Wasted (Neymar Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Sixteen

 

 

Sixteen

 

-Gabriela-

I’d woken up the morning before Messi’s big match against Liverpool, thankfully. After getting lectured by the doctor about things not to do and food I should avoid and, of course, no alcoholic drinks whatsoever (not that I will listen; it’s no big deal, really, it’s not like I’ll die), I was finally ready to set off to home.

After changing out of the itchy and oversized hospital gown into some shorts and t-shirt, I exited the hospital with a big grin on my face.

“So, it’s you guys against the Brits, huh?” I asked as I did my seatbelt and looked over to Messi, who had his shades on. 

“Yeah,” Messi said as he steered the car along the route that led to our home. “So while I set off for a last-minute practice, I want you to stay in the living room with your inhaler by you the whole time-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said in disbelief. “What do you mean by ‘while you set off’? You promised me that I could go!”

Messi sighed and looked over at me, a wary look on his face. “You have to understand that you can’t go, okay? I’m sorry, Gabri, but in this condition and everything, I’m afraid that the crowd might suffocate you or-”

“I’m not a little kid, Mess! I’m 21, God damn it! And I’m not some frail and weak person just because I have asthma!” I exclaimed as I let out a laugh of disbelief. “Come on, Messi. You promised me…”

“I gave your ticket away to Antonella,” Messi said, avoiding my eyes. “I just… I really want you to stay safe, okay? It’s not safe for you there!”

I looked out the window as I folded my arms. I felt my eyes water slightly, but I forced the tears away. I was just tired of feeling so useless, tired of feeling weak. 

Tired of people befriending me just because I have asthma; tired of Neymar just pretending to care for me because of my medical sickness.

Just freaking tired with this.

“Promise me you’ll stay home,” Messi pleaded as he came over to me. I pouted as I took a big mouth of popcorn as I stared at the TV, which was filled with people in suits making predictions of the upcoming Liverpool vs FC Barcelona game.

“No promises,” I said, my voice muffled. Messi sighed and then sat down beside me. I could smell his light deodorant.

“Please, Gabri,” he said in his baby voice, “Pretty please? When you get a better, I promise you that I’ll definitely bring you to my match.”

“Yeah, I’d like you see you, for once, keep your promise.” I snort, making Messi looked troubled. I sighed and gave him a kiss on his cheeks. “I’ll be totally fine, Messi. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ll just fix my butt on this couch and stare at the TV, cheering you on, okay?”

Messi smiled and pulled into his arms and gave me a kiss on my forehead. “Thanks, baby girl; you’re the best,” he smiled, snuggling against my arms. “I’ll bring a Liverpool souvenir back for you.”

“Why would I want that?” I smiled. “I just want my big brother to win. Go on now. I’ll be here, cheering you on.” Flashing him a big grin, he stood up and then took his drink bottle and bag, which contained a towel and extra change of clothes.