THE SLUT
The few days after the tourist's confession went by rather quickly. The model stayed right there with me all the time and I thanked her for that. I did it just when I was drunk, obviously. It would have been harder to be alone.
I've been reading online about a virus that had been affecting some people in Rio and I'm sure that it had something to do with my sudden and weird reaction about the matter. Crying over some random dude is not usually like me. Neither will it ever be again.
"No. I absolutely forbid this," she freaks out, "You are going to Sao Paulo no matter what."
"Come with me and I'll go," I play childish, "Come on," I beg her, "I don't want to go alone. What if I meet them there?"
"Who is them?"
"You know," I open my eyes wider, "Don't make me say it."
"Harry," she complains, "I don't have enough money. The flight will be very expensive and I don't even have tickets for the match."
"But you said you had this friend who could get you in," I pout, "You see? I'd rather stay here and watch it on the TV. Whatever."
"No," she sounds determined, "You flew all the way from London for this World Cup and I am not going to let you stay here."
"But, please," I drag the word with a very convincing pout, "Come with me, please, please, please."
"I've never thought I'd see you beg."
"Me neither but I really don't want to go alone," I sigh, "I'll pay for your ticket. I don't mind."
"No," she frowns, "I'm not going to let you pay for it. Are you kidding me?"
"But I seriously don't care," I grab my laptop and I open an airline website, "Look, I'll book it right now."
"No, Harold!" she tries to stop me but I don't let her.
"It's not even that expensive," I lie once I see the price, "I'll confirm it." It is actually very expensive but I seriously don't care because running into the homos and being alone could possible turn into the worst nightmare ever.
"No! I'm being serious," she jumps to me, "You are not my sugar daddy and I'm not your slut."
"Too late," I cover my mouth with one hand, "I already did it. You are coming with me, slut."
"But Harold," I can tell she is actually excited about it but she doesn't want to let me see it, "How dare you? I'm not a slut, I just love love."
"Whatever you say," I ignore her stupid joke, "Just call your friend and get a ticket for the match," I demand.
"Oh my God, oh my God," she stands up and walks around the room.
"Are you excited now?"
"I'm going to see Henderson from close and I'm going to make him fall for me and we'll get married and have little football players baby boys and little pretty models baby girls and we will be happy and you are going to be their uncle and," she talks non stop.
"I'm already regretting this," I joke.
"I'll be the best World Cup match wing girl, you'll see," she assures.
"Whatever," I throw myself on the bed, "I'm not even excited."
"I'll make you excited," she lies next to me, "How about the Sao Paulo night life?"
"Kind of cool," I shrug.
"We'll bring the party to them," she stands up and starts jumping on the bed, "Come and jump with me!"
"Hey!" I laugh, "Stop this! We are going to get kicked out."
"But I'm so excited," she keeps jumping, "I'm going to watch it live and it will be awesome. Maybe the camera will catch me and I'll become famous and I'll get better paychecks," she sits on the bed and gets serious, "Should I wear a cleavage? Maybe that will help me get noticed."
"You'll be standing next to me," I mumble, "Don't worry, you'll get noticed."
The next day arrives and we are inside an elevator with the man who will show us our room.
"I hate this hotel," I mumble, "It brings back bad memories."
"Hey, he probably speaks English," she whispers.
"I do speak English, ma'am," the Brazilian boy turns to us.
"Oh, sorry," she smiles, "My husband is a little grumpy today."
"Husband?" I frown at her.
"Oh, honey," she pinches my cheeks, "He is not used to the title yet. This is our honey moon," she tells the guy, who doesn't seem to care.
"Congratulations," he tells us.
"I hope the bed is big enough, you know?" she keeps talking, "We are going to fuck like rabbits tonight."
"What the hell?" I laugh at her when I see the funny look on the hotel dude's face.
"I am a virgin," she sighs, "I am a little worried but I'll think I'll be okay."
"Shut up," I roll my eyes at her.
