Dezanove Estrelas

Camilla opened the refrigerator door to take out all the ingredients she needed to make herself a deli sandwich. Turkey. Cheese. Lettuce. Tomato. The works, pretty much. Bringing it all to the kitchen island, she began making lunch. She glanced out the window, only to smile as beautiful Spanish sun shone high in the cloudless sky.

Later today, she had another appointment with her doctor. She was now eight months pregnant, and she couldn’t be any more proud of her bump - despite the recent back pains she had been having. She felt a soft kick and she scolded her stomach, “Relájese un segundo. Yo casi soy hecho con mi bocadillo, entonces nosotros podemos comer.” (“relax a second. I’m almost done with my sandwich, then we can eat.”)

She topped off her sandwich with the second slice of sourdough bread, before sitting down on a barstool. She bit into the sandwich, and the kicking stopped. Camilla rolled her eyes. She began to wonder what her baby’s going to be like once he or she is finally born. She then began to think of the type of mother she would be. Of course, every expecting parent just wants to be the best parent…but what if she can’t handle it. Things were already way too hard for her as it is. Lately, her contractions had been feeling a lot worse, and the kicking, harder. She was just thankful that she was nearly weeks away from delivering this baby.

Sighing, she set down her sandwich, no longer all that hungry, and began to clean up. The thought of Camilla being a mother scared her. Sure, excitement course through her body too, but worry and anxiety overpowered excitement at the moment. All she wanted to do was give her baby a healthy and happy life. But it was hard to think about it - to plan a future for someone else’s life. That thought alone…

Someone else’s life, is in her hands.

It made her heart shake with worry. What if she were to fail her child? What if she can’t be that mother that she wants to be. What if everything shoots to hell?

In the middle of her silent panic attack, another body walked into the kitchen. Camilla’s back was to them, as she faced the window above the sink. The person smiled as they admired her backside. She wore an all white, halter top, maternity sundress. Her long, curly, brown hair reaches her mid-back. The light from the window shown on her skin, giving her the most angelic glow.

Camilla shook her head and tried to push all worries out of her head. All she could do was hope for the best life possible for her baby. Amidst her scrubbing, a pair of arms wound their way around her waist, pulling her back to the person’s front. A soft pair of lips gently kissed the tender spot beneath her ear, “hola”

“Hola Cristiano.”

That night, back at The Bernabéu months ago, Camilla, needless to say, accepted Cristiano. Though, it was not easy.

-X-

“Camilla-”

“No!” she shook her head, “Que se eu o necessito, e eu realmente, realmente o necessito e você não está aqui? Huh Cristiano? Que se você não está aqui? O que então?” (“what if I need you, and I really, really need you and you’re not here? Huh Cristiano? What if you’re not here? What then?”)

He could only look down at her, “Eu irei aqui Camilla.” (“I will here Camilla.”)

“Pero-”

“Então Deus pode condenar me a Inferno.” (“Then God can condemn me to Hell.”) She lifted her eyes to stare into his dark brown orbs. He spoke with the utmost sincerity, honesty and seriousness. She wanted to believe Cristiano, she did.

But a huge part of her just couldn’t. Not after how she had been treated - how she had been abandoned.

She was four years old when God decided to take her father. Through the years, she tried to push that pain of not having one to the back of her mind. She convinced herself that a mother was all she needed. But as some sick twist of fate, pushing that emptiness to the furthest black hole of her being has led her here. She knows that it was not her father’s fault for leaving at such a young age. His heart was failing, and it was his time to go. And as selfish as it makes her sound, it just wasn’t fair.

Yet, when she met Cristiano, that emptiness had been filled. He took care of her, he loved her, he was a man she would have loved to introduce to her dad. Then like a flip-switch, it all changed. And she was once again left empty.

She didn’t want to feel empty again. She didn’t ever want her baby to feel empty. Logically, the thing to do would be to take him back - fill the vacancy. But she just couldn’t trust him. Not like how she used to.

Cristiano could see the frustration on her face. And sighed. This was no use. Their relationship was over. “Eu acabo de ir então Camilla.” (“I’ll just go then Camilla.”) He unwrapped is arms from around her and turned to leave.

There it is again.

