Romance in Italy

Romance in Italy - 12

Twelve. 

When I woke up, my eyes were puffy and swollen. The good thing was: Ashton wasn't there. At first, I was happy. Happy that I wouldn't have to see the scene from last night flash before my eyes whenever I look at him. Happy that I wouldn't have to face him and act like everything's fine and dandy. Things were the opposite. Besides, I wasn't sure I'd be able to see him and the girl together. So, when I swung my leg over the side of the bed and padded to the bathroom, my vision blurry and unfocused. I washed my face, drip some Visine eye drop to minimize the redness and hopefully pass as normal to everyone at the seminar. What I'd learned was that: the attendants at the seminar sucks at keeping things to themselves. Whenever someone comes in, crying or sad, they butt in and start a discussion. Then, everyone would input their opinions. It would be worse for me because the guy that caused my problem would be there. And so would the chick that decided to squeeze in and whisk him away from me.

I sighed, put on some random piece of clothing, pulled my hair up in a sloppy ponytail and slipped on my shoes. I grabbed my wallet, phone, and exited the room. Checking my messages, I realized I have two unopened texts. One from my brother, Matt and one from Dani. I read my brother's first.

How was Italy?

Okay, I guess. I replied back. Knowing Matt, he'll pick up on some problem of mine and would call me back. My brother, beneath his unexplainable stupidity was oddly intuitive.

Then, I opened Dani's.

Everything okay? It said.

I checked the time when the message was sent and frowned. 11:00 yesterday night. That's weird. I finally cried myself to sleep at 10:30, at the latest. Somehow, my best friend was able to guess that something wasn't right. I smiled, and replied with, “Not really. I'll call you later with the deets.”

They knew me better than I knew myself. To be able to guess my distress from across the globe was nothing shy of impressive.

Down at the lobby, I didn't see Ashton. Whatever. I didn't want to see him. I needed time to rejuvenate and to work up enough control to not gouge out the girl's eyes whenever I see her. However, I did see Eddie and Max. They were talking to a girl. Or, rather, Eddie was. Max was standing on the sidelines, glancing at his watch impatiently.

Grinning, I yelled, “Hey!”

They both turned and matching grins lit up their face. Max ditched Eddie and lumbered to my side. “Thank God you called. Eddie was working the flattery department a little bit too much.”

I smirked, knowing how much Max hated tagging along with his, and I quote, 'Manwhore Friend.' I inspected the girl Eddie was still fixated with. Tall. Blonde. With defined curves. “She's not that hot.” I told him, shrugging. It was a lie. The girl was beautiful. A model.

Max made a face. “Thanks for trying.”

I shrugged. “How long have he been at it?”

“Half an hour.” Max squinted. I squirmed. “Were you crying?”

“What?” I asked. I thought the Visine was working its magic!

“Your eyes. They're kinda puffy and swollen. The eyelid.” Max traced his upper lid with his index finger.

“I-uh, no.” I shook my head vehemently. “No. I haven't.”

“Horrible liar.” He clucked but let it go.

I didn't answer. Turns out I didn't have to. Eddie came over, flicking the piece of paper with the girl's number on it. “Jackpot.”

“Hey, Edwardo.” I saluted him, smirking.