One Night in Santiago/Football Under Flashing Lights (Neymar Jr. Fan Fiction)

54.

-Katerina POV-
The sounds of Anada and my giggling filled the living room while we played with the few toys we had. I could smell the carbonada her mother was cooking for us while I heard soft bachata playing on her father's record player. He read his newspaper on his favorite arm chair while he kept an eye on us, occasionally telling us some of the news he learned, though at 6 years old we didn't really understand the politics of it.

"Niñas, ven para cenar," (girls, come to eat) her mother called us. We reluctantly separated ourselves from our dolls and raced to the kitchen followed by Jorge Martinez.

Anada's father was Anada's best friend. She sat on his lap at the dining table and giggled when he pinched her fluffy cheeks, pecking her forehead lovingly. We were enjoying our meal until a loud banging broke our laughing. Jorge held a concerned expression as he warned us to hide in the bedroom and stay quiet. Anada's mother led us and kept a watch through the crack in the door.

"Jorge," I heard my father's voice rasp.

"Sergio, que estás haciendo?" (What are you doing?) Anada's father answered.

"I came to get my d-daughter. Where is s-she," he slurred.

"You are not in any condition to take care of a little girl, Sergio. Go home and get rest. Marina will bring her in the morning," Jorge advised.

Anada and I could hear their conversation and she hugged me tightly, not wanting me to leave. "Katty, I'm scared," she whimpered. "Don't leave me."

"Don't be scared. I'm not leaving. I promise," I assured her as I hugged her back. Though it was just a year between our ages, it made a very big difference in our personalities.

Suddenly there was a crash in the living room and I saw Isabella flinch. Anada's mouth opened to let out a scream but my hand covered it a second before. I could see Anada's mother struggling to maintain her composure by the door as the crashes continued. I got to my feet and as I stepped, I realized too late that my anklet was hooked onto the bed. In my hast to get to Isabella, the chain popped and it laid broken on the floor.

Just then, the sound of a gunshot exploded from the living room, the loudest sound I'd ever heard.

•

My eyes shot open at the booming sound I'd heard in my dream and the dark room startled me again. I looked around and found my phone which said it was just after 2 in the morning. Neymar beside me was sleeping like a baby on his back with his arm brushing mine. It hadn't been the position we went to sleep in but this one made it easier to slip out of the bed.

I slipped my red satin robe on over my black chemise and tip toed silently to the closet, closing the door behind me. I felt the urge to cry, to mourn for Jorge but I realized it wasn't only him we lost that day. It was all of us. A part of each of us died when the gunshot went off. As my eyes moistened, I rummaged through my jewelry drawer. Under a red Cartier box, I'd hidden a black circular container. It was far less expensive than anything I owned now but it held a sacred place in my jewelry collection. I brought the black box with me wherever I lived, though I never opened the box nor wore it's contents.

However, something in me told me it was time. I untied the ribbon around the box slowly as I inhaled deeply. I removed the lid with shaky hands and stared at the anklet I'd lost for 12 years— my moonstone bracelet.