Jadrien Mia Honstak Garcia, the adopted sister of football player Eric Garcia, has always been very close with her brother. Despite becoming a successful model, she has always been mindful to live near enough to her close brother.
What happens when...
Guys the other day i was thinking about my dream man and I was like okay here's the list :
1. Spanish
2. Dark short hair
3. dark thick eyebrows
4. strong
5. uhhh plays football 😭
6. beautiful smile
7. HOT
8. taller than me
9. brown eyes
and then i was like Oh crap wait a minute. -
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AND SO MUCH MORE GUYS.
I'm, like, in love.
With so many footballers, it's kind of unhealthy.
They're great therapy when you can't afford real therapy, guys. 😊👍
Kind of obsessed with FCB!!! 👍👍👍
AND ANYWAY CAN'T BE STARTING MY STUPID TENDENCY FOR LONG AUTHOR'S NOTES HERE NOW CAN WE?!?!?!
GOING BACK
Jadrien's Perspective
For years and years and years, a huge portion of my life has been spent modeling. Well, one night, my agent called me, telling me there was some British company that wanted me to model their new clothes. In Manchester. It was November of 2021. I told Eric about it, and I told him how excited I was, because they were paying a lot, and I loved going to different countries, and so on. While I was rambling over dinner, Eric finally sighed, and interrupted me, "Stop with all the excuses and just admit you're hoping to visit Phil Foden, Jade!"
I looked up in surprise from my food at Eric's comment, feeling my face get warm. "Not just Phil..." I said with a sigh.
He snorted at my comment and rolled his eyes, saying, "Then what else? And I mean really what else?"
I sighed, shifting, then finally blurted the lie, "All the Manchester dudes."
"Really? Really? Hoping to find someone else to fall in love with there? Guess Ansu isn't good enough for you now." There was some sarcasm in his voice, but I could tell he wasn't mad. Just very mildly annoyed with me and my antics. Then he looked up at me, right in the eyes, before saying, gentler, "Really, Jade. It's not just Phil. I can see it in your eyes. There's more to Manchester. There's more to why you're so excited to visit. There's more to the football club. Someone else. Just be honest with me. Who?"
And I really hadn't known, hadn't admitted to myself, until then, when I blurted it, and learned it in that moment, as Eric did too, at what I said. "Uh, Ferran Torres!"
He stared at me in surprise. Silent for a few seconds too long. Then finally he said, "Ferran Torres?! You know him?! I realise you always watch Manchester games and stare at the screen all googly eyed, but it's not only because of Foden? It's Torres, too?! You know him? Jade, what haven't you told me?!" He doesn't sound mad at all. Just flabbergasted, maybe slightly exasperated.
My face was basically on fire by now. "I don't stare at the screen googly eyed, Eric! And I don't know Ferran! It's hard to, when you made me move to Barcelona with you, when I just wanted to stay in f***ing Manchester!" I could feel the room getting heated. "I see him on telly, and Ferran is freaking hot, and I took interest in him, and so is it really that bad for me to want to go to Manchester and see if I could meet him!? It's not like I don't have another reason to go there! It was my agent who planned all this! Not me! It's just a trick of luck for me! I understood years ago I don't have a chance with Phil, but what if I do have a chance, but with Ferran Torres?! Huh? So what's so bad about me wanting to meet him?!"
He shakes his head, sighing, and responding much calmer than I just did, "I never said anything was wrong with it. And, Jade, you know full well that I never forced you to come with Barcelona with me, and I'm not forcing you to stay, either. You're free to do what you want with your life, and you know that's what I think. So you just lied to me, trying to make a point, but it didn't work. I'd hate to see you go, because we've always been together, but if you wanna go, go. It's your damn life, Jade, and no one is in charge of it but you."
My head was boiling at that point, because my emotions were so hot, I just wanted him to be mad at me. I was searching for a fight with my brother, which we definitely have had our share of before, but haven't had in quite a long while. I realised, though, in that moment, the pointlessness of trying to fight with Eric, because I knew I would yell and scream and let the most stupid things fall from my lips, all while he continued to sit there, arms crossed, face and voice calm, and win the argument. I realised there was no point, so instead, I stormed out of the room, like the immature girl I was. Like the immature girl I probably still am if I'm being honest with myself. Every single argument I've ever had with my brother or sister that I can remember, I've always been the one to start them. And I've always been to lose them. It's a funny thing about me. I love arguing, but I absolutely suck at it. And Eric doesn't suck at it. He's had to deal with my antics for years, so he's learned how to argue.
I went to my room that night, lounged on my bed, and the way I cooled down my meaningless anger at my brother was imagining myself, happy, in Manchester.
