Sirens

Three

I huff while settling down the book, getting up to see what Neymar has to tell me. Neymar sits at the edge of the bed, rubbing his face with his palms. A worried look is set onto his face.

I clear my throat. "Neymar," I start. His gaze snaps up to me, an even more worried look clouding above his perfectly sculptured face. His honey eyes are no longer light and dancing. They've become a dirty brown, more close to black. His hair is messy and doesn't stand in it's high way.

"Cris is coming to stay," he starts, hesitating. I swallow hard, knowing this will be the definition of doom.

"C-Cris? Like, our Cris? Cristiano Ronaldo?" I babble. He nods and looks down, his chest rising and falling unevenly. I stand there, in shock. Why would my very own brother, who criticised me, beat me and abused want to come stay? He had a very good job, a very good girlfriend and a baby boy. Even if he is bankrupt or broke (in which I don't think that would ever happen), I would decline his stay. I won't let him ruin another six years of my life.

I walk out of the room, staring into space. My body is trembling. Just the thought of Ronaldo, also known as beast or monster, trembles and terrorises me to death. Before I collapse, I settle myself on the sofa. Neymar walks out of the room, his phone in his hand. His hand isn't shaking less than mine.

"W-when is he coming?" I ask, my lower lip trembling. He looks up from the floor.

"Three hours. He called before I told you to come into the room. He said he was on his way from Portugal. He's in the airport right now. He's reached Alabama, already. They're just getting their suitcases and shit right, according to what he said," he explains. He knows how much Cris has been hurting me and that's why he's as scared as I am.

The next hour, we spend talking. Really talking. Because we both know it'll be the last time we get to talk this way. The last time in a while, at least. After Ronaldo comes, we have to obey him. Obey him and shut up. Not protesting.

"But do you remember when we first met?" Neymar asks, balancing his head tiltedly on his hand. I snort and look away.

"Yeah. Where you pushed me on purpose," I say, rolling my eyes. He gasps.

"I did not!" Neymar gasps, placing a palm on his chest. I laugh and lay my head on his chest. I can hear the oxygen going in and carbon dioxide coming out. His hand strokes my hair. The last thing I remember is him sighing and my eyes going dark.

***

I wake up to the sound of the doorbell ringing. My eyes adjust to the living room lighting. Realisation strikes me so suddenly, I jolt up and run to the door. Neymar is already there, his hands shaking, millimetres away from the doorknob. He looks at me and bites his lip. I nod and he opens the door. The picture I thought would never appear before my eyes again, was just there, in front of me. He stands there, smiling with suitcases in hand. His son, whom I have never seen or know the name of, is being held by whom I guess is his girlfriend. Without an invitation, he comes inside and Neymar steps aside, holding the door for them.

"Well hello, hermana," Cris whispers in my ear as he walks past. His suitcases are still on the front porch. How dare he leave Neymar to carry them for him? Next, his girlfriend and son walk in. She gives me a warm smile, making me predict that she might be the only good side of Cris. She earns a weak smile from me. I quietly ask what her son's name is. His name was Cristiano Junior. I nod and plant a kiss on his cheek. Neymar stands there and finally walks to pick up the cases but I don't allow him to. I quickly stride to the cases and pick the three of them myself. Luckily, one of hem is a backpack. So I hang it on my shoulder and pull the other two with me.