Dangerous Liaisons - CHAPTER 1/? *The Episode*
Author: kitty69lover
Rating: R
Category: Drama
Characters: Various current and former Real Madrid and Barcelona football players. the protagonists to be revealed later, check out tags for each chapter.
Length: long story
Summary: she was a Madridista, he was a Cule. They struggled at first, only for their love to bloom. But when the secrets of her past resurface, will their passion save their relationship?
Disclaime: all in my head, just my imagination. the photos i used for various characters and items are copyright of their authors. this fic contains product placement.
Authors Notes: inspired by Supertram's Logical Song.
1. The Episode
Celina
I was 14. I was young and foolish. I was grieving. I had lost my mother, just a few months before. To cancer, they said. But what did they know? It was something else. She died of sadness, of a broken heart. She died because my father - her husband - never loved her, while she did, and maybe too much.
Mother
He was always away, and at the time, he was engrossed in his new project. As Real Madrid president, he was always on the road…always focused on the team.
Father
And on the money.
Mother was an investment to him. She married him when she was younger than I am now. And he seduced her…how, I can’t explain. Even in his younger days, I wouldn’t call him attractive at all, while she was a goddess. But she saw something in him….and loved him all her very short life. She was 36 when she died. And all he ever saw in her was her daddy’s cash.
But I digress. One would assume that any widower with a teenage daughter would finally understand how important family is, and he would shower the child with all his affection…well, not my father. Florentino Perez was too busy with buying galacticos to even notice his wife died, little less that the child left behind was going astray.
Because that’s what I did. If he didn’t care for mother dying, I cared double. And the weight was too much, much too much for my young shoulders. I needed affection, I needed relief. And like I said, money was no object.
Drugs. I started off with pot, the typical gateway drug. And then I needed something stronger…and I met them.
My heroes.
Guti
My older brothers.
Ronaldo
My party buds.
Steve
My suppliers.
Robbie
My first guys….
Well, actually. It only happened once, with one of them. The time I lost my virginity. Then, they realized they have crossed the line and never dared. But once was bad enough, wasn’t it? Especially if the 5 of us were so wasted no-one remembers what happened that night. It was bad, because I was 14 and the youngest were 26, Ronaldo and Guti. Steve was 30. Roberto was 29.
Bad, bad, bad. They felt the guilt more than I did. I was already a coke addict and my only care was my next hit. They were galacticos, role-models for kids all over the world. And statutory rape doesn’t look good on anyone’s resume. Yeah, I suppose coke parties don’t either. But shhh. No-one has to know.
So, we mostly partied together. The two Brazilians were party animals. The Englishman adored drinking. And the Spaniard, he simply loved the company of the 3 aforementioned guys and whatever they promoted. I was drowning my hurt and tried to have as much fun as possible. Hanging out with grown up guys, getting up to no good with my father’s players was my way of rebelling. My way of saying ‘Fuck you, Florentino!’ And it felt good, to have these men care for me. They really did and always tried to help me out.
Why would these grown men allow me to tag along, when I was the president’s daughter and extremely young remained a mystery. We had befriended each other at a Real Madrid soiree, a little party thrown by the management.
And after most of the upper echelons had left and it was just the players, some of the staff and some of their wives, and I was already on a high alcohol intake, I looked for fun. There was one louder table, with the finest of Real’s drunkards and party boys, so it attracted me. They took me seriously, I guess. I was more to them than their president’s 14-years-old daughter.
And then…after a very successful first all player party I attended, we became inseparable. The 5 musketeers. The 5 fingers of the hand. We were more than 4 men and a girl, we were best buds and our vices united us in a close friendship.
And even after that sexual incident, we carried on like nothing had happened. As far as I was concerned, it had been nothing. There was no need for excuses nor for apologies. I had long relinquished control over my own life, and it did not bother me at all, as I had decided to accept whatever happened during our drinking sessions.
People always blame Hollywood for such cases, of rich kids gone wild, but the riches of Madrid could get just as bad. It was all too awesome. Coke made me feel invincible and they made me feel loved. It made my life worth living, less of a disaster. I was almost...well, a version of happy.
But of course….there had to be a downside. There always is one, when coke is involved.
