Dezanove Estrelas

A loud knocking came from the other side of the front door. Camilla stood from her seat on the kitchen barstool and waddled to the front door. She already knew who it was and opened it. She sighed happily and smiled at the fresh face in front of her. Not only that, but she nearly began laughing at the sight of his face.

“Oi Marcelo,” she hugged him lightly. He hugged back then pulled away to look at her.

“Sim, sim, oi. Agora! Conte-me o que é a razão para esta chamada atrasada de noite e pleiteia para sorvete. Eu entendo você está grávida e você tem desejos, mas vem em menina. Você não podia ter como Sergio nem Karim nem Kaká o recebem para você?” (“Yeah, yeah, hi. Now! Tell me what is the reason for this late night call and plead for ice cream. I understand you’re pregnant and you have cravings, but come on girl. You couldn’t have like Sergio or Karim or Kaká get it for you?”) he looked down at her with mocking scorn. She simply shrugged and grabbed the ice cream from his hands. She stepped aside to allow him entrance.

They walked into the kitchen where Marcelo sat down in her previous seat as she went to grab utensils. As she did, Marcelo seemed awfully quiet, which is quite unusual for the young man. It was then, that she realized he did not mention Cristiano’s name when he said to have someone else run down to the market for her.

She sat down on the other side of the counter to face him. The way his eyes darted around the room let her know what was on his mind. He knew of the situation between her and Cris, well everyone did, but now she knew how uncomfortable it made some.

“Então, como coisas são?” (“So, how are things?”) Camilla asked through a spoonful of Rocky Road. “Como com a equipe. Família. Vida.” (“Like with the team. Family. Life.”) she chuckled.

Marcelo smiled and responded through a laugh of his own, “A família: surpreendendo como já. A vida: realmente não pode queixar-se. A equipe: Bom. Bom. Nós temos um jogo contra Barca amanhã. Eu devo dormir e dever descansar para cima, mas você me sabe, não pode sentar-se ainda, e eu nunca fui um durante horas de dormir. E La Liga fica intenso, mas nós progredimos. Somente pôde manter focado. Especialmente agora.” (“Family: amazing as ever. Life: can’t really complain. Team: Good. Good. We have a game against Barca tomorrow. I should be sleeping and resting up, but you know me, can’t sit still, and I’ve never been one for bedtimes. And La Liga is getting intense, but we’re progressing. Just got to keep focused. Especially now.”)

Camilla raised an eyebrow our of curiosity, “Por que 'especialmente agora'?” (“Why ‘especially now’?”) she air-quoted him.

She watched his facial expression go pale for a second, then to confliction. As if he didn’t know how to respond. He suddenly stood up and backed away towards the front door, “Você sabe o que Camilla. Eu realmente tenho que ir. É atrasado e o jogo é amanhã e-” (“You know what Camilla. I actually have to go. It’s late and the game is tomorrow and-”)

“Marcelo?” she stood too, following him, “O que você não conta-me?” (“what are you not telling me?”)

“Olálá! ” (“Wow!”) he lifted his wrist to check his watch, “Olhe o tempo! Pôde ir!” (“look at the time! Got to go!”)

Camilla would have believed him better if he was actually wearing a watch. He started walking back faster, “Marcelo!” she demanded.

“Não possa conversar! Pôde ir! Tchau Camilla!” (“Can’t talk! Got to go! Bye Camilla!”) he then sprinted out the front door. She heard his car engine start, before the rumble of his engine faded from her property. She was left alone, utterly confused, with one question: what?

Then an idea popped into her head. Something was wrong with the team - at least that’s how Marcelo made it out to be. Usually if it was team related someone would fill her in. But tonight, Marcelo wouldn’t…which only means it was Cristiano related.

She rarely heard news about Cristiano lately. Sergio and Kaká had quit their involvement with her relationship with him. Once they had heard of the news that she no longer loved him, and was more than okay to call of the marriage, they stopped. She wanted to believe it was because they were respecting her wishes. But a bigger part of her knew they had stopped their actions because there was nothing left they could think of to do. They didn’t know how to salvage what was left of a broken relationship.

She really did not want to seem like she cared. Because she didn’t. Well, she did, about the team…at least that’s what she kept telling herself. She sighed, deciding the only way to get her question answered was to go to the game.

-X-

Almost two months pregnant and her baby bump was more dominant. Camilla dressed in a pair of black-lace, shin cut leggings, a white, thigh-high maternity dress, and a red elbow length cardigan. On her feet, she wore a pair of simple white ballet flats. Her long hair was left down in her natural waves, and she wore light makeup; just mascara and red lipstick. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and was proud of her image. She had gotten past the hormonal stages of mirror insecurity, and was proud of the body her baby was giving her.

