Page 20 of A Follow-Through in Faking

Santiago

Catalina has been hiding from me for hours since she lost the match against Layla. I tried to go to her after the match to comfort her, but she disappeared. Charlie left to go with her, but they wouldn’t tell me where they were going.

Up until twenty minutes ago, when they texted me, telling me Catalina needed me.

Me.

Granted, I’m convinced she didn’t ask for me and Charlie is simply lost trying to help my mariquita , but I’m more than happy to have Cata scream at me for an hour if it makes her feel better about the result today.

If she needs to let out her anger, if she needs me to be her punching bag, I’ll be the recipient of her frustration.

It’s become abundantly clear to me that I’d be just about anything for Catalina if it means she lets me be around her a little longer.

Some might call me pathetic—with some I mean Matteo—but I can’t help it.

I crave her presence like water during a particularly humid match.

My knuckles brush against her hotel room door, but Cata doesn’t open it for me. Instead, Charlie reveals their worried expression as they unlock it.

“Where is she?” I ask, even more concern filling my chest.

“On the floor, in front of her bed, staring blankly at the television,” they reply, grabbing their bag and jacket before moving back toward the door.

“I’ll go grab her some patatas bravas and a bit of leche frita to cheer her up.

She likes to feel close to her mamá when she loses a tournament like this, and food and music are a big way for her to do so,” Charlie explains and then leaves, shutting the door behind them.

I waste no time getting to Catalina.

As Charlie said, she’s sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her face as she stares at the television that isn’t turned on. It’s a black screen, but I’m almost glad she isn’t torturing herself by watching replays of her match.

“Hey, carino ,” I say softly, but Cata doesn’t even lift her head to look at me. “Can I sit with you?” Nothing. No response. She simply continues staring at the TV, not moving except for the steady stream of tears flowing down her cheeks.

This is exactly how I get during a depressive episode.

I don’t talk much. Darkness consumes every part of me, so I often don’t have the energy to do anything at all.

Manu usually helps me open up, to talk about it until I feel better, but everyone responds to depression, anxiety, or any other mental illness differently.

But I only know one way to deal with it from experience, so I go with what I know best.

“I’m absolutely terrified about the match tomorrow. Blake is a really good player, and although I’ve won every match against him so far, I don’t feel as confident as I normally do,” I rant, trying to get any kind of reaction out of her.

Cata doesn’t even look at me.

“Have you eaten yet? I’m starving. Charlie said they're getting some food, so I’m very excited. Papá never lets me eat whatever I want the night before matches because—” Catalina carefully places a hand over my mouth, shutting me up mid-sentence.

“ Yo sé que a ti te encanta el sonido de tu voz, pero no necesito tus palabras. Necesito silencio ,” she says, keeping her hand on my mouth. I kiss the palm of her hand, surprising her so much, she removes it, giving me the chance to speak. I don’t. Not yet.

Words won’t help her. The fact that she hasn’t yelled at me yet for being here, for being so annoying, shows how detached she feels from reality as she wallows in her pain.

I lift my hand to wipe away a tear that drips down her face, and Cata leans into the touch as soon as I cup her face. My heart flutters at the sight, my stomach tumbling. One wrong move, and I will ruin the moment, so I stay as still as possible.

A habit I’ve adopted since I promised myself I’d make it up to Catalina.

She stares directly into my eyes, and I feel myself holding my breath, hoping she will never look away. Hoping she might want to stay in this moment for as long as I do.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” she says seconds later, my thumb finding courage in her words to start rubbing along the apple of her cheek.

“I do?” I ask, my voice breaking a little.

Catalina is the romantic one of the two of us. It’s not surprising she’d say something so sweet. It simply surprises me that she would say that to me .

“I’ve always thought so, but I never said it out loud. I was too angry,” she replies, raising her hand to run her fingers over my left brow. I drop my hand to the side of her neck, letting her study me as much as she wants.

“Are you not angry with me anymore?” The only thing keeping me from begging for her forgiveness is me biting down on my tongue.

“I still am. You fucked up and didn’t even apologize for it. You got angry with me in return, and that isn’t something I can simply let go of. Not after a decade of building resentment.”

Although her words have my heart beating a little more heavily, she continues to trace my features. She even uses her second hand to place her thumb on my bottom lip, running it along its length.

“Which is a shame because you have a wonderful soul, Santi. You are kind and so special. You used to be one of my favorite people, and it makes me sad whenever I think about how far apart we’ve drifted.”

“Catalina—” She presses her finger down where it rests on my mouth, shutting me up before I can respond to everything she’s said.

“I’m emotional because of the loss today and saying things I’ll probably regret having voiced tomorrow.

There is nothing you can say to magically fix anything right now, so maybe it’s best if you say nothing at all,” she goes on, and I can’t even argue with her because I’m not about to tell her how to feel.

Cata has gone through a lot today, and while I thought she might scream at me, call me every terrible name in the English and Spanish languages, she hasn’t.

Perhaps letting her anger out on me isn’t what she needs after all.

“I am sorry, though. For everything, Catalina. I had no right to my anger. You didn’t deserve my prioritizing my career over our goals. You didn’t deserve many of the things I did.” She runs her index finger over my other eyebrow now, studying its thick shape.

“You deserved a lot of the things I did and said.” She smiles a little, but it falls soon after. Her eyes drop to my lips, stopping my breathing once more.

“I did,” I whisper, trying not to tremble when she leans forward, still studying my mouth.

