pretty unlikely, isn’t it?”
That was the last straw. The Dutch international rushed as fast as her crutches could take her to the kitchen and grabbed the closest shot she could find. Before anyone questioned her she downed it in a second or two and rushed to the backyard for some peace and quiet.
As soon as she slid the glass door close, it felt like she could breathe again - the tension had left her body almost instantaneously only for her to be immediately met with a wave of sadness.
And anger.
Vivianne Miedema was pissed off with the world.
She didn’t know exactly who but she knew that she wanted to be mad.
She wanted to scream, to let all her frustrations out and vent to air - but she composed herself.
She walked to the closest bench, sat down and let go a little, letting a few tears escape and trickle down her cheek.
“Vivianne?” Viv jumped at the sudden voice, but as she turned around she realised it had just come from Beth.
“How many times have I told you,” the Dutch woman said, slowly returning to her usual self. “Just call me Viv.”
“What’s wrong mijn meisje?” Beth asked softly, dismissing what Viv had just said. “I was looking for you and someone had told me you had downed a shot and made a beeline for the backyard. Is everything ok?”
“Now that you mention the shot again, my head is starting to hurt.” Vivianne admits, burrowing her head into her hands.
“You always were a lightweight, weren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
The pair shared a quiet laugh, Viv’s first one of the night. Beth trudges over to Viv, laying her crutches on the floor beside her lover’s and presses her lips to Vivianne’s forehead, kissing her gently.
“Ik hou van jou.” Viv mutters as Beth takes a seat beside her.
“I know.” Says Beth, contentedly. After a few moments she continues. “I’m starting to realise that going to this party was a bad idea.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“It feels like everyone has eyes on me, but not ‘Beth Mead, the footballer who helped England win the Euros’ but ‘Beth Mead, the footballer who picked up a tragic ACL injury’. They’re gawking at me like I’m a trophy, but one that they would never want to touch.”
It never ceased to amaze Vivianne how much her and Beth had in common, despite them both having such different exteriors. Especially with Beth being so bubbly all the time she sometimes forgot how perceptive she was. It made her appreciate Beth more and feel happier at every realisation.
Beth made her so, so happy. Even in this impossible situation.
There was a moment of silence between the two. Even though Viv never answered her, Beth knew that she felt exactly the same way.
“So, do you want to go back home and…” Viv started, with a grin. “…have our own party?”
Beth’s face lit up, elated by the suggestion.
“Yes, yes, definitely!” She said enthusiastically. “It’s bound to be 10 times better than this party!”
They both chuckled again, before reaching for their crutches and making their way to the front door.
Her situation may seem hopeless, but as long as Beth is there, Vivianne is sure that she will be just fine.