The Ache / Damiano David / (Translation)

9.

They had eaten their pizzas amid his laughter and her funny faces, then they had turned on the television and sprawled on the sofa.
Damiano had placed her arm around her shoulders and Charlotte had rested her head on his chest, it seemed that the famous puzzle of her, so coveted by Damiano was starting to take shape.

"It's a perfect Friday night" Charlotte had whispered and for her it really was, nothing would change her thinking as long as she was with Damiano.

"I like being with you." Damiano had told her stroking her hair and she had smiled, he made her feel right despite the inconsistencies of his life, he made her feel great things with small gestures, a look was enough to warm her heart and a caress to radiate it.
"Be careful what you say," she replied, pulling herself straight to be able to look into her eyes and smile at him.
"Attentive is the adjective that characterizes me" He had said sure of himself but unsure of her feelings.
"I hope so." She hastened to reply and then put her head back on Damiano's chest.

"Dam? She had called him back a few hours later when the film was over and Damiano was at the door ready to leave.
"Mh?" He had turned to her with his face illuminated by a soft light.
"I also like being with you." She smiled at him and then closed the door and sighed not before leaving him a kiss on the cheek.

How long would she hold back from kissing him?

How long would he try to suppress that desire that burned in her?

She wondered while Damiano's scent still intoxicated her small house.
She was in need of her eyes and eager for her hands, afraid of the feeling of her that she was cultivating but happy to let him grow up with Damiano.

The latter, on the other hand, had left Charlotte's house and had been overwhelmed by her questions, he who had always been immersed in her sea of ​​security was now confused.

He had felt her uncertainty as she rested her head on his chest, tried to fight her fear of being inadequate by stroking her hair, and tried to ignore the chills that went through him at the completion of this gesture but, when he had separated from her to resume his way home he hadn't made it.

Thus, terrified by the weight of the feeling that had been born in him to suppress his doubts, he had taken the road to the nearest pub and among the beers, the muffled music and the rolled cigarettes he had found himself catapulting his lips on the face of a ' other and he had let himself be squeezed and caressed with seduction and arrogance by cold hands that he did not know, even though he felt strewn with guilt and even though Charlotte was at home imagining and waiting for their kiss.

It was Damiano.
He was this.
Confusion in confusion,
A bolt from the blue,
a sentence,
a tornado that ruined everything he could create for himself.

It was Damiano.
And he was afraid of love as much as he was afraid of happiness.
And he would never be able to change, ever.

It was his self-destructive nature of him that got the better of his monsters, always.