Off the Deep End (Cristiano Ronaldo / Lionel Messi)

Chapter 8: Bad Valentine

Saturday 14th February 2015

This whole week had been like a nightmare to Cristiano. The media had been relentless through the last few days, accusing him of not being loyal to Read Madrid, when he had decided to celebrate his birthday despite their horrible loss earlier the same evening. But come on! He had already invited a lot of people there and booked Kevin Roldan. What he was supposed to do then, call the whole thing off and sulk by himself in some dark corner?

Even more irritating was the way the tabloids raved about Messi, Neymar and Suárez coming to his birthday party. Why not? He was by far the best football player in the word, of course he would be inviting all kinds of celebrities to his party, rivals or not. Also they never missed a chance to compare him to Messi, especially now that the Argentinian striker was on a roll and he was having a bad streak. He was still the best. He won the Ballon d'Or, not Messi. Eat that.

When Cristiano sprinted onto the pitch to face Deportivo, the audience was cheering and yelling at him and he felt at home. He shook off any negative thoughts. This was exactly, what he wanted and needed right now: to play football and forget about everything else.

It worked out quite well, until he messed up and wasted a goal.

The madridistas didn't really care, but Deportivo fans started to chant something. It took Cristiano a while to realize, what they were hollering at him. Then he could hear it loud and clear and it was definitely not something he wanted to hear at that moment:

"Messi... Messi... Messi...."

The cursed name echoed in his head until the final whistle.

***

When Cristiano got back to the locker room after the game, he collapsed onto the bench, took his shoes off and threw them at the wall. Real Madrid had won, but he still hadn't managed to score and it started to grow on him.

"Cristiano!" Marcelo called for him and Cristiano raised his head questioningly. "Happy Valentine's day, my friend! I have a card for you. I hope it will cheer you up, look!"

Marcelo slipped into his hand a self-made card featuring a heavily edited picture of him and the Real Madrid team. He was standing in the front holding a Louis Vuitton handbag and Lionel Messi's face was sticking out of the open purse like he was his puppy dog. Marcelo had even put the dog face filter on Messi's face. Underneath was written:

Dear Cristiano: Always remember to keep your friends close and your enemies even closer. Happy Valentine's Day!

"Oh my god... Great artwork Marcelo", he said smiling wearily, rubbing his face. "I should stick to that advice."

"I came up with the dog thing", Pepe remarked from the other side of the room. "It seemed legit as a dog is a man's best friend and the little flea is yours."

"What? He's not!" Cristiano snorted.

"Why would you invite him to your birthday party then? Even Fabio wasn't there and Messi the Mickey Mouse was."

"Fabio had other plans."

"He did not, you just forgot to invite him, because you were too busy courting your GOAT-colleague."

"Can we just stop talking about that motherfucker for a minute? I'm getting a headache."

Marcelo's eyes widened into the size of saucers.

"What did you just call him?"

"A motherfucker", Cristiano stated angrily. "And I'll call him that again."

"Aww, did you two have a fall out then? That's cute", Pepe sneered mercilessly. "Do you need a tissue?"

"No, I need you to shut the fuck up", Cristiano snapped, slung his bag over his shoulder and stormed out of the room.

***

It was late at night, when Cristiano finally arrived home. Junior was already sleeping. The nanny was there, but she left him alone after seeing his face.

Cristiano undressed and went straight into shower. When the warm water hit his face, he started to notice the familiar feeling of emptiness sneaking up on him. A lump in his throat was building up and slowly it turned into tears. With shaking hands, he shut off the shower, reached for his cell phone and slumped onto the floor to flip through his contacts.

When Irina's name appeared on the screen, he sighed heavily. For five years, she had been the person he could trust with anything. She had always been there for him. He actually thought she would never leave him. And now – when he needed her more than ever – she was gone. For a brief moment he considered sending her a message just to ask how she was doing, but gave up the idea. He knew there would be no answer.

Slowly, he continued to browse through the list, until he found what he was looking for. A dull throbbing pain settled in the chest, when he stared at the name.

Leo Messi.

Cristiano closed his eyes and let his mind wander off, indulging in every detail: how Leo tasted like, how he smelt like, how he looked. He could see Leo's flustered face, his swollen lips and ruffled hair. There was something really magical about that memory. That was Leo, not Messi. And the way he just surrendered to him like that...

A little bit reluctantly Cristiano pulled himself out of his day dream and forced his eyes open. It was time to have something else to think about. Quickly he chose a number and lifted the phone to his ear. It rang a few times and then the call was picked up.

"Hello, Valencia. It's me, Cristiano. Have you plans for tonight or will you be my Valentine? I miss you so much, I really do."