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whimper.
    He cups my sex in his palm for a moment,
    before pushing one of his fingers inside me,
    while his thumb circles my clitoris, gently and
    slowly. I moan.
    His left hand caresses my breast; his thumb
    brushes over my stiff nipple. I cry out.
    My orgasm reverberates off the shower
    walls. One of my hands rest between my legs,
    while the other one is braced against the
    humid tiles. My breathing gradually slows down
    and I begin to feel cold. As soon as the last
    waves of pleasure subside, I realize that I am
    in trouble. Eagan wants to save our friendship,
    but my heart and my body clearly crave much
    more.
    I punt on jeans and a black t-shirt. I ignore the
    mirror, as I know what my reflection will show;
    a skinny young woman with big and worried
    dark eyes and long, straight black hair.
    Barefooted, I pad into the kitchen. I drink
    five glasses of water, then I notice the plate
    full of cupcakes on the counter. I also see the
    note: Eat me .
    I ignore the suggestion.
    I open the fridge, knowing already what I'm
    about to find; a bowl of pasta salad with
    mozzarella, cherry tomatoes and basil. A
    pretty white, red and green still life that Clém
    has prepared to stir my appetite.
    Clémentine is Canadian.
    We became friends, then roommates, during
    our first year of university. We were both
    hunting for apartments, and we decided to
    search together.
    Just like me, and the twins, she chose Rome
    because of the Italian cinema, and the
    overwhelming culture and history of this
    country.
    When she began to experiment with the
    Italian cuisine, I supposed it was a cultural
    interest. I was wrong. It was because of me.
    She noticed my bad relationship with food and
    she tried to mend it.
    She failed.
    She's still failing. It's not her fault.
    There's a huge and dark hole inside me, that
    grips and twists my insides. It is a cold entity
    that I'm unable to chase away. It's a presence
    that runs under my skin and makes me feel
    constantly cold.
    No matter how many hot showers I take, I
    always sense the frost adhering to my body and
    my heart.
    7.
    “So, we're about to meet a bunch of kick-ass
    lawyers?” Asks Marco.
    “They're kick-ass architects,” I clarify.
    We've finally managed to find a parking
    spot, after a long search.
    We make our way down narrow and isolated
    lanes, and then down wider and more
    populated streets. Both the sidewalks and the
    roads, paved with small, square stones called
    San Pietrini , are uneven and arduous to tread;
    that is why I often wear combat-boots, like
    tonight, or sneakers.
    “Are they all Americans?” Marco demands.
    “No, they're a mixed group,” I answer,
    glancing at our small and varied party.
    “Sounds familiar.” He links his right arm
    around Clém's shoulders and his left arm
    around Virginie's waist, as we keep walking and
    stumbling.
    Marco is the only genuine Italian in our
    circle of friends. Tall, lanky, with brown hair
    and dark eyes, he's Clém's boyfriend and the
    singer in our punk-rock band.
    Ivan is the bassist and Alessio the drummer,
    but they both play the piano and the guitar as
    well, like me; unlike me, they didn't quit music
    school.
    Virginie is Canadian, like Clém. They came
    to Italy together. Virginie, however, doesn't
    share our apartment.
    ”I'm a spoiled bitch, who can afford a studio
    thanks to my rich parents.” Her own words.
    Both tall, blond and curvy, my Canadian
    friends are wearing tight dresses and very high
    heels. Brave girls.
    The club where Eagan's office party takes
    place, is called Il Buco , the hole, because of
    its little entrance. Inside, though, it's quiet
    spacious. Tonight it is packed, but we manage
    to slip in without waiting for too long, because
    the bouncer remembers our band. He asks us
    about the very talented twins, and we explain
    that they're working tonight. A part of me is
    glad they're not with us, for I'm planning to use
    them as my excuse to escape.
    We played in this club a couple of times. We
    have a