"This is your room," the guy coughs nervously, "I'll leave you now. Just call the reception if you need anything," he says and runs away.
"You freaked him out," I accuse her.
"I don't care," she lies on the bed, "Oh, this is comfy."
"I hate this bed," I groan, "And this sofa and this room and everything."
"Hey, what's wrong with you, Grinch?"
"Nothing," I lie, "Well, something. This is the hotel where..."
"Where what?"
"Naked tourist," I say really fast.
"Oh," she frowns, "Aw, that's sweet."
"Stop saying it's sweet, it's pathetic and annoying and I regret every little thing since the day I put the first step in this country."
"Even meeting me?" she pouts.
"That was not so bad," I walk to the bathroom.
"That's actually very sweet coming from you, hubby," she yells from the room, "How much time do we have before the match starts?"
"We should be leaving in about ten minutes," I reply.
"Yes!" she celebrates, "I'm excited!"
Once we are inside of the stadium, we walk to our seats, "Fancy looking seats," she says.
"I know," I am actually surprised by our place, "Who's your friend?"
"Oh, that guy," she shrugs, "He is some dude who's in love with me or something. I can't remember what he does but he is kind of important."
"He deserves a kiss tonight," I joke.
"Ew, no!" she inspects the stadium, "This is so awesome. Look at all these people."
"It's exciting," I look around to find the man who sells beer, "Want a beer?"
"Sure. Oh my God, look!" she calls me, "The camera is over there, look pretty."
"I always look pretty," I wink, "Hey, mister! Duas cervejas," I tell him in Portuguese.
"Look who speaks Portuguese all of the sudden," she teases, "Who taught you?"
"The fucking tourist," I answer as I empty half of my cup of beer at the mention of his name.
"The tourist," she says.
"Yes, that fag," I clench my jaw.
"No, you moron," she bumps my arm, "Louis is right there," she points at our left.
"What?" I freak out, "Let's leave, please."
"I'm not going to leave," she frowns, "Are you kidding me? Be a man and just ignore him."
"Is he alone?"
"Take a look, what are you? Blind?"
"I don't want to," I still try not to turn into his direction, "Do you think he saw me? Is he with the hottie?"
"I can't spot Niall," she says as she spies on the tourist, "Looks like he is alone. Do you think they broke up?"
"What?" I quickly turn around to look at him, "He is alone, you were right," I am absolutely not getting excited about any of this because, Why would I? I got over him already.
"Go talk to him," she tells me, "Say hi or something."
"No," I dismiss her idea, "I have no dignity left to do something like that."
"Dignity is overrated," she affirms, "He is looking at you, he is looking at you," she lets me know and I get nervous, "Look beautiful."
"I always look beautiful," I mumble, "Is he still looking?"
"Turn around and look at him," she demands.
"No, I can't," I yell, "You are the one wearing sunglasses, that means you are my eyes. How does he look?"
"He looks hot," she laughs, "And very lonely. Is like he is begging for someone to go talk to him. Oh, wait," she takes a pause.
"What is it?" I freak out again.
"A guy is approaching him," she sounds serious, "Looks like they are flirting."
"You are lying," I roll my eyes and keep my focus on the court.
"No, I'm not," she sounds serious again, "The guy is squeezing the tourist's butt."
"What? No!" I yell and I can't help myself, I turn around to look at the tourist.
"Got you," she laughs. What a slut.
When I turn around, our eyes meet. He is staring at me and I'm staring at him. My heart starts beating faster and I feel the exact same thing I felt the last time I saw him. He shyly waves at me and I wave back with a smile. God, what the hell happened to my pride?
I guess I'm not as over him as I thought I was.
---
[SHAMELESSLY SELF-PROMOTING: Hi there, guys! I just started a new Larry book called "It Started with a Selfie". Would you mind giving it a shot? Thank you for all the love you've been giving me with this story by the way. You make me very happy every time I update :) Ily, Seb.]