Camilla grabbed her purse and walked out the front door to her car. She started the engine and began her trek to the Bernabéu.

She arrived early to beat the traffic. There were still lines forming, but having her connections, she went around the side entrance and flashed security her all access pass. She practically lived here just as much as the team did when it was season. Winding through the many halls and corridors, Camilla managed to get to seating, sitting in the front row. Eventually she would go to the box upstairs when fans began to pile in. But right now, she just wanted to relax.

Neither Real nor Barca were out on the pitch yet. Camilla scanned the field back and forth. This would be the first game she attended for this season since their first game. With the pregnancy and Cristiano dilemma, she hasn’t found any time or energy to do it. Honestly, she was excited to be back. Camilla may not play the sport professionally, but it certainly brought fascination and excitement to her being. She knows how much this game means to these men. Real and Barca alike, as well as the rest of the world.

Faint voices were heard around Camilla’s area. Stretching over the railing she saw the Madrid coaches emerging from the foyer below. Wanting to say hello, lifted her arm to wave, but stopped before she could. She heard the frustration in their voices. Not wanted to interrupt - and way too interested to walk away - she stepped away just enough so she could not be seen, and eavesdropped on the conversation before her.

“Maldito ese chico.” (“Damn that boy.”) One said in a frustrated tone.

“Ahora calme,” (“Now calm down,”) another responded, “Tenemos a muchos otros jugadores en el equipo. Acabamos de tener que volver a arreglar la alineación.” (“we have many other players on the team. We just have to rearrange the lineup.”)

The first man sighed, “¿En medio de la temporada? ¡El no puede salir sólo en medio de la temporada! ¡Tiene un damnit de contrato!” (“in the middle of the season? He can’t just walk out in the middle of the season! He has a contract damnit!”)

“¡El no se ha ido todavía! ” (“He hasn’t walked away yet!”) the boom of José’s voice came. Camilla nearly flinched at his harsh tone. She loved José Mourinho. Speaking with him, he really was a sweet guy, despite the hard exterior conveyed through television and story. However, when he was upset, it was a big mistake to get in his way.

Camilla listened closer. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion; she wanted to know who they were talking about.

“El sólo tiene los papeles. Tiene para firmar todavía algo.” (“He only has the papers. He has yet to sign anything.”) José continued. The conversation ended at that and the men walked to another part of the field as fans began filling seats. Camilla grabbed her purse and made her way up to the private box.

From the window she watched as both teams stepped onto the field. They proceeded with the traditional introductions, then were off to stretch and practice. Scanning the field, she did not see that jersey number 7 on the field.

Odd.

The game started and she just watched, figuring Cris would come in sometime later. It wasn’t until the seventeenth minute of the game, when Barcelona player Villa had been knocked down and was being checked for injury, that one of the announcers began talking about the missing number.

“Y se parece a tiene a un miembro del equipo ausente del campo Verdadero de Madrid y el banco esta noche. Sí que es correcto. Si usted no ha advertido todavía, Cristiano CR7 Ronaldo no está con el equipo de Madrid esta noche para varias razones murmuradas. ¿La herida? Probable. ¿La gripe? No probable. El rumor más grande es todavía que el todo estelar archiva para una hoja indefinida. ¿Entonces jubilación? Demasiado joven. Pero es todavía desconocido. Y ni el equipo ni las sofás e incluso los representantes de Ronaldo han confirmado nada todavía.” (“And it looks like we have a team member missing from the Real Madrid field and bench tonight. Yes that’s correct. If you have not noticed yet, Cristiano CR7 Ronaldo is not with the Madrid team tonight for a number of rumored reasons. Injury? Probable. Flu? Not likely. The biggest rumor yet is that the all-star is filing for an indefinite leave. So retirement? Too young. But it’s still unknown. And neither the team nor couches and even Ronaldo’s representatives have confirmed anything yet.”)

Camilla clutched her stomach when the baby began kicking. But this time when it kicked, it kicked hard. Camilla winced a little and tried breathing slowly to calm herself and her baby down. Yet as hard as she tried, she knew that he or she in her body was just as shocked as she was.

“No, no. Bebé, es un error. Esos son sólo rumores. Su papá no puede ser tan irracional.” (“No, no. Baby, it’s a mistake. Those are just rumors. Your daddy can’t be that irrational.”) she spoke more to herself. Then it clicked with her: Cristiano was never one to really act after thinking, he just did what he wanted. Sometimes it came back to bite him in the ass.

