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[Four]

.:Chapter Four - Can't Hold Us:.

Milena's POV

Rushing down to the dressing room and pulling on the first items of clothing we could get our hands on, which for me just so happened to be a Neymar jersey paired with denim ripped skinny jeans, we made it to our seats in the crowd only a minute late. We sat with everyone else, not separately in fancy reserved seating. What's the point of going to a game when your isolated from the team's inspiration?

"See? What did I tell you? We didn't miss anything important, Mil!" Claudia laughed as if she was all-knowing.

"Nothing important? We missed the National anthems! We missed the players coming out of the tunnel and wishing each other a good game! And we missed the whistle! The first whistle of the World Cup! You know, that tournament we just opened!" I bellowed over the hollers of the people around us.

"Milena. Calm your tits. It's a whistle. A whistle." She emphasised in a bored voice.

I gasped, spluttered and coughed all at once (which I should get commended for because that is really difficult). Just a whistle? She's kidding, right?

"You- wha- huh? Just a whistle? Nu uh honey that's where you're-" I didn't get to tell Claudia what she was, because I was interrupted by a quite... dedicated Selecao supporter. Face painted with the Brazilian colours, a papier-mache lion's head resting upon his own, and sixteen - sixteen - World Cup trophies laid in his hands, he didn't look very understanding, or sane for that matter.

"Will you two just shut up?! You're distracting me from the game!" Was all I could decipher when he grunted at us. I blinked. We were distracting him from the game, when everyone else was screaming incoherent nonsense around him?

"Are you" Claudia pointed at him with her forefinger, "speaking" she put her hand in front of her mouth in a beak shape and mimed it opening and closing, "English?" She pretended to sip tea, her pinky sticking out at an unnatural angle. She said all of this really loudly and slowly, as if he was deaf and dumb.

Staring at the two of us, he huffed out a puta and went back to his ways, yet again screeching and jabbing his stodgy fists in the air.

Thankfully, my fiery comrade had not heard the Portuguese insult and joined him in rooting for our country. As I turned to the 22 men playing on the pitch, my attention was grabbed by a pint sized ball being kicked across to Marcelo Viera. He dribbled, aimed, and shot it into the net as half of the stadium cheered and whooped with joy. However, this was not the Brazilian side, but the Croatian supporters who went wild.

"What the fuck? What the actual fuck?" I found myself screaming along with the other curses that were being hurled towards Marcelo.

The first goal of the World Cup was an own goal by Brazil.

"Marcelo I will have your dick on a spear!" Could be heard among the jeers and cries of outrage from the crowd.

After a few minutes of this, I felt sympathy for the bushy-haired Brazilian and tried to tame the wild animals, but I was only sworn at and the insane man from before smirked with satisfaction.

The crowd finally calmed down during the 29th minute when something truly extraordinary happened. He had the ball, dribbling and all that shiz. Quick aim, swings his leg back and brings it forward with power and determination. He shoots, he scores.

Goal Brazil. Goal Neymar.

The stadium erupted with a deafening roar. Children, parents and the elderly alike all clapping and cheering in unison; the unity of the country being portrayed in this single act of appraisal. People were crying, praying and hugging all around me and I felt the urge to do the same: taking Claudia by surprise and jumping into her arms. The security was probably having a hard time controlling the crowd. Neymar himself ran around the pitch like a madman. I noticed Marcelo looking relieved and jogging up to the goalscorer, tackling him to the ground in gratitude.

The score was 1-1 and it had only been half an hour. We had time. We had time to win. There are 10 people, not including Cesar seeing as he's the goalie and couldn't possibly score from the other end of the pitch, who can lead the country to victory, simply by kicking a ball into their opponent's net. I had hope for Brazil.

***

Neymar's POV

"Neymar!" My name was followed by a succession of three claps, slaps or pats and the cycle would start again. I felt overwhelmed by it all; the fact that all of Brazil was chanting my name, my name. I felt like a superhero, here to save the country from a shameful defeat, from an eternity of abashment and degradation. The feeling was incomparable.

I watched as Fred was pulled down by Lovren in the penalty box. The penalty box. As dreadful as it was for Fred, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. We had a penalty; this game was ours.

I stepped forward to take it whilst the rest of the players were getting into their places, each person trying to help or hinder. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation and the thought of another goal hung in the air, like a veil blinding us all.

Saying a quick prayer, I staggered sideways, then forwards, trying to confound the goalie. He palmed it and the ball listened to his orders, until it crept into the top corner.

I had scored yet again.

Even though it was a penalty, I was proud nonetheless. Who knew the small town boy from Brazil could end up playing in the World Cup and scoring not one, but two goals? Gone were the days of playing with a ragged ball on the streets with no care in the world. This was the real thing. The actual World Cup. The first goal was dedicated to my family but this one? This one was for my little Miss Nameless. My sweet chocolate eyed beauty.

As I returned my attention to my surroundings, I found myself swarmed by my team members all screaming their praise. I laughed. A whole-hearted belly aching laugh. I don't know why, but I did. Maybe it was because I was so delighted that I didn't have control over my body. Or maybe it was because I saw an angel looking at me, face glowing with pride, cheering and screaming my name. She wore a jersey with my name on it. My name and no one else's. The image made my tummy tingle with pleasure and the hairs on my arms stand on end, and I felt happy. Happier than I had ever felt before. It was as if someone had cast a spell on me. An unbreakable spell which made the recipient feel inexplicably carefree and joyous.

Oh, if only you knew the effect you had on me.

I landed with an audible thud on the ground, finally giving in to the weight of the bodies on top of me. The eye contact with the beautiful brunette had been broken and I desperately tried to find her in the masses of people, awaiting the moment those warm brown eyes would meet my own hazel ones, but the task was deemed impossible. There were almost 100,000 people here and the chances of finding her were slim to none.

When everyone had finally gotten off of me, I pointed my forefingers at the sky and said a quick prayer to God, thanking him for the opportunity: the opportunity of playing and meeting the woman who made me feel ecstatic.

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"On my I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-A-N-T shit, hustling. Chasing dreams since I was fourteen."

As you can probably tell, I'm currently jamming to "Can't Hold Us" by Macklemore featuring Ray Dalton and I felt this song really described the atmosphere of the chapter, so I named it after it :)

Ah Neymar is feeling all tingley tingley now OOOOOOOOOOH wot is dis?

Oh and it's Sunday todaaaaay which means Barcelona is playing todaaaaaaay which means I get me some Neymar on me tv in approximately three hours because I live in England :)

Stay lovely, my lovelies

-plaidskinnyjeans