AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER:
The following text is not intended to promote or confirm stereotypes about Italians. However, within the work, there is a personal venting moment of mine (as an Italian born and residing in Italy) about some issues I face every day.
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Until a few seconds ago, I was at her place with her. There wasn't too much awkwardness, quite the opposite.
However, now that we're waiting for the elevator, an awkward silence has crept in. As if neither of us knows what to say.
It's happened to me many times in the past, and I wonder why, honestly, and I continue to wonder what it's due to.
It often occurs when you're alone, perhaps in elevators, for instance.
One explanation I could give is that it's a moment where we are very vulnerable to each other's gaze.
We always are, in reality, but when you're in such a confined space, alone, it's different.
The field of vision narrows, and it's easy to succumb to the temptation of looking at the person you like, or their body parts.
Moreover, it's a moment when being alone, the atmosphere can be the trigger for moments of very intense emotional expression. A simple declaration, or in the case of more intimate couples, a kiss, a pat on the backside, or even more.
The elevator arrives; we both enter, but we don't look at each other.
I try to glance at her from the corner of my eye, but I see that she's also looking straight ahead. The mirror behind us.
I'd like to make contact with her, whether it's verbal or holding her hand. But I can't.
I don't know if it's the same for her.
We reach the ground floor and both exit at exactly the same moment, even starting with the same leg. Almost as if in embarrassment, our heads went into autopilot.
Silently, we head towards the door and step outside the building.
There's almost no one around. Just a few imps and some hellhounds. And the atmosphere changes from here. Glancing from the corner of my eye, I notice that even Glam seems less tense now. As if we're now free to talk.
"Alright... where is this place you told me about?" I start.
Glam stretches, as if shaking off all the tension accumulated while we were in the elevator.
"Not far, just like the crappy place the other day."
"Hm..." I say a bit worried.
"Don't worry!" Glam reassures me with a slight laugh. "I assure you, even if it's the same area, the place I frequent is completely different."
She comes closer and playfully takes my hands, pulling me towards her, as if to say there's nothing to worry about.
"I've been there many times. I assure you, all the people who go there are normal and calm. And even if an unusual situation arises, there are bouncers."
"If you say so," I say, smiling, slightly reassured.
"And honestly, I feel safe," she looks deep into my eyes. "I feel that together we can overcome any obstacle."
Her last statement sends a shiver down my spine. Because she's saying that she feels safe with me, but more importantly, she's emphasizing, with self-assurance, that she has the ability to overcome any unpleasant situations.
I smile at her, and she returns it.
"I should give you something, though."
Glam's look becomes curious.
YOU ARE READING
The Hidden Tears of the Clown Girl
Romance[Glam x Male reader] And if the singer Glam, arrogant and narcissistic, wore a mask to conceal the suffering of an artist who found herself on a path she didn't want to follow? What if, behind that cheerful and self-assured face, her vulnerability w...