The episode occurred. The episode that would turn the already miserable life upside down. Someone ratted on us. Simply put, someone told father what exactly I was up to. And in his great wisdom, the only thing he could think of doing to tame the situation was to lock me in my room, with nothing but a bottle of water and a plate of simple boiled rice.
He had completely overlooked the addiction aspect of my situation, and the fact that after such lengthy abuse, I could not just quit, stop it all together. Yet, I found myself facing all the demons in my body, aching, literally aching for a hit…for anything that would alleviate the pain and calm my shattered nerves.
I wrecked my room, tearing anything I could get my hands on to pieces, smashing the tv, crashing the windows, tearing up sheets and clothes with my bare hands. I was a beast. My weakness had turned to strength and I was unstoppable.
And when, alerted by the sounds of destruction in my room, one of the maids came to check on me, and wearily opened the door…I attacked her.
I beat her, punching her in the face, pulling her hair, kicking her madly, because once she had seen I was no longer human, but a beast, she tried to stop me.
Big mistake. And I wasn’t tall or strong, but neither was she. I had lack of drugs in my blood as aid, because if I could only get to the liquor cabinet….if I could only get a coke substitute in my veins, something that would not be as good, but that would calm the pain down…it would all be all right. And nothing would get in between me and my pain relief.
So I was really fighting for my life with that stupid maid that tried to stop me, like a fool. Of course, her yells attracted the rest of the staff. I was restrained, because even in my Hulk moment, I could not fight 3 men at once.
They called my father, weary and scared of his reaction. The woman, Leticia, was bleeding and I was too. And Florentino, upon inspecting my bloodshot eyes, the scars on my body, the insanity in my profanity filled babble and the debris in my room, made one call.
I - and probably everyone else - thought it was the doctor father called that evening. Alas, it was not. It was not even a rehabilitation center.
It was something far, far worse.
A combination of asylum and prison. A place where rich people sent their kids with various behavioral issues, including drug consumption and sexual precocity. A juvy nuthouse. A reeducation center. Hell on earth for anyone with an alert mind, a tender heart and a sensible stomach.
Centro de Recuperacion y Reeducacion Alejandro Garcia. My home for seven years.
Rating: R
Category: Drama
Characters: Various current and former Real Madrid and Barcelona football players. the protagonists to be revealed later, check out tags for each chapter.
Length: long story
Summary: she was a Madridista, he was a Cule. They struggled at first, only for their love to bloom. But when the secrets of her past resurface, will their passion save their relationship?
Disclaime: all in my head, just my imagination. the photos i used for various characters and items are copyright of their authors. this fic contains product placement.
Authors Notes: inspired by Supertram's Logical Song.
1. The Episode
Celina
I was 14. I was young and foolish. I was grieving. I had lost my mother, just a few months before. To cancer, they said. But what did they know? It was something else. She died of sadness, of a broken heart. She died because my father - her husband - never loved her, while she did, and maybe too much.
Mother
He was always away, and at the time, he was engrossed in his new project. As Real Madrid president, he was always on the road…always focused on the team.
Father
And on the money.
Mother was an investment to him. She married him when she was younger than I am now. And he seduced her…how, I can’t explain. Even in his younger days, I wouldn’t call him attractive at all, while she was a goddess. But she saw something in him….and loved him all her very short life. She was 36 when she died. And all he ever saw in her was her daddy’s cash.
But I digress. One would assume that any widower with a teenage daughter would finally understand how important family is, and he would shower the child with all his affection…well, not my father. Florentino Perez was too busy with buying galacticos to even notice his wife died, little less that the child left behind was going astray.
Because that’s what I did. If he didn’t care for mother dying, I cared double. And the weight was too much, much too much for my young shoulders. I needed affection, I needed relief. And like I said, money was no object.
Drugs. I started off with pot, the typical gateway drug. And then I needed something stronger…and I met them.
My heroes.
Guti
My older brothers.
Ronaldo
My party buds.
Steve
My suppliers.
Robbie
My first guys….
Well, actually. It only happened once, with one of them. The time I lost my virginity. Then, they realized they have crossed the line and never dared. But once was bad enough, wasn’t it? Especially if the 5 of us were so wasted no-one remembers what happened that night. It was bad, because I was 14 and the youngest were 26, Ronaldo and Guti. Steve was 30. Roberto was 29.
