When In Rome ► Timothée Chalamet

25 | Run

Y/N

_

I felt like I was running for eternity.

The back of my red dress trailed behind me as I ran, my suitcases thumping along the dizzy path. As soon as the train had stopped in Florence, I was already jumping out of the car and making my way to the ticket booth.

Which was naturally, on the other side of the station.

Weaving in and out of the crowd, I yelled out a string of apologies as I rolled over peoples feet, or nudged into them as I was trying to get by. I only had one thing on my mind, and not a lot of time to get there. As soon as I reached the booth, I came to a skidding stop, my breath heavy with exhaustion.

"I need a ticket," I panted, wiping sweat off of my forehead, "to Rome, please."

The man behind the stained glass stared at me in obvious confusion, and seemed to take forever typing the words into his keyboard. Tapping my sneakers against the tiled floor in anxiousness, I tried to distract myself from the snail-like pace the man was at, by looking around the room.

And...looking right at a giant clock.

2:35, it displayed a sickening number in the moment.

If it took over two hours for me to get here, it would take two hours to get back. It didn't seem so bad, considering the fact that I would arrive back around 5, and have two hours to spare before the art show.

"The only available tickets for Rome," the man croaked out, "are at seven and tomorrow at nine. Which one would you like?"

I widened my eyes, the only sound ringing in my ears being the beating of a panicking heart. Clutching my suitcase handle, I shook my head wildly with immense disappointment. In myself, and the fact that all the tickets I needed were sold out.

"None of those," I pleaded, "is there any other way I could get there?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but no other trains are running that line.

"Right..." I squeaked out, trying not to scream in anguish, "thank you."

Grabbing my things, I ran outside of the station, about to boil over with stress. It was my fault for leaving, and it would also be my fault if I couldn't make it back in time. Ignoring the glances I received from other pedestrians, my eyes frantically searched the street for anything that could take me to Rome.

"Taxi!" I yelled, rushing towards the line of yellow cabs, "mi scusi!"

Absentmindedly cutting the line of people waiting, I pulled open the car door and shoved my things inside. As soon as I slid into the seat, I snapped it shut behind me and tapped nervously on the back of the passenger seat.

"Roma, per favore," I urged, "I need to get there!"

The man in the front seat scoffed at the request, looking at me in the rear-view mirror as if I was crazy. Yes, I will admit the whole thing was definitely out of the ordinary, but I needed to get there.

Even if it meant sitting in a taxi for three hours and paying an expensive fare.

"Sei pazzo," he said, shaking his head, "you must be out of your mind!"

"Yes, I am very out of my mind, but I really need to get there!"

"No, I will not do it," he snapped, crossing his arms, "too far."

Out of purse desperation, I dug through my purse and grabbed my wallet, flipping it open and taking out a wad of euros. Sticking it out in front of me, I bit my lip in hope that he'd take pity on me; or take the money.