𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝.

Chapter 11 - Warning Sign

*this chapter contains mentions of thoughts of suicide and self-harm*

Neymar POV

Clear. Blurry. More blurry.

I wiped the tears of anger and shame that sprang to my eyes as I walked away from the Camp Nou gates and into my car. I honestly didn't care anymore. I hurt Leo. I hurt the man I loved. 

Love should come with a warning sign.

Why was I always messing things up? I guess I just thought he'd come back, tell me about his day and how much he loved me. I was driven paranoid with my obsession for him, so much so that I had to play with his emotions to try and fail to get him back. I just — I just thought our romantic daydream would last a little longer than what felt like an hour. 

Whenever he kissed me, the whole world would melt away. I know that sounds super cliché, but honestly it just felt like he was setting us on fire, scorching and burning and evaporating the rest of the universe so it was just us. Even the little touch of his finger against mine could make my heart race right out of my chest. His smile was so clear, so readable that I could tell if he wasn't happy. It was in the eyes — it was always in his dusky brown eyes. 

The colour of today was grey; it was shaded the colour of used charcoal and unshed tears and faded Polaroid pictures. Clouds streaked the dark slab of stone that was supposed to be the overcast sky, charring the atmosphere like old burn marks that will never ever go away. I knew the rain would come soon. I leaned back against my car seat, trying to get the tears to sink down, right back in to where they came from. I felt like my world was turning back to black and white and grey.

He was the only thing that brought me colour. He was mine. Even if there was a thunderstorm outside, when he was with me it felt like a thousand rays of pure bright sunlight in my eyes, yet I was never blinded — it just made me see him clearer, more beautifully.

I hope he knew he was doing this on purpose, messing with my head and making me miss him so much that I was being dragged back only by the chains of my depression telling me that he was just fucking with my mind. 

Sometimes, I feel like pain is the only thing reminding me that I'm alive. 

Maybe if I died, then I wouldn't feel this maddening, sickening love. But I can't do that. I can't let Leo down, he made me promise him. I guess he doesn't care for me anymore, but I still care for him. 

I hold the kitchen knife to my wrist, my hand shaking and trembling, tears clouding my eyes and my teeth chattering. A millimetre closer, and there'll be blood. Just as I feel the freezing, poisonous cold of the metal come in contact with my skin, I hear a gasp and the knife drops to the floor with a clatter, the edge of it grazing all down my bare leg, leaving a trail of cold red blood that's so real I start to crumble. The only piece of clothing I had on were a pair of grimy boxer shorts that's doing very little to keep me decent and I wince at the sharp, throbbing pain in my thighs and calves and ankles. 

"I'm sorry," I choke, begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry—"

His eyes are heavy and disbelieving and so heartbroken I can't bring myself to look at them. He walks slowly towards me, and each step he takes makes me move back and a sob escapes my lips as his hands press against my chest, his lips cold and wet as they tilt upwards and mould perfectly into mine, and it's impossible to believe that someone so beautiful is worth my sadness. 

"Why did you do it, Neymar?" His lips detach and pull away from mine, his tone pleads and I can tell he just wants to break down and cry and smash something and scream at someone. Scream at me, I think. I deserve it. I don't answer him, my lungs are too broken to speak, and my legs in too much pain for me to move closer to him so I stay frozen there — tense and scared. "Oh, Neymar."