𝑳𝑰𝑩𝑬𝑹𝑻À

𝟎𝟕. 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢

CHIARA:

The steam from the shower condensates the glass doors as I rinse out the remaining conditioner from the ends of my hair. I hastily decided to jump in the shower with hopes to avoid dinner, the thought of consuming anything right now still churning my stomach.

This was really the only way. If I were relaxing in my room I'm sure I would have practically been forced down to the dining room, but no one can come and drag a naked lady out of her bathroom. Not unless they want a meeting with my lawyer, anyway.

I slowly turn down the water before giving my hair a quick squeeze and hopping out onto the towelled floor mats. I wash off the remaining makeup that's decorated my eyes panda style, spray some deodorant and brush my teeth. It may only be a half hour past eight but I don't plan on eating anything for the rest of the night.

I unlock the bathroom door, twist the gold handle open and head towards the white chest of drawers placed neatly in the corner. Arlette told me that everything in these drawers are just spare clothes that were bought for people like her when I queried how I'm meant to take a shower.

But they seriously have everything a girl may need, from pants to bralettes, vests to shorts and everything in between. I pull out a matching pair of what appear to be satin or silk pink pyjamas, but with the money this house reeks of, I decide they're definitely silk and slowly unwrap the fluffy white towel from my body.

"What the fuck is that?"

I jump a mile out of my skin, hastily re-wrapping the towel still tucked under my arms straight around my back again, tighter than before as if to hope it'll never move an inch, before turning around to see Leandro, who still thinks it's ok to rock up unannounced.

"What the fuck! What did I tell you about sneaking up on women that are clearly busy, and half naked!" I hiss with an arm flying out in the air before me, mortified and embarrassed.

"You didn't look busy now answer my question." He slowly walks closer towards me, as if my body is on fire and he's itching to feel warm without burning himself.

"Nothing. Now please leave." I narrow my eyes, squinting, tensing, anything to excerpt even a little amount of sternness enough for him to take me seriously, and leave.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"For someone who hates liars, you sure as hell are a bad one." He scoffs, not giving up as he walks even closer. Metres away, an arms distance. I feel the need to step back but with each centimetre I place between us, he catches it with another glide forward.

"Who gave you those scars? All I need is a name, Chiara." He says my name like honey melting from its comb, like it's his favourite word when we both know the truth of the matter is he'll do anything for me to answer, but I'll do even more to avoid the past.

"No one. It's nothing. Leave." I shock myself as the words fall out, for not crumbling under his gaze or proximity, and I can tell by the tick in his jaw and flick of his wrist that he's unpleasantly surprised too.

"Ok." He nods, all of the tension in his face dissipating as if it's presence was only my imagination.

"Ok. I'll just have to find out for myself, every single man you've ever known, dead I—

"Fine it was Enzo!" I give in at the sudden fear of losing anyone I've ever come across whether they be close or far, and the regret floods in immediately, because once they push you once they'll always remember they can push you again. Harder and harder until you eventually crack under the pressure.