Bad, bad, bad. They felt the guilt more than I did. I was already a coke addict and my only care was my next hit. They were galacticos, role-models for kids all over the world. And statutory rape doesn’t look good on anyone’s resume. Yeah, I suppose coke parties don’t either. But shhh. No-one has to know.
So, we mostly partied together. The two Brazilians were party animals. The Englishman adored drinking. And the Spaniard, he simply loved the company of the 3 aforementioned guys and whatever they promoted. I was drowning my hurt and tried to have as much fun as possible. Hanging out with grown up guys, getting up to no good with my father’s players was my way of rebelling. My way of saying ‘Fuck you, Florentino!’ And it felt good, to have these men care for me. They really did and always tried to help me out.
Why would these grown men allow me to tag along, when I was the president’s daughter and extremely young remained a mystery. We had befriended each other at a Real Madrid soiree, a little party thrown by the management.
And after most of the upper echelons had left and it was just the players, some of the staff and some of their wives, and I was already on a high alcohol intake, I looked for fun. There was one louder table, with the finest of Real’s drunkards and party boys, so it attracted me. They took me seriously, I guess. I was more to them than their president’s 14-years-old daughter.
And then…after a very successful first all player party I attended, we became inseparable. The 5 musketeers. The 5 fingers of the hand. We were more than 4 men and a girl, we were best buds and our vices united us in a close friendship.
And even after that sexual incident, we carried on like nothing had happened. As far as I was concerned, it had been nothing. There was no need for excuses nor for apologies. I had long relinquished control over my own life, and it did not bother me at all, as I had decided to accept whatever happened during our drinking sessions.
People always blame Hollywood for such cases, of rich kids gone wild, but the riches of Madrid could get just as bad. It was all too awesome. Coke made me feel invincible and they made me feel loved. It made my life worth living, less of a disaster. I was almost...well, a version of happy.
But of course….there had to be a downside. There always is one, when coke is involved.
The episode occurred. The episode that would turn the already miserable life upside down. Someone ratted on us. Simply put, someone told father what exactly I was up to. And in his great wisdom, the only thing he could think of doing to tame the situation was to lock me in my room, with nothing but a bottle of water and a plate of simple boiled rice.
He had completely overlooked the addiction aspect of my situation, and the fact that after such lengthy abuse, I could not just quit, stop it all together. Yet, I found myself facing all the demons in my body, aching, literally aching for a hit…for anything that would alleviate the pain and calm my shattered nerves.
I wrecked my room, tearing anything I could get my hands on to pieces, smashing the tv, crashing the windows, tearing up sheets and clothes with my bare hands. I was a beast. My weakness had turned to strength and I was unstoppable.
And when, alerted by the sounds of destruction in my room, one of the maids came to check on me, and wearily opened the door…I attacked her.
I beat her, punching her in the face, pulling her hair, kicking her madly, because once she had seen I was no longer human, but a beast, she tried to stop me.
Big mistake. And I wasn’t tall or strong, but neither was she. I had lack of drugs in my blood as aid, because if I could only get to the liquor cabinet….if I could only get a coke substitute in my veins, something that would not be as good, but that would calm the pain down…it would all be all right. And nothing would get in between me and my pain relief.
So I was really fighting for my life with that stupid maid that tried to stop me, like a fool. Of course, her yells attracted the rest of the staff. I was restrained, because even in my Hulk moment, I could not fight 3 men at once.
They called my father, weary and scared of his reaction. The woman, Leticia, was bleeding and I was too. And Florentino, upon inspecting my bloodshot eyes, the scars on my body, the insanity in my profanity filled babble and the debris in my room, made one call.
I - and probably everyone else - thought it was the doctor father called that evening. Alas, it was not. It was not even a rehabilitation center.
It was something far, far worse.
A combination of asylum and prison. A place where rich people sent their kids with various behavioral issues, including drug consumption and sexual precocity. A juvy nuthouse. A reeducation center. Hell on earth for anyone with an alert mind, a tender heart and a sensible stomach.
Centro de Recuperacion y Reeducacion Alejandro Garcia. My home for seven years.