» misery | maroon 5
- cherry burton.
Those bright blue eyes had been plaguing my mind from the moment we first met and now, I could barely even blink without picturing her. I had been clueless at first, thinking it was just the start of a friendship. Until I started dreaming about her hands lingering on my body, those plump lips softly touching mine and listening to the tune of her Italian accent every time she spoke.
“Cherry! Wake up. I already let you sleep in yesterday, we need to continue with our tour.”
I could feel Gianna's hand wrapping around my shoulder and slowly shaking me awake, oblivious to the fact that I had woken up several minutes ago. “Calm down, Gianna. I'm awake.”
“Then hop in the shower and get ready!” she exclaimed, as I slowly opened my eyes and scanned the hotel room.
Even though she looked adorable when she got all flustered and demanding, I decided to just follow her orders. Grabbing a denim dress and fresh underwear from my suitcase, I headed to the shower. I turned on the water, adjusting it until it felt tepid against my skin. I slowly starting undressing, wishing that her hands could replace mine. My body longed for her touch, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her that. Besides, the subject of intimacy makes her uncomfortable and after a few failed attempts at begging her to tell me why, I gave up. I figured it was something she could do whenever she was ready.
After zoning out and focusing on washing my body instead of a certain Italian blogger, I dried myself up with a fluffy towel and started getting ready for a long day, making sure my makeup was sweat-proof.
“Hurry up! You don't need /that/ much makeup, anyway. A charming smile is enough to wrap an Italian boy around your finger,” Gianna said, banging the door with her fists. For the first time, she was the one that had the upper hand. I knew Healdsburg like the back of my hand and always dragged her around, trying to find new places among a sea of frequented coffee shops and clubs.
I examined my reflection in the mirror, fixing my hair and popping a few buttons open to give people a small, sensual peek of my cleavage. The ulterior motive was to catch Gianna staring, but I could pretend I was doing it for the countless array of hot guys that lived in Rome.
“I'm ready!” I announced, emerging from the bathroom and taking a pair of shoes along the way, sitting on the bed to quickly put them on.
“You shouldn't wear those heels today, we're going to be doing a lot of walking.”
I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “Don't underestimate me.”
I should have worn flats.
My feet were killing me and my constant moans were starting to get annoying, judging from the faces of a few tourists that were visiting the same attraction as us. I couldn't pass up the chance of showing off my legs, though. Not to sound conceited, but the heels I was wearing made my legs look extra long and toned.
“Do you want to stop there for a quick dinner?” Gianna asked, pointing at a small, cozy-looking restaurant a few feet away from us.
I nodded enthusiastically, taking her hand and dragging her over there with the little strength I had left. “My feet hurt like h-ell and I need food in my system.”
She chuckled, ordering a table for two in perfect Italian. Or at least that's what I thought she said.
“This place looks amazing!” I commented, discreetly looking at people's meals as we were guided to our table. Once we got there, I sat down and immediately released a sigh of pure bliss. Roaming around the beautiful city was a wonderful experience, but I'm definitely more of a 'let's go to the beach and relax' type of girl. I was sure once we finished visiting the major tourist attractions we would get a chance to breathe.
“Are you loving the city so far?”
I think I love the person sitting in front of me even more. “Of course! You're a great tour guide, you know.”
“Well, thank you. You're a terrible tourist.”
I laughed, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I'm sorry, okay? My feet really do hurt. Try having you as a guide while wearing heels and I promise you will relate to my pain.”
“I warned you,” she said, scanning the menu. I had given up on that on the first day, since I couldn't understand a single thing about Italian. Ciao and buongiorno were the only words I could pronounce without much difficulty and the rest were a complete disaster. It made Gianna laugh, though, which makes my lack of talent for languages seem not so bad.
I stuck my tongue out at her before the waitress reached our table to take our orders. Clueless, I just pointed at Gianna and she spoke -- I was pretty sure she knew exactly what I liked.
Although imagining Gianna cut up into little pieces and served on a platter was not a pretty mental picture.
The silence that reigned over us was comfortable and I welcomed it, because we had been spending so much time together and sometimes, we simply had nothing to say yet being in each other's presence was necessary. She had turned into the most important person in my life and not being able to tell her I love her without feeling like I was going to ruin our relationship was tearing me to pieces inside. I had grown accustomed to what I felt for her, like constant butterflies in my stomach and a tingle on my toes that just simply would never go away.
“You seem to be deep in thought,” she said, lightly putting her hand on top of mine. Did she know what she was doing to me?
“Sometimes, silence can be the most interesting conversation topic.”
She raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “That's a good point.”
Silence gave me time to think about Gianna and the drastic change of lifestyle I went through after my time spent with her reached an extreme point. It also gave me time to arrange my feelings into coherent sentences that I would never have the guts to spill.
Which also led me to think that sometimes, silence can be the deadliest weapon.