Wasted (Neymar Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven

-Gabriela-

“I love you.”

Such simple words, yet it means so much. “I love you,” can be something said to a friend. You can say it to your family.  I say it to Messi all the time. Yet all those times I’ve said those three words, I haven’t meant it in the romantic way.

I haven’t even understood the concept of love, in the romantic way. In the way where you love one so much it hurts.

Wikipedia defines love (/lʌv/, noun) as a strong feeling of affection or a great interest and pleasure in something. When used as a verb, it’s the feeling of deep affection or sexual love for someone.

But love is abstract; it’s hard to describe. It’s stronger than what words can explain. It’s unexplainable; indescribable. It’s the feeling you get that sends tingles and sparks up your spine, when you feel like you’re soaring. It’s the feeling when you just feel… complete.

You can say it in any language. The way your heart will plummet up to your throat is still the same. Spanish, Portuguese, French, English, Chinese, anything. It doesn’t stop the rush that makes your heart leap.

When Messi used to tell me how much he loves Toni, I used to just be like ‘cool, okay, bro, I love you too’. But now I understand the feeling he has towards Toni. That unmistakable connection.

Love is when you would sacrifice everything for something. It’s when you would do anything just to make that person you love happy. You wouldn’t care if everything of yours is stolen when the one you love is with you. Because you know you haven’t lost one thing—him.

Love… It’s an overwhelmingly fascinating and foreign feeling that’s like a drug. You can’t have enough. You need more of it. It is like a personal heroine.

Neymar is my personal heroine.

More. I need more.

“Eu te amo!” he screamed.

My heart stopped at those three words. It felt as if my body had shut down, and all I could hear was Neymar’s ringing desperate and needy voice.

“I love you,” he breathed out. I could hear the crowd silencing down to a minimum murmur. Everyone was watching. Some had even whipped their phones out. But at that moment, I didn’t care. They could take pictures of my ugly face and I wouldn’t care. Because when the man you love loves you back… that feelings beat any other feeling. It beats the feeling of food. It beats my hate for attention and media.

“I am deeply in love with you, meu amor. You are my everything,” Neymar gulped. I felt his warm breath on my neck now. I hadn’t turned around though. I couldn’t bring myself to.

“You are perfect in my eyes. I’m in love with your smile, with your crazy hyena laughter, with your sweet caring nature, with your annoying eating habits, with your crazy, wild bed hair, with your adorable snores, with your chocolate hair and baby blue eyes that I could die looking at.” Note to self: kill Neymar for telling a crowd of people that. But at that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to even move. I didn’t care about anyone around me at that moment, because my brain was focusing on Neymar. He gently snaked his arms around my waist. My breath hitched in my throat.

“You are an amazing mother, an amazing and independent and strong and feisty but fierce—in a good way—girl, and just an amazing everything.” Neymar gulped. “Please—I—I need you. Please. Don’t leave me here, alone, to fend for myself. I wouldn’t know what to do. I’ll die. I can’t live without you. I can’t live knowing that I’ve let you, the girl that I’m completely and utterly in love with, slip by.”