It was a typical Tuesday for you. You got up, dressed in your practice kit and went to practice. As the top scorer in the women's division of La Liga, practice was your top priority. Smiling up at the Barcelona banner on the door, you pushed open the door to the locker room. Putting your bag into your locker, you walked out onto the pitch.

Everyone else was already set up and running drills. "You're late #11," your coach chided.

"Sorry, bed was too comfortable to get out of," you called back, running your warm up laps. As you ran around the practice pitch, you spotted some new players. After you warmed up and stretched, you jogged over to your closest teammate. "What's with the newbies?" you asked, grabbing a ball.

She shrugged. "I don't know but coach said to be on your best behavior," she warned.

"Please, I always am," you mocked, juggling the ball. Feeling comfortable, you started to do more intricate tricks with the ball.

"#11, stop messing around with the ball and join the drill!" your coach yelled at you. Sighing in annoyance, you kicked the ball high in the air and bicycle kicked it into the net. Getting up, you heard clapping and turned to the group of newbies. Their faces shocked you. It was Neymar and a few other Barcelona men's players who were all staring at you. You mock bowed before joining the drill.

Running behind your friend again, you whispered to her. "Do you know who those guys are?!" you whispered.

"Yeah, if you had been paying attention instead of messing around with the ball you would have noticed sooner," she chided jokingly. "Why don't you ask for an autograph, I'm sure Neymar will oblige," she winked.

"Oh please, like I would go for him," you rolled your eyes, suppressing the blush in your cheeks. Okay so you had a minor obsession with him. Sure you had a poster of him in your room . . . and a jersey . . . and a bobble head but that was it. You weren't obsessed with the Brazilian. Sure he was extremely attractive, especially when his hair was dyed blond like it was during the world cup but that was beside the point.

You participated in practice fully, though you weren't completely focused. Every other second you would glance over at Neymar who glanced back. Sometimes it was accompanied by a wink or smirk in which you would blush. You were never like this around any other guys. You were confident in yourself and you had yet to find any man to make you double check your hair or anything for that matter.

Until Neymar happened. You cursed the Brazilian as you continued to juggle after practice had let out. It was just you and the field, which was how you preferred it. Well, you had thought that you were alone but you were wrong. "You're very good," a voice said from behind you, startling you.

You jumped and whipped around to see Neymar standing there smirking. "Oh, it's only you," you sighed in relief.

"Only me? Sorry to disappoint," he smiled.

"No you didn't, I just, I thought I was alone," you stuttered.

"Do you prefer to be alone?" he asked, staring at you thoughtfully.

"It's easier to be alone," you whispered. He walked quietly closer to you. Only a few breaths separated the two of you. "It protects you."

"Trust me, being alone isn't the best thing in the world," he stated before turning around and walking away. He picked up the ball you had been practicing with and stared at it for a second. He taped something to it before kicking back over to you. Trapping the ball, you picked it up and ripped off the paper he had stuck to it. Call me when you don't want to be alone –N11 xxx-xxx-xxxx.

You placed the paper in your pocket before putting the ball away. You grabbed your bag and drove home, not even bothering to shower. You had practice the next day but you didn't feel like going. You would be in trouble but you didn't care. You didn't care about anything anymore. You pulled up to your house and got out.

Dropping your bag on the floor, you kicked off your shoes and shrugged off your jacket. Walking through you house, you stared up at the pictures of your family. Every picture you passed was a painful memory. You pulled your head out of those thoughts and went upstairs to bed. You hopped in, shut off the lights, and snuggled into the covers.

You drifted to sleep. You slept peacefully for a minute before the nightmares hit. You were alone, in the center of a huge space. You were a little girl again, hair pulled back into pig tails, clutching a tattered teddy bear in your tiny arms. Shadows danced in front of you. Your parents arguing. Images flashed through your mind of your past causing you to scream. You shot up, your body drenched in sweat.

Sleep was useless at times like this. You went to the bathroom and stared at your reflection for hours. The darkness continued to swirl around you. Your alarm went off, the annoying buzz alerting you that it was six in the morning. You weren't moved however. You opened one of your drawers in your bathroom and pulled out the razor blade. You stared at it for a few seconds, the light of day reflecting off the sharpened blade.

Meanwhile, at practice, your teammates grew worried. Sure, you showed up late sometimes but never two hours late! Your coach looked concerned and suspended practice to have everyone call you. One of your teammates found a crumpled up piece of paper on the ground. Picking it up, she looked at the note Neymar had given to you last night.

Calling his number, she waited patiently. Currently on a water break, Neymar picked up the phone. "Hello? Who is this?" he asked.

"This is Maria, I'm (Y/N)'s teammate. Do you happen to know where she is?" she asked.

"No I don't, why?"

"She hasn't shown up to practice, which started three hours ago. And she's not answering any calls. We're all worried, she's never done this before." Worst case scenarios clouded Neymar's mind.

"What's her address?"

"565 Reina Rd. It's a big blue house on a hill," Maria said.

"I'll go check on her," Neymar stated, getting out of practice early. He drove quickly to your address as his GPS spit out directions. Pulling into your driveway, Neymar saw your car parked in the driveway. Getting out quickly, he sprinted up the stairs to your front door, knocking on the door loudly. "(Y/N)! It's me, Neymar! Come open the door!" he shouted, banging on the door loudly.

You heard him banging on the door but your legs wouldn't move, only the hand with the razor would. Swearing loudly, Neymar continued to bang on the door to no success. Assessing the door, Neymar stood back. Kicking the door open, he rushed into the house. "(Y/N)!" he shouted. Your eyes widened at the sound of his voice, which sounded clearer now.

Seeing the light of your bathroom, he charged up the stairs. Rushing into your bathroom, he grabbed your arm, the blade less than an inch from the skin of your wrist. You looked up at him, tears in your eyes. "Drop it (Y/N)," he pleaded. Your arm started to tremble, the blade falling to the floor, the sound of it hitting the floor seeming to echo throughout the room. Neymar kicked the blade away quickly before pulling you into a tight hug.

You started to cry. Neymar whispered kind things into your ear, rubbing your back soothingly. "It's okay, I'm here now," he whispered.