»»————- ♡ ————-««
I rushed out of the bathroom, Diane handling me to the bar, "Have drink it'll loosen you up," She joked, ordering a shot and sitting down on a stool, I closely followed, placing myself next to her. "Have you dated any other celebrities?"
"What, no? I've went out a bit but nothings been serious enough to even call it dating." I paused for a minute, "Well, I went on a couple dates with a French player but it never led anywhere,"
"Oh so you've got a type," She joked, raising her eyebrow with a slight smirk, I brushed her off. Her tendency to delve into my love life was an unnecessary one, we could discuss bigger things.
"Who would you say I should speak to, who's the best for boosting my image?" I questioned, trying to change the subject to something work related. My 50 year old manager was not someone I wanted to take advice from in this aspect. Even if she's had her fair share of guys.
"Maybe that Frenchie you were fucking," She erupted into laughter as I slapped her arm, "Oh come on, you can trust me, who was it?" She pondered as though we were 11 and she was guessing my crush.
I shook my head and (luckily) the drinks were ready, the bartender slipped over our drinks in a black tray covered with the parties sponsors. "You're never going to know because I'm never going to tell you!" I stated before trickling the alcohol down my throat, the potent taste burning my tongue.
"I need to go catch up with people, go try and mingle," She suggested, I looked around, the amount of wealth accumulated by the people in this building was sickening, watches worth cars and shoes that could pay a year of rent. It really put things in perspective. The ability to hoard that much wealth in one area, and now I've been given the task of grovelling up to them, hoping one day I can make a quarter of a footballers earnings.
These kinds of functions had always infuriated me, or perhaps it was simple jealousy. People younger than me who had more success, made me wonder where I went wrong. Or maybe it was all blatant luck, hard work can't always get you rich and famous.
"What are you thinking about?" A male voice asked behind me, I turned around, a face I didn't recognise but a face I wasn't going to ignore, "You're the only one not kissing up to everyone here, figured I'd find the one person here not obsessed with money,"
"Can't be obsessed with something I don't have," I joked, he gave a kind smile. He looked mature, around his 40s, grey strands beginning to noticeably slip into his dark hair, I stared into his hazel eyes, what did this stranger want? And why did I want to give it to him?
"A beautiful girl like you with no money is unbelievable, spend it all on drugs?" He joked, we shared a slight snicker before he leaned in slightly, "So what's your name?"
"Anastasia, I'm a model," I announced, "What about you?"
"I'm a manager of sorts, you know I've got some good connections, I could find you an amazing gig, for a price of course" Did this man really think I was about to whore myself out to a man I don't know? Not even giving me his name, just straight to business. Pathetic.
"What are you saying?" I tried to let him take back his comments, he seemed shocked I felt insulted, as though it was completely normal to offer a woman a job to use her body.
"Are you not a prostitute? A model with no money, sat in the corner not even searching for connections. I figured it was common sense," His words came out like what he was saying was completely natural although the stare I had made him realise I was not about to be a slut for some money. "Oh come on, look at your bag, it seems like you need the money?"
It was either his patronising smirk or the assumption that I was a working woman that pissed me off but I could not let him just sit across from me and expect something. Swiftly, I grabbed the glass of wine next to me, striking red liquid poured all over his silk suit, his white button up now stained as it poured down his now irritated face.
Was it a bad decision, definitely, but was I about to let him disrespect me and not face any repercussions. Of course not. He stood up, beginning to yell, drawing the attention of the whole room as the discussions were interrupted by the sound of his booming voice. His words were harsh, cursing me out, accusing me of leading him on, calling me a slut yet I stayed silent, seeing the flashes of cameras behind me.
Diane heard the commotion, motioning for me to come towards her, it was the only option I had. Arguing with him could ruin my already non-existent image. Carefully I stood up, still hearing his degrading comments as I collected my purse and began to walk away. Feeling a tug on my wrist, "You think you can just walk away after assaulting me?" As he pulled me back on the seat, I could feel the tears forming in my eyes as the crowd piled up. Diane slowly picking her nails anxiously, wondering what my next move could be.
I tried to stand again, only to be met with a harsh slap against my face, fear was creeping in as I heard the collective shocks around me. How was I going to get out of this situation? Pulling my body up, he held my shoulders and sat me down, ridiculing my attempts to escape. He stood in front of me as I sat on the barstool, there was nowhere I could go. I felt stupid and trapped.
My heart was pounding, was someone going to do something? Of course not, I was surrounded by rich snobs who were only interested in the drama, even the security resisted.
"Come on, leave her alone," A man reasoned, slowly getting closer to us, trying to not irritate the man who had just spent the past 5 minutes tormenting a woman for throwing a drink on him. "I think she understands that you're upset"
"Don't even bother defending her, she wont fuck you!" He harshly snapped back, turning around to try and respond but being met with a sharp punch to the jaw. He fell to the ground, groaning at the pain. I looked up at the man who had finally intervened, it was Neymar. The only person to help me was the same man that decided to break up with me 9 years ago. What a turn of events.
Hastily, he put his blazer around me, trying to hide my face and taking me away from the crowd of phones as his hand was placed on an appropriate area of his back. We made it outside, the cold mountain air hitting my face as we sat along the steps.
And just like that, I erupted into tears, still feeling the slap on my face as his arms flung themselves around me, allowing me to sob into his chest. He didn't say anything, just allowed me to feel all the emotions I had been resisting for the past 10 minutes. Allowing me to let out the panic attack my brain had been protesting.
Finally, after what felt like years of tears and tragedy, he spoke, "Do you want a ride home?" His voice was soft, calming me instantly, I looked up at him. Wow. He was still beautiful, his eyes brown with splashes of green, glistening in the moonlight. I slowly nodded my head, trying to hold back more tears that hoped to escape.
He gradually stood up, holding one arm around my shoulder to keep his jacket around me, I felt the camera shots of the media as he made sure to hide my face, knowing I'd be attacked if seen leaving, and crying with an international bachelor.
We scurried into his car while I continued to hide my face using his jacket, hoping that the paparazzi would just ignore us or consider me a mystery girl. I felt the car start as the engine launched, ready to practise for our escape as we sped out into the countryside.
"I don't have any signal so let's hope the main road takes us somewhere," He joked, you could hear in his voice he was slightly anxious and so was I. We hadn't spoken since we broke up and now the reunion is me getting assaulted at a party.
Now I was in his car, listening to his music, staring out his window. I felt 18 again, ready to go on a blind date with someone my friend had set me up with, except the car was less fancy and we were both more nervous.
"Where am I taking you?"
"I'm staying in a hotel on the outskirts of Paris,"
"Really, I thought you would stay in Paris, you always said you loved it." He reminisced "The city of romance, amazing food, beautiful buildings" He mocked me slightly, remembering how I had danced around the living room listening to French music, praying I'd live right next to the Eiffel Tower.
"Skilled pick pocketers, hotels I can't afford, construction on the Eiffel Tower," I added in the same tone, taunting the love I once had for the city.
"You insulting Paris? You've change, years ago you would've killed me if I insulted your second home,"
We shared a laugh, trying to make the car ride less awkward.
»»————- ♡ ————-««