The Italian Businessman (Old Version).

3) Sunday?

“Aurora, where the hell are you? Everybody is worried sick about you. Please, call me as soon as you get this. I love you.”

I ignore another message left by Kendall, on the answering machine of my house phone. Instead I sigh a breach of relief, that she hasn’t come by again. There’s been countless messages left by work colleges, some even from my Mother. Her annoying voice nagging on about how I had missed the brunch she had been ‘planning’ for two weeks.

The red wine glass balancing in my right hand, becomes empty after a long sip from the alcoholic beverage. I place the glass carelessly on the white counter top of my vanity. My clothing shed one item after the other, leaving my body bare.

Salty tears mix with the water pouring from the shower head.

“You’re so stupid!” I cry, knocking my head against the tiles of the shower.

Giovanni hadn’t even had the decency to leave a fucking note. No explanation at all. I was probably just  another one night stand to him. Yet, he was more to me. My first time.

How could I have been so dumb? I had gone years without loosing my virginity. Even going to frat parties, passing out and still I would wake up with my V-card.

*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Wiping my body with a light pink towel and looking in the mirror. I decide here and now, that I will stop wallowing in self-pity. Enough is enough, it’s been two days.

Forty-eight hours that I have wasted of my life and will never get back. I will be damned if I spend another minute thinking about him.

Pulling on a matching set of black lace underwear and a bra. I always spend far too much money at Victoria Secret. Kendall had always said that in order to feel sexy, you don’t need the perfect outfit. If you have a great pair of undwear on.  You have everything.

I apply a light amount of foundation below my eyes, hiding the black bags beneath them. Next is a dab of blush, across my cheekbones. Bringing more colour to my face. A sweep of eyeliner and mascara and I’m done. I decide on a royal blue skinny jeans, loose white shirt and black ballet pumps.

My stomach growls, signaling that I haven’t eaten since yesterdays breakfast. Which I had thrown up, minutes after swallowing.

I know that Kendall doesn’t work on a Friday and since I had called in sick for the rest of the week and the next. I decide to text her, to meet me at the local coffee shop.