Soccer/Football Imagines

Marc Bartra (Part 7) [~] Contracted Love

                You shivered in the cool Spanish air. You had left Marc's home in only a pair of pajama shorts and a large t-shirt, one of his t-shirts you noticed distastefully. Having gotten out of your car, you ran the doorbell to a familiar house. The doorbell was on the wall outside their house, to protect them from crazy fans and such. "Hello?" Shakira asked through the speaker.

                "It's me, (Y/N). Marc cheated on me, can I come in? I have nowhere else to go," you sighed. The gate immediately moved to the side. You got back into your car and drove up the driveway, parking in front of the large house. By the time you got out, Shakira was already standing on the porch. You locked your car and walked up to her.

                "Let's get you inside, it's freezing out here," Shakira stated, leading you inside with an arm around your shoulder. Handing you a cup of tea, you sat across from her at her dining room table.

                "I hope I didn't disturb you," you said.

                "I was already up. Sasha was being fussy and Gerard sleeps like a rock so I had to get up anyways," Shakira smiled. "How do you feel?"

                "Crappy," you rubbed your face tiredly. "I just can't believe he would do that to me, especially while I'm pregnant," you babbled.

                "Boys are stupid. Trust me, I'm living with three of them. What did he say?"

                "He begged me to stay and I just walked out. I was done with him. I am done with him," you corrected yourself.

                "So you're getting a divorce?" Shakira questioned. You nodded.

                "I've given him more than enough chances. We'll work out custody after the baby is born but I never want to share a room ever again with Marc Bartra," you assured Shakira, spitting out the name Marc Bartra like it was a curse.

                "Well you are more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need," Shakira offered.

                "Thank you. I think I'll stay in Spain until the baby is born. After that I think I'll leave," you informed.

                "Where will you go?" Shakira spoke.

                "Home. I haven't seen my family in forever, they live in England. Or maybe America or France, wherever he isn't," you vowed. You weren't dealing with Marc Bartra ever again. Shakira nodded.

                "Just know that we all support you here. When's your due date?"

                "In six weeks but the stress might just cause a premature birth," you muttered.

                "Forget about him. Focus on yourself and your baby for now." You nodded and yawned. Shakira led you upstairs to a guest bedroom. You thanked her graciously again before going to sleep quickly. You got up the next morning, checking your phone. You texted Martha that you needed to talk with her and Pedro before getting out of bed. Shakira was once again gracious enough to let you borrow some of her old maternity clothes.