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"OUT" the robotic voice yells.
I've lost yet another final.
Rage fills me. Pure, untamed rage.
At myself.
At my team.
At my opponent, Lena.
Her fuck ass coach. Especially him.
I take a moment for myself before walking up to the net to hug her.
"Поздравляю... Congrats" I say, trying to be as sportsman like as I could. After all, it's not her fault I'm bad at the only thing I'm good at.
My insides burn.
I shake the hand of the chair umpire. It takes everything I have in me not to smash my racket right there, the same way Aryna did last year.
I've had done this before.
I've won majors.
Multiple times.
And Lena may be a good player, but I was the clear favorite coming into this final.
Fuck ass Vukov, and Lena's need to win so she doesn't get beaten up afterwards.
I sit down on my bench and throw a towel over my head so I don't have to see all the celebrations. I've always hated how the player who lost the final still had to be on court. Like, let me at least get a few minutes in private before I have to put on a nice smile for everybody…
I know minutes are passing. I hear the podium being built. Someone puts a hand on my knee. It's Craig, the tournament director. I'm dying to talk to him…
"Well done, Liz" he says. "You did so well, and you're gonna come back so much stronger next year"
I nod. I'm so mad I don't even know if I'm gonna be back playing next week, let alone next year. Whatever. I thank him. Barely. I'm not even sure he heard it.
They finish setting up for the trophy ceremony. The officials let me know I need to get up now. I distantly feel standing up.
I've stepped out of my body. It's the only way I'm gonna get through this trophy ceremony without rage coming out of me in some way. I don't need bad press right now. Loosing this final is gonna be bad press enough.
I walk to the other side of the net, stand next to Lena, arms hanging by my side uselessly.
She steps closer to me. Our shoulders touch. I know she's trying to console me.
I don't need that. Especially not from her.
I don't deserve it.
They start the presentation. I clap when I hear others do it. It's all the usuals thank yous. The city, the organizers, the ball kids, chair umpire, yada yada yada.
"And now, our players. The world number one once again has brought her trademark power and presence to the AO stage. Her fight, determination are to be admired. Would you please welcome our finalist, Elizaveta Ivanova"
I put a smile on my face. Showtime.
Some guy from the main sponsor of the tournament hands me the finalist's plate. We pose and I try my hardest to keep my composure as cameras flash at all angles. The pictures are gonna be horrible. I'm not even looking at one single person. Just staring out my head.
And then I need to make a speech.
Whoever came up with that idea, I hope you know I want to make you die a slow and agonizing death.
Without forming coherent sentences in my head beforehand, I start talking.
I know I shouldn't, but no amount of media training gets trough to you when you feel like you're worth absolutely nothing.
"Honestly guys, I'm speechless right now… I'll try not to forget anything. I want to start with Jelena, I want to congratulate you on incredible round, on incredible tennis, congrats to you [and your team, I add in my head, tho I would never say that out loud - I still want to shoot Vukov in the head.] on such an incredible achievement…." I laugh. "Of course, thank you everyone who make this tournament, uhm, possible, I love being here, I love playing in front of you all, you guys are incredible support, uh, I always looking forward to come and play in front of you, and… Uh, well, let's hope next year maybe gonna be better year for me…" I once again, try to distract myself and everyone by laughing, as the crowd cheers. "Of course, thank you Craig for taking the best care of us, uh, yeah, you give everything we need and that's… What's that… That's amazing! Thank you!"
Someone from the crowd yells, "We love you Liz!"
I know I've disappointed them deeply.
"I love you guys too! Thank you, of course thank you to my team for always being there, for… enjoying me loosing finals…" I can't get out of this coping mechanism now, as much as I hate it and would love to just give a normal fucking loser's speech for once… "But also sometimes we win them, so let's hope for the best. Let's hope that next year Daphne is gonna be ours, right? Umh, yeah, thank you everyone, thank you"
I step back from the microphones, and wait for it to be all over.
They announce Lena as the winner. She speaks. We take pictures. And then some more. And then more. And then finally they are ready to take individual pictures of her and I can go home.
I put my rackets, towel and water bottles into my bags, drape a towel over my head before I put the bags on my shoulders, and with the fuck ass finalist's plate in my hand, I blow some kisses to the crowd before walking out.
Even in the tunnel, I know the cameras are watching, waiting for me to loose control, to break, to overreact. I refuse to play their games.
In just 3 minutes I'm back in the player's gym. My team is there, waiting for me with hugs. I barely embrace any of them.
And then I see him.
He's standing in the corner, leaning on a treadmill.
I should get on a bike. Recover. But I stood around for like 20 minutes since I stopped playing anyway, so 5 more minutes doesn't matter now.
I walk over to him.
His look is knowing. I know he knows exactly how I feel. Both of us loosing in the finals of Roland-Garros last year has forever trauma bonded us.
His hands leave his hoodie pockets. They're warm as they wrap around me. I hide my face in his chest. It's not a full escape, but it's a good start. I let out a long sigh. Jannik hugs me tighter. I hate how he knows what I need so well because less then 24 hours ago we were doing the same thing, roles reversed, after he lost to Nole in 5 sets. I miss the times when a Slam could be good to the both of us.
I know my team feels uncomfortable. They don't like that they don't know anything about what's going on between us. I let go slowly, but not fully. His hands still rest on my sides, mine on his. We share a look that's full of how much we hate this sport.
