Freya spent more than ten minutes in front of the mirror, playing a game of smiles with herself. Her white teeth seemed to glow with the pink of her lips. There wasn’t a single change of expression in her features that could be missed, a quality she often did not realized.
She was in the bathroom, her wet dirty blonde hair clinging to the soft features of her face, a large towel wrapped around her torso. A couple drops of water ran through her skin like sweat during lovemaking; fortunately, it did not hamper her vision nor the near scientific analysis of her expressions.
Her boyfriend greatly enjoyed her timidity, and this was something she couldn’t help but be glad of. The concept she had of flirting differed a lot from her classmates’; she was too introverted to speak with boys, felt too embarrassed and afraid to wear a short skirt, and lastly, undoing a couple buttons of her shirt was out of the question due to the size of her developed chest. Thus, her only alternative was to look at boys she was attracted to and turn around whenever they seemed to notice, or to write anonymous letters perfumed with sighs and juvenile illusions.
She didn’t lack the unconditional support of friends, thank God: cheers, advice and console were often dedicated to her. Nonetheless, she knew she had to take down the wall –with or without help- that existed between her and the world of men. Until then, she’d think of nobody else but Marco, the only brave soul successful in invading the sheltered world of the self-proclaimed most insecure teenager in the planet.
A powerful voice shook the bathroom door; she was lucky she didn’t smack her head against the mirror from the shock. She got back her breath when they started knocking on the door; it was her father, telling her to hurry up. Freya tightened the knot of the towel out of sheer reflex, asking for five more minutes amidst giggles and apologizing laughter. She took the change of clothes piled and carefully folded on top of the toilet seat and started to dress.