Chapter eleven

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The next few days of my imprisonment consisted of the same routine: wake up, shower, eat, sleep and repeat. And that was about it.

To the average person, a twenty-three year old locked in a single room to a twenty-thousand square feet mansion, may be presumed as some form of blessing.
But what happens when you lose track of your hours, and the days and nights are compressed into one big infinitive loop?

I wanted to tear my hair out.

Giada had been avoiding me for five days now, and according to Cecilia—who was the only human contact I had, other than my own reflection in the bathroom mirror—Antonio was in London doing "business." She had given me the look when a short laugh escaped my lips at the last word. The same look Giada gave me when I insulted his integrity.

But still, it had given me a sense of relief, because that meant I had more time. To specify the truth, I had no clue as to what I was attempting to buy my time for. There was no way in this world—or any other galaxy—that I would be able to acquire that amount of digits.

I rested my head back against the chair as I watched the light blue sky turn into a pale tint of orange. I tried not to think about Emma returning to an empty apartment, realizing that her best friend and roommate had ditched her with no explanation, other than a lame excuse of a goodbye letter.
She was going to be so sad. It made me miserable and terrified that our friendship of eight years would indefinitely be coming to an end.

I glanced at the clock through the window. It was nine in the evening here in Italy. What time would it be back at home? Now I regretted my decision to not go on that trip to Barbados with her. She had begged me for weeks, but I had been persistent about not indulging in the luxuries of a two week vacation and determined to save money.

What I hadn't told her was that I was unable to afford it because I was behind on my student loans, and the bank had taken it out of my savings, leaving me with just the amount of resources to survive the next three weeks or so.

I couldn't put a burden like that on her shoulders. Besides, she would probably offer to lend me the money for the trip, and we would have ended up fighting over it. That's what occurred the last time we took a spontaneous vacation, and we all know how well that ended.

Adriana, the queen of fuck-ups.
If only there was a competition for that category, I'd wear the crown.
You deserve this.

I buried my face in my hands, letting out a muffled sob. I didn't deserve any of my friends. I was way below their league. To always be the one ruining a good idea for a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant―which I couldn't afford―or unable to partake in any of their social activities because I "wasn't that in to any of them".

Adriana was a snob.

Maybe they would be relieved that I was gone. They wouldn't have to put up with me anymore.

The bedroom door opened, startling me. I wiped my eyes, quickly blinking the remaining of the tears away. The sweet smell of jasmine filled the air and I looked up to see Giada standing at the railing. She pulled out a cigarette from the front pocket of her crisp white shirt, lighting it as she studied my face.

"You've been crying," she said through a blow of smoke.

I pulled my legs up into a hug, resting my chin between my knees with my eyes straight ahead.

"So you're just going to ignore me now?"

Maybe if I do it long enough, it will make you disappear.
She leaned back against the metal, taking another pull from her cigarette.

She frowned. Taking out her phone, she made a short phone-call in Italian. It wasn't long before Cecilia walked in with two glasses filled with liquor and an ashtray, placing them on the table. Giada picked up one of the glasses, handing it to me.
I took it, reluctantly raising it to my lips.

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