Neymar Imagine || Jealous Carolina
Disclaimer - I have nothing against Carolina, nor do I think she’d ever do anything of this sort. This was just a request.
Neymar got back from a game a few minutes ago and
hopped in the shower straight away, because I refused to let him come anywhere
near me in the state he was in. He protested. I ran. He chased me. I won. Once
I heard the bathroom door close, I made my way downstairs and threw myself on
the couch in our living room, while dialing the number to a pizza delivery
restaurant. I have been working all day and the last thing I am in the mood for
is cooking, so this will have to do.
My boyfriend has never been known to take quick showers. He’s always the last one to be ready when we go out and definitely the last one out of the locker room after games, so I know I’m in for a long wait. I grab my phone again and start going through all my social media and checking all my texts and notifications. Although Neymar and I have never really tried to keep our relationship a secret and we’re always seen together, I’m still not a public person. His fans, who are generally stalking masters, tend to leave me alone most of the time, because there’s not much to find out about me in the first place. Sure, some of them follow me on Twitter and Instagram and leave all kinds of comments, but it’s never gotten to a point where it bothered me.
The moment I open my Instagram app, countless notifications pop up on my screen. Weird. For some reason, I keep getting tagged over and over again in a bunch of Carolina’s pictures. I’ve met her exactly once and I’m absolutely positive there are no pictures of us together, so this doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. I click on one of the tags and a picture of her and Neymar, dating sometime before Christ by the looks of it, appears on my screen. She’s wearing a light blue floor length dress and has her blonde hair styled into an elegant bun, while he’s holding her hand, wearing a matching tux. He looks like such a dork, who probably got dragged to a wedding or some other even of the sort.
“Throwback to the best date night w/ @neymarjr. #tbt #missthis #someday”
A loud snort escapes my lips as I read her caption, because she knows, just as well as me and the rest of the world, that they never dated. I don’t mean to downplay her role in Neymar’s life, because she is the mother of his child and that’s not nothing, but they were never actually together. They weren’t a couple. There is nothing for her to miss.
“What are you up to?” Neymar asks, plopping himself on the couch next to me and frightening me for a brief second, because I didn’t notice him walking into the room. “Is that me?” He takes the phone out my hands and laughs at his younger ridiculous looking self.
“Yes.” I nod, still smiling to myself. “You and Carolina on a date, apparently.” I manage to say it with a straight face, but the utterly confused look on my boyfriend’s face makes me chuckle again.
“In what alternate universe?” He scrolls down and reads the caption. “What’s her deal? This was at a friend’s wedding, not a date. We weren’t even supposed to go together.”
“I figured. Maybe she didn’t mean it like that. She probably just wrote that because you were each other’s date at the wedding.” Neymar raises an eyebrow at me, as if I’m making no sense, which I’m most likely not. “I don’t know.” I shrug and take the phone away from him, so I can check my other notifications. I tap on another tag and a picture of them together at the same wedding appears on the screen. This time they’re dancing.
“What is meant to be will always find a way.” Is what the caption reads and the fact that she has written all these cheesy things in English, as opposed to Portuguese as usual, is not lost on me. Like she did it specifically so I would understand.
“Someone’s jealous.” Neymar says, nudging me with his shoulder as I’m staring at the picture for a little longer than normal.
“Obviously.” I roll my eyes at the screen, before turning to face him. “But it’s not me.”
“It better not be. That,” He points to the picture, “Was forever ago. It didn’t mean anything then and it definitely doesn’t mean anything now.”
“Do you?” I nod and pick up my phone again, because I can’t help myself. I feel this strange need to see the last and final picture of Carolina’s that people have been tagging me in. Neymar takes the phone away from me before I get a chance to do anything. “Do you?” He presses.
“Yes.” I nod and give him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Really. I’m just curious about what else she’s been posting.” He seems to consider his options for a few seconds, but I think he realizes there’s no winning this argument with me, so he just opens the next picture himself. This one is of Neymar and a way younger Davi, probably not even two years old at the time, resting their heads of Carolina’s lap. She has her arms wrapped around the both of them, with a grin on her face.
“Perfect little family.” I read the caption out loud.
“Jesus.” Neymar rolls his eyes and grabs my phone again, so he can see the picture better. “Did she decide to go through her old pictures and post them all online today?”
“No, just the ones you’re in, apparently.”
At first, I didn’t really think much of the pictures. I just found it strange that she felt the need to broadcast her jealousy for the world to see and that she would stoop to the lever of purposely trying to get to me, when I obviously wouldn’t let her. But seeing the picture of their perfect little family was starting to take its toll on me, as I couldn’t help but think about how postcard happy they looked together. It shouldn’t even be surprising, though. Of course they’d look happy together, as a family, because that’s what they are. She is the mother of his child. I have nothing on that.
“I knew this wasn’t a good idea.” Neymar snaps me out of my thoughts, throwing my phone on the opposite side of the couch.
“I’m just starting to realize that it wasn’t.” I’m on the verge of bursting into tears, when he frowns at me for a brief second and places both his hands on my shoulder, looking straight into my cloudy eyes.
“I was talking about looking at these pictures.” Tears start streaming down my face and his expression softens. “None of it is real, Y/N. Those pictures, the captions, everything – it’s just her trying to get to you. I don’t know if she honestly believes any of it, but I’m telling you what she and I had was never like that.”
“She is Davi’s mother.” Is the only argument I manage to get out in between sobs.
“And I will always love and respect her as that, but that’s the only true thing about those pictures.” I stare at him questioningly. “We never went on dates or had whatever grand romance she’s trying to make it seem like. We were friends. We had a one night stand and now we’re still friends, who happen to have a son together.”
“Who happen to have a son?’ I force a chuckle. “You sound like you’re talking about a sack of potatoes, not a child.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” I shake my head, wiping the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand. “She doesn’t matter. None of that matters.” He gestures towards my phone. “I do love her as the mother of my son, but I’m not in love with her. I’m in love with you. You’re the only thing that does matter to me right now. I thought you already knew that.”
“I did.” I rub my eyes for a second, trying to get rid of all the tears that have been threatening to spill this entire time. “I do.”
“She can be jealous all she wants, but I promise that you have nothing to be jealous about.” Neymar tucks a piece of hair behind my ears and caresses my check, as I lean into his hand. “I love you.”
“I know.” I smile, finally letting go of my irrational thoughts. “I love you, too.”