She's my everything
Pairing: mention of Cristiano Ronaldo/Kaká but mostly non-slash
Rating: PG
Word count: 942
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable persons, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners and are fictional. The author(s) is/are in no way associated with said person(s) being depicted. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.
Beta: Thanks to the lovely
sparksfly7Summary: Cristiano has a secret. He hides her in the basement.
Note: It took me a long time to dare posting this. I have no idea where this comes from nor why I chose to write it with Cris but uh... yeah... Enjoy. And please don't call the psychiatric hospital.
Cristiano closed the door of Cris Jr's room. His sleeping son and he were alone in the house and safe from any surprise visits. Exactly what Cristiano needed. He'd been looking for this quietness for days, for this time for himself, this time for her. He went up to the gigantic painting decorating his living room and took it slightly away from the wall. On the edge of the frame a key was hidden, which he took before putting the picture back into place. Then he went down to the basement, to the room that no one but him knew of, and put the key in the lock. Sometimes he felt paranoid, almost ridiculous, but he knew it was necessary. If somebody discovered his secret, his career was over.
He entered a spacious room furnished with a sofa and a coffee table facing a television screen. Against one of the walls was a wardrobe and the opposite one was covered with a mirror. A very common room, if you left out its underground location and the self-centeredness that the mirror seemed to show. This place had become Rosalia's refuge. She was the one who was causing so much torment to Cristiano. He'd known her for years and it took him a long time to tame her, but now, he wished he could show her instead of hiding her in the cellar. That may never be possible.
Getting ready to join her, he undressed himself, carefully avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He hated to see himself in these moments, when the need was so strong. Then he faced the wardrobe and opened it. In a cupboard he put on the first accessory he found before reviewing the various outfits hanging in front of him, hesitating over the colour as well as the cut. He finally made up his mind on the black one and got dressed. He found an assorted pair of shoes and sat down to put them on. He then went to the bathroom and, seeing Rosalia in the mirror, smiled at her.
In the bathroom he was forced to face his reflection but he wasn't as disgusted as before. A few more steps and he would be perfect. He began by pouring a small quantity of a light brown liquid in his hand and applying it on his face. Then he took a powder box and spread some of it on his cheeks. He decorated his eyelids chocolate brown before putting on some mascara. He finished with light brown lipstick and took the wig lying next to the make-up products. He put it on before returning to the adjacent room.
He finally looked at himself. In her high heels and her black dress revealing her knees, her fake breasts neither too ample nor too small, her make-up and the black locks framing her face, Rosalia found herself beautiful. She still looked a bit too much like a drag queen and not enough like a woman, but the transformation had improved since its beginnings. And for now she had to deal with it.
She admired herself for a while, enjoying these moments. Finally being who she really was deep inside was a relief. It had been too long since the last time she had the time and privacy necessary to do it. In her female appearance, for lack of a female body, Rosalia felt alive. She smiled once more to her reflection and went up back to the house.
Cristiano felt ridiculous; he had the feeling of being one of these flamboyant drag queens from the clichés. He couldn't deny that Rosalia was there though, somewhere inside of him, that he was her and that he needed sometimes to stop playing his role as a man. For a while she hadn't dared coming out of the basement. Shame and fear had always gotten the upper hand, but slowly she had become more confident. She had learned to put on make-up, to dress, to walk in heels as the woman she was. And finally she had gone out of the cellar. Always when she was alone, of course, but she had to enjoy every little thing.
She did nothing fundamentally different from Cristiano. She went about the same business. With this only difference that she felt herself, free. Or as free as possible being trapped at home. One night, unable to take it anymore, she had gone out, where she was sure that no one would see her. She had spent a while walking outside, a few dozens of minutes during which she felt deeply well, until fear had brought her back home. Cristiano's career was too precious. One of the rare things capable of reconciling her with her male body. And the scandal would be too painful, for him and his close ones who knew nothing about Rosalia. Even Kaká doesn't know about. Cristiano was too afraid to see him walk away. Doubts, the pain of not being able to be himself, were a burden he had to carry alone.
Cris Jr's cries took Rosalia away from the TV programme she was watching. She went upstairs in the bedroom and took her child in her arms, the child she would have wanted to give birth to, humming a lullaby to calm him. That was the only occasion where she allowed herself to talk; her male voice sounded too false to her ears.
She spent the rest of the afternoon taking care of her son, enjoying these moments of semi-freedom as much as she could. Then Cristiano would take his role again. And every night, he would dream that people called him Rosalia.