“Santi?” she asks, and I press down on the side of her neck, trying to feel if her heart is racing as quickly as mine is.

It is.

“Yes, carino ?”

“I kind of want to do something else I’ll regret tomorrow.” I swallow hard, attempting to speak, but I can’t find words when she drops her hand from my brow to my bicep and squeezes it gently.

Her thumb stays on my bottom lip.

“And what is that?” I don’t sound like myself, but that might be because of the hope and excitement in my chest taking over as she moves even closer to me.

“I want to put my lips here,” she says, her thumb pressing down on my bottom lip before she drops it.

I lean toward her without hesitation, desperate for exactly what she’s describing.

But then the door flies open as Charlie walks back into the hotel suite, sending me flying backwards.

Catalina slowly leans away, dragging her knees to her chest and closing herself off from me once more.

Fuck.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Santi.” It’s a clear dismissal, and I hate the way I want to run, too. I have to get out of here. I have to go find Matteo and talk to him because only my best friend is going to be able to talk to me about what the fuck is happening.

I kiss the top of Catalina’s head, squeeze Charlie’s arm as I walk past them, and then sprint all the way to Matteo’s room door as panic consumes me.

My fist connects with his door aggressively, over and over, until he opens it, revealing he’s in nothing but boxers and his hair is all over the place.

I’ve never been more glad that he’s staying at the same hotel as Cata, even when he looks ready to kill me.

“Santiago, what the fuck do you want? I was trying to sleep,” he says, but I storm past him and into his room, unable to breathe properly.

This is usually how I feel before my anxiety attacks, but for some reason, it also feels entirely different. It’s more panic than anxiety, which is bad enough in its own way.

“Okay, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Matteo asks as I sink down on his couch, wrapping the blanket he put there around myself. I cover my head and body until all he can see is my face.

“I’m in so much trouble,” I state, holding the blanket around me more firmly.

“Why? Did you rob a bank?” I shake my head. “Did your nudes get leaked?” Again, I shake my head. “Then what can be so bad?”

“I think you were right. I think I… I have feelings for my fake girlfriend.”

Rocking back and forth on my best friend’s hotel room couch, I keep the blanket clutched in my hands and wrapped around myself. I’ve been in this exact same position for a while now, but Matteo left five minutes ago, after unsuccessfully trying to snap me out of my panicked state.

I’ve never had falling-in-love type of feelings for someone before. I’ve been amazing at avoiding them, mostly because a relationship has never been appealing to me. The overthinking, being absolutely naked emotionally, the commitment, it all terrified me.

And most of all, I have always been too scared of dragging someone down into the depths of my depression and anxiety to truly let them in.

And I was so fucking unsuccessful. I didn’t want anything more than a night with a person for so long, but I should have known the reason for that wasn’t because I was trying to spare myself and the other person.

The reason was and has always been Catalina.

“How long has he been like this?” I hear my sister ask as she walks through the door.

“Twenty minutes, more or less,” Matteo replies, and if I could, I’d refocus my gaze enough to look at both of them. Then again, if I could, I’d tell them I’m fine. Even if it would be a bold lie they’d be able to see through.

“Santi, talk to me. Is this an anxiety attack?” Manu asks, but I shake my head.

We saw each other mere hours ago, talking about how she was feeling about the breakup, but when I left she looked worse than she does right now. I think worrying about me is allowing her to forget about her own pain, which is at least something.

“No? Then what’s wrong? Why have you cocooned yourself?” she asks, waving her hands around to gesture at my current appearance.

“I… have feelings for Cata,” I say, hiding even more in the blanket to shield me from whatever expression that is going to take over my sister’s face.

“This is a rather dramatic response, don’t you think? We all knew you had feelings for her, Santi. How you didn’t is beyond me.” I lower the blanket just enough to peek at her, still attempting to hide because this conversation terrifies me.

“How did you know?” I ask, my words muffled through the blanket.

“Hmm, let me think. You constantly talk about her. You have done so ever since you met her. You are incapable of committing to a relationship, but ever since you started ‘dating’ Lina, you have not looked at anyone else. You claim to be a playboy, fucking your way through all of Monaco, but you’ve done that as a way to ignore the fact that it’s always been Catalina.

From the moment you met over ten years ago, it has been her, and that hasn’t changed.

If anything, since finding out you were the jerk to ruin your relationship with her, you’ve done everything in your power to fight for her forgiveness. ”

I swallow hard, trying to form words and tell her how ridiculous that is, but the argument dies on my tongue seconds before I can bring it to life.

“You can lie and pretend all you’d like, but you’re not fooling anyone. You want to be with Catalina. Not because you’re forced to be together. You want to be with her because you care for her, and you want her to desire you in the same way.”

“Manu, the more you talk, the less I can breathe,” I admit, placing a hand on my chest to settle my racing heart back into a normal rhythm.

It’s a hopeless attempt.

“I won’t say anything more except that you need to get some rest. Tomorrow is an important day. You can freak out about this realization after winning another Slam, okay?”

Tennis is good. Tennis is a safe topic.

I’d much rather focus on that, on all of the pressure that will be on my shoulders tomorrow, than on the one currently pressing down on my chest.

Catalina Sanchez will not distract me from my career.

I might have feelings for her, but they mean nothing. They can’t mean anything.

I don’t want the first and only person I’ve had feelings for to be the one who hates me most in the world.

But with my fucking luck, of course she is.