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[Six]

.:Chapter Six - Maps:.

Neymar's POV

"Phone? check. Wallet? check. Keys?" I frantically patted my front and back pockets, coming up empty. My eyes bulged as I realised they weren't with me. I swear I had put them in my pocket, right after I had cleaned the kitchen with Marcela because I had a bit of time before I had to leave for the party. I distinctly remember washing the dishes, wiping the sink, switching on the garbage disposal unit...

Oh shit.

Speedily sprinting to the kitchen, I desperately searched for my keys. They weren't by the sink and I dreaded to think what had happened to them if they had actually been crushed and shredded to pieces.

I slumped down on to the nearest available seat and accepted the fact that I would never be able to drive my baby. That is, until a jangling nearby caught my attention and made me sit upright, looking left and right for the source of the noise so fast that I was surprised I didn't get whiplash.

"Looking for these?" Marcela teased as she swung the keys around her finger. Around and around and around they went, and I could only stare, hypnotised.

She only laughed and I almost missed the word 'catch' before she hurled them at me, almost missing if it wasn't for my lightening fast reflexes. It was painful though, as all the keys had stabbed my palm, leaving lots of little red marks in the process.

"You're lucky I nabbed them while I could or-" She let out a low whistle and mimed a pair of scissors coming out of nowhere and chopping the air in a horizontal line.

I let out a nervous 'ha ha' and held the keys securely in my hand. Checking the time on the wooden analogue clock that hung above the fridge, I saw that there was half an hour until the party began and decided to make my way to the car. It was a forty five minute drive so I'd be fashionably late. Arriving in style? Check.

I said my goodbyes to Marcela and checked I looked immaculate once more in the full body mirror that rested in the hallway near the front door. I was clad in black dress pants, a white office shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, and a black waistcoat. I was hoping to give off the nonchalant class with a hint of rebelliousness vibe and I think I nailed it.But obviously I would, rebellious is my middle name.

Walking up to my car with a skip in my step, I had a feeling tonight was going to be... special. Probably because we had won the first match of the World Cup and had six left until the highly sought after trophy would be in my arms and another coveted title would be under the Brazilian name.

Brazil: the winners of the 2014 World Cup in their home country.

Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

*half an hour later*

Ah, traffic. It seems as if the entire population of Brazil is going to the after party. Trying to look above the cars in front of me, my eyes were only met with blinding red lights and my ears with deafening honks of the surrounding cars. At this rate, I think I'll be more than fashionably late.

Five minutes later I was starting to become slowly aggravated. I hadn't moved an inch for the past ten minutes. Huffing and grumbling under my breath, I took out my phone and went on Twitter.
What would you like to say? was written in italics across the screen.

"Well," I began, "I'd like to say a lot of things, not all of them appropriate."

Annoyed Neymar was not a happy Neymar. Scrolling through my feed, I saw that #WorldCupBrazil was the number one trend worldwide, followed by #ForçaBrasil and #WorldCupOpeningCeremony. Seeing as I had missed it, I clicked on the last hashtag and tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I waited for the page to fill up with the millions of tweets from around the globe.