"Do you want to eat or drink first?" he asks, quietly so just the two of us can hear. He has two small bottles of vodka and a bar chocolate with him. I think I might be in love with him.
"Both" I say, as I turn away and get on the bicycle by the side of the room. I set it back down to zone 1 and start paddling away.
Jason, my physio shares a worried look with the rest of my coaching team - Anton, my head coach, Andrey, my hitting partner and manager and Helen, my mental coach. They all stay quiet. They know I prefer they don't say anything to them saying the wrong thing. No one wants me to explode while we're still being seen by cameras.
Jannik opens the bar of chocolate first, breaking it into parts, giving me the first one before offering each of my team. They all take one. We munch on them, the only sound coming from the machine under me.
After like 5 minutes of guilt, disappointment, rage and helplessness eating away at my insides, I point to the vodka. I am so ready for the burn. The 50 ml bottle of Absolute makes a small, clicking sound as we toast them together. I drown mine in one go, chugging down the see through liquid. It burns and I'm so here for it. Jannik passes his around, and surprisingly, everyone drowns some of it - that alone tells me everything I need to know about how my team is feeling about this loss.
I need to win a Grand Slam here real soon. They work too hard for me not to.
I spend another 10 minutes cooling off before stopping my legs. I put my head down, leaning my forehead on the wheel. For everyone's sake I keep from smashing my head into it, tho, the temptation is big. Instead I slide off the bike, and without a word, head for the locker room. I need a shower desperately.
The hot water on my skin feels liberating. I even wash my hair just so I can put off facing the press just for a few more minutes.
I did have to get into the press room at one point tho, and thankfully, after giving me his hoodie (that is absolutely huge on me and smells like him and envelops me very comfortingly), Jannik joined my team, sitting on the side of the room, making sure I don't say anything stupid.
I didn't. I'm so grateful when I don't even get any questions in Russian and can just leave. Jan wraps an arm around my shoulder as we leave the venue, Andrey and Anton carrying my stuff. We squeeze into 2 cars, Jan and I in one, the rest of the team into another.
"I thought you flew home already" I tell the Italian once we start pulling away from the stadium.
"I thought too, but I have time anyway, and I wanted to be here for you today"
I reach for his hand instinctively. Sometimes I forget how well he knows me.
"Sorry I couldn't make it worth your time"
He lifts my hand and presses a kiss into the back of it. "You're always worth my time. Whenever, wherever, whatever, remember?" he quotes back what I said to him just last night.
"Are you going home from here? To your parents?"
"Yeah, the plan is to play Rotterdam next, so three days of Mamas Essen, and then back to Monaco to train for a few days before flying over to the Netherlands. You?"
"I don't know yet, honestly. I don't even want to think about playing, or training right now, but I have back to back 1000s in Qatar and Abu Dhabi, I think from the 9th, so probably we go there from here, but I also really want to go home and just exist for a few days. I don't know. We'll see."
"Do you want to come with me? We can chill privately at my parent's place for a few days, hit together for a day at home in Monaco and then you can fly to Qatar" he says after a few minutes of silence.
I think for a while. My head is not forming coherent thoughts, and I don't think it's because of the Grand Slam final I just played.
Jannik and I have never said we were exclusive. I'm pretty sure we've been for a while, but still, we haven't said it, and that gives me a little anxiety.
His thumb draws circles on my knuckle. It calms me and focuses me at the same time.
"You know what, heck yeah. Let's do it" I turn towards him with a smile, getting the very same back from him "Do you want to fly out tonight already?"
"I mean if you want to we can, but you can sleep tonight and then we can fly, whichever you want"
"Oh I want to goo. I now hate this place for you and for myself, so let's get out and be home by the time Grandpa and Carlitos get on court. I don't know about you but I definetly want to see that go down. We can just pretend we're not the tennis players that are supposed to be there playing and watching that match."
We both laugh bitterly. Life of top athletes I guess.
We really do fly home that night. I tell my team to go ahead and go home, take some rest - I'll meet them in Qatar next Friday. They don't take it too well but I'm the boss so it's whatever.
It's just Jannik and me on the private jet. We walked the airport in our hoodies, but were still recognized. Not like either of us cared. The press have been speculating about us for a few weeks now, and him showing up in the gym to console me also didn't help, so we just let random people take pictures and videos of us, and went on our merry way.
We make a quick stop in Dubai for fuel and a fresh crew, and the two of us take a small yet stretching walk on the tarmac. We still climb back into bed as we set off to Europe - off days, might as well sleep in.
We have breakfast/brunch/lunch on board, and land around 14.30 in Bolzano. Once through customs, we get picked up by Mark, Jannik's brother, with whom I have an uplifting Russian conversation.
I keep forgetting he was adopted from Russia, and speaks the language perfectly.
Once we arrive in the skiing paradise, we are swept up by the afternoon rush - Hanspieter and Siglinde are busy until dinner with their holiday houses, so after Jannik shows me his room (which is a sweet representation of who he is as a person), him, Mark and I set out to get me some warm clothes, as we have seemed to forget I needed those.
After an hour long shopping tour I was finally equipped not to freeze to death, we get back to the family house, suit up with snacks before settling down to play some Fifa. We all sit on the rug, our backs to the couch, but Jannik pulls me into him, holding his controller with his arms around me.
As I melt into him, the rage, the disappointment at myself and the guilt that is still curled up in a ball in my stomach does too, melt away.