That emptiness. For the moment that Cris stood in front of her, wrapped around her, she felt complete. Maybe a weird, slightly dysfunctional complete. But everything was there. Now she’s cold. She’s once again left empty. It wasn’t until a smooth breeze swept by that it hit her.

She needed Cristiano. Camilla couldn’t deny it anymore, she needed him and he needed her. But it’s going to take some a hell of a lot of work. She snapped from her trance of thought and saw the Cris was almost off the field.

“Cristiano!” she called. He immediately stopped in his tracks. Camilla, as fast as her baby would allow her to run, went over to him.

Cristiano turned around looking a little surprised. “Camilla, que-”

“Não, Cristiano é calmo.” (“No, Cristiano be quiet.”) she cut him off. He obeyed, and just listened. “Cristiano, eu devo saber. Você ama-me?” (“Cristiano, I need to know. Do you love me?”)

“Camilla, naturalmente eu amo-o. Mas-” (“Camilla, of course I love you. But-”)

“Shh!” she scolded. “Não, Cristiano. Escute-me. Eu devo saber que você me ama bastante nunca partir outra vez. Que você permanecerá aqui, para não só me, mas nossa criança demais. Cristiano, eu amo-o, então, tão muito. E eu o perdôo para suas acções, e eu perdôo-me para o meu. Mas Cris, eu não posso fazer isto só. E eu não sei o que eu faria se você já me deixasse outra vez.” (“No, Cristiano. Listen to me. I need to know that you love me enough to never leave again. That you’re going to stay here, for not just me, but our child too. Cristiano, I love you, so, so very much. And I forgive you for your actions, and I forgive myself for mine. But Cris, I can’t do this alone. And I don’t know what I would do if you ever left me again.”)

By this time Camilla was in tears. Cris reached out for her body and pulled her close. He held her face in his hands and forced her to look at him. “Camilla, eu dou-lhe minha palavra; eu prometo-o, que eu nunca deixarei seu lado outra vez.” (“Camilla, I give you my word; I promise you, that I will never leave your side again.”)

His word. That was all she could take.

-X-

And she was glad she did. The next day Cristiano moved back in, and later in the evening he scheduled a serious meeting with the Real Madrid Officials. Cristiano had missed two weeks worth of practices and three games. Needless to say, he was not let back on without paying an intense, physical price.

But at long last, he eventually rejoined the team and Madrid was glad to see that number 7 back on the pitch.

Cristiano pulled away from Camilla, and went to the kitchen island where her sandwich was set. He noticed it was barely half eaten. Unusual, seeing as how it’s nearly the end of pregnancy. Still staring at the sandwich Cristiano asked Camilla, “Não querida faminto?”

She did not answer.

“Querida?”

Cris lifted his head to look over at his girlfriend standing by the sink. Camilla turned around to face her boyfriend. Her right hand clutched her stomach, as her left held back onto the sink counter. Cristiano’s eyebrow’s furrowed as Camilla’s eyes glazed over with tears. “Eu penso que algo é errado.” (“I think something’s wrong.”) Camilla then doubled over and fell to her knees.

“Camilla!” Cristiano rushed to her and held her head in his lap. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called for help. Camilla’s eyes kept opening and closing. She was so tired, and felt so weak all of a sudden. She wanted to tell Cris, but her mouth would not move. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Not even a whimper.

Camilla could faintly hear the one sided conversation he was having on the phone. Through blurry eyes she could see him hang up, then look down at her. She heard him cry that help was coming. Her eyes closed, but Cris shook her, making them snap back open. “Não, número Camilla, vem em. Mantenha os seus olhos abrir, para mim. Somente estada acorda suficientemente longo até os paramédicos chega. E então nós podemos compreende-nos o que havém de errado.” (“No, no. Camilla, come on. Keep your eyes open, for me. Just stay awake long enough till the paramedics arrive. And then we can figure out what’s wrong.”)

Within minutes, an emergency team had broken down the door of their home and rushed into the kitchen. Camilla could hear a buzz of commotion, but could only focus on three things: Cristiano’s worry, the pain searing through her body, and their baby.

She was lifted onto a stretcher, and taken outside. The loud voices gave her a headache and her eyes could not see straight. Soon, it all faded into silence. She blacked out.