Enamoured《 Neymar Jr

thirty two

•NEYMAR•

.

It had been four days since she was kidnapped.

Four days; ninety six hours; 5670 minutes; 345600 seconds.

Don't ask me when I got so good at maths. It must have been a side effect of sorrow.

A gloom seemed to settle over the whole town of Barcelona. Posters of Taraya were hung everywhere, at least a dozen per street. In the house, however, it was worse. We were the ones who knew almost everything about that girl, who would do anything to get her back.

The Police said they were trying the hardest they could to get any leads in the case, but it was truly difficult for them. Whoever this "AJ" was, he clearly knew what he was doing. But why would he have wanted to take Taraya away from us?

Detectives interrogated us all, wanting to knew every fact about her. It was both physically and mentally painful to reminisce the memories, so each time, I found myself rushing out of the room in order to hide my tears.

"Neymar, dear," a thick Irish accent said.

I uncurled myself from the fetal position I was in on the sofa, and looked up to see both Mr and Mrs Horan with bloodshot eyes, looking at me in concern.

"Yes, uncle and auntie?"

"We were wondering if you'd like anything to eat; Greg and Denise are cooking dinner." Mrs Horan said.

"No thank you," I replied meekly.

"You need to eat, son," Mr Horan patted me on the back, "Your father and mother were just telling me about how worried they were, or that's what I think they were talking about. I'm not good with accents."

"She'll be back," Maura said, her voice cracking, "I'll guarantee that."

"No, really, I'm not hungry. Thank you for the offer though."

After attempting to persuade me for a while longer, they grudgingly left me to myself.

I lay in my odd fetal position once more, until Greg came over. I was rather nervous to talk to him, as I had previously aspired to create a positive impression on him. Instead, I had probably just done the opposite.

"Neymar," he greeted solemnly, "You need to do something."

"I-I-"

"Luis Enrique has thankfully given you an official pardon from the next few training sessions and matches, but you need to get back up there. It's not the same without you, he said. Your teammates were Taraya's friends too, and they're absolutely devastated. But the fact that you won't even let them visit you just breaks their hearts further."

A wave of guilt swept over me. It was true that I had basically swept everyone away like an emotional wreck.

"You have to be strong, for Taraya. What would she say if she walked in the door right now and found you hibernating on your couch? That's right, she'd whoop your ass. Until we get any leads, we have to carry on with our lives. The fans miss you Ney. Your family misses you, including your own son, who you've barely spoken to."

My son. Half my flesh and blood. I had pushed him away, drowning in my own sorrow. What a selfish thing to do.

"I-I'm so sorry Greg." I said, the waterworks beginning once more.

"Its not your fault. Now get out there and do what you have to, and as you do that, go and say that to Niall too."

"Niall?"