𝗣𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗼𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗮: the fear of love or of becoming emotionally connected with another person.
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Her, the only one who is not afraid of saying what she thinks and not kissing his ass.
Him, the only one that wakes up a part of her that she as ne...
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—AS I LOOK DOWN at my phone I bump into a hard chest.
"Sorry," I say not even looking up and finishing to send the text I was writing, but I want to take the words back as I look up and I see those hunting pair of brown eyes that judged me while I "spoke" to him this morning.
I take a step back from him as his strong fresh cologne and his body odor fill my nose, and as I do he doesn't say anything just looks at me weirdly till he looks away with a look I really don't try to decipher and he walks past me like I don't even exist and we didn't just bump against each other again.
I roll my eyes, looking back at my phone, and get out of the chat, then deleting the voicemails that I'll never listen to, walking back towards my dressing room, my heels clinking on the hard floor and I enter my dressing room pressing the door close behind me, and it clicks softly as the lock turns into place.
I sigh, tightening my grip on the phone.
~~~
I pace around my backstage room, pinching my thigh as I feel the panic rise up my throat. I hate interviews. I detest them with all my being.
I met the interviewee and she seemed nice I guess but it's full of people outside which raises my blood pressure and I had to bump with the asshole out there one hour ago because life hates me. Well, that's an understatement.
I take two of the pills that I stashed in my purse and swallow them before I hear a knock on my door with makes me stop going crazy and pacing around the room. I hurry a come in, knowing that is the make-up people and the people who are here to give me my dress since I'm now only in a robe.
They open the door coming in all smiling. I sit on the stool in front of the mirror as they told me to and they start plastering my face with products.
I stand still through all of this only saying yes or no to certain things when needed to.
I'm very silent with new people they make me feel awkward and I hate small talks so I just don't talk at all. It's always been like that but I don't care - most of the time, some people might think of it as rude but I really don't want to stay up at night thinking about all the awkward conversations or things I could have said to not make an embarrassment of myself so I just prefer to keep my mouth shut.
After the make-up people are done, some people come and do my hair. It only takes them a couple of seconds since there are five of them. They lend me my dress for the night and they leave, closing the door after them after I told them that'll prefer to dress myself since I hate the pity looks they usually used to give me when they saw the red irritated scarred skin.
My accident was all over newspapers when it happened but it doesn't say it was me, since I was only a kid at the time and there weren't any pictures of me. You'll have to do a really good research to find out it was me and most of my fans don't do it and I like that way, so if I go out I usually cover the scars with clothes which is the best I can do, other then closing myself at home.