She gasped, quickly covering her mouth after. Her mind was digesting the information all at once. This was why Marcelo was acting strange last night. This is what the coaches were talking about.

Cristiano was seriously doing this.

-X-

Cristiano sat on the floor. His back against the couch. His legs stretched out in front of him, under the coffee table. Before him lay a handful of papers and his contract with Real Madrid. In front of him sat the Plasma Screen TV which played the team’s match against Barcelona. It was off to a good start as Madrid lead 1-0. Yet into the seventeenth minute Villa had fallen in injury. In that down time, announcers took the time to speak out about his issue.

“Y se parece a tiene a un miembro del equipo ausente del campo Verdadero de Madrid y el banco esta noche. Sí que es correcto. Si usted no ha advertido todavía, Cristiano CR7 Ronaldo no está con el equipo de Madrid esta noche para varias razones murmuradas. ¿La herida? Probable. ¿La gripe? No probable. El rumor más grande es todavía que el todo estelar archiva para una hoja indefinida. ¿Entonces jubilación? Demasiado joven. Pero es todavía desconocido. Y ni el equipo ni las sofás e incluso los representantes de Ronaldo han confirmado nada todavía.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face.

Everything he had worked for since he was a child, every dream he had ever dreamed was in the palm of his hand. It was in his control. And he was giving it away. Any prospector would deem him crazy. A true psycho. He was one of the most expensive athletes in the world, and he was getting rid of it. And for what?

Most would think it’d be noble to give it up for the love of his life. To be with them 24/7 and live a happy life. But the love of his life no longer loved him. And he was sure she’d be taking their baby too. So what was Cristiano doing this all for? Something he had been asking himself for the last three days. And honestly, he had no real answer.

Football is his passion. It’s not just a game or sport to him. It kept him sane. It’s his talent, his art. It’s his life. It’s the one thing he knows how to do and do it to perfection.

But Camilla…was a life entirely her own. She had been there for him every step of the way since Manchester. She was a good woman, of good morals…and he screwed her over. She does not love him, and he has accepted that. But he can not accept the fact that he had chosen passion over his priority. In fact, he’s embarrassed that he even once considered football a passion and Camilla a priority, when it should not be like that at all. Camilla is everything. No one knew him better than she did. No one was more perfect for him than she was. No one can compare to her…and he threw that away. Angry at himself, he figures he has nothing left to lose.

Being human, the guilt of his actions were eating away at him. He can’t continue on with football knowing that that was the main reason he and Camilla were not together. Football is meaningless now; it’s synonymous to ruin. Because that’s what it did to his relationship. And it’s not fair to Camilla. She gave up so much for him, and he did not appreciate it. Now, he’s giving up something of his.

The game continued on and he still sat on this living room floor staring document after document. His eyes began to strain due to the focus he had on them. So he adverted his eyes around the room. It was quaint. Something he missed dearly. Framed photos hung on the walls and he couldn’t help but feel even guiltier.

“Cristiano!” a voice called from another room.

“Em aqui mamã!” (“In here mother!”) he said back. He had checked out of the hotel yesterday and flew to Portugal. He called his mother in advance and she was thrilled, yet displeased with her son. Happy, because her baby had not been home in months. And angry, because she knew all about what was going on with he and Camilla.

“Cristiano que eu faço almoço agora mesmo o que o iria-” (“Cristiano I’m making lunch right now what would you-”) she stopped midsentence as she walked into the living area and saw the game on. “Oh, Cristiano. Talvez você deve observar algo mais.” (“Oh, Cristiano. Maybe you should watch something else.”)

“É tá bom mamã. Eles são ainda a minhas equipas mesmo quando eu assino estes papéis.” (“It’s okay mom. They’re still my team even when I sign these papers.”) he said.

She sighed and went to sit next to her son, “Você não tem que a.” (“You don’t have to.”)

“Sim eu faço.” (“Yes I do.”) he told her. She had been pushing this situation since he told her. She knew as well that football was his dream. She believed he was being irrational. She loves Camilla, she considers Camilla a daughter and she thinks that everything will work out for the better. But Cristiano was convinced otherwise. She decided not to press any further and got up to finish with lunch.

Cris went back to staring at the papers in front of him. He told himself he would sign. And the pen was right there. Furrowing his eyebrows, he grabbed the pen and pressed it to the first document he needed to sign. With a deep breath, he signed on the dotted line, Cristiano Ronaldo…