It Began In Italy | ✔️

Chapter Thirty One

The storm rages on around us as I lay with Nico, tangled in the sheets. Through the window at the foot of the bed, I watch the waves crash against the rocks - growing awfully vigorous with each collision. It only reminds me of the absolute shit show that has been this holiday. From the findings of my father not being... well, my father. To the impending argument between me and my best friend and upon my supposedly "doomed" love life.

Do you really think that when you leave he's not going to find some other tourist and fuck her until her time's up?

A loud banging breaks me out of my thoughts and back into reality. Nico sits up and my head imminently falls off of the place where it rested upon his chest. Furrowing my brows, I look towards Nico, the same look of concern plastered across his face.

The banging occurs once more, although this time it is followed by a voice filled with pure desperation. "Aiuto! Per favore! Mia figlia... lei... lei è uscita in barca! Se qualcuno può sentire, per favore... aiuto!" a man's strangled voice splinters through the thick oak of the front door.

Nico's out of bed, pulling on clothes and rushing towards the voice before I can let out another breath. I attempt to follow behind with the same haste but my anxious movements seem to cause a lack of rapidness and more of a scramble. I'm somewhat disorientated as I venture back into the storm to see Nico's action plan.

I'm met with the owner of the voice, an older gentleman with a stick to hold him upright. "Grazie! Grazie! Tuo marito è così coraggioso," the man says and I'm riddled with confusion. I look over the man's shoulder to see Nico running towards the ocean.

Leaving the man where he stands, I can only run after him. "Nico!" I shout but he doesn't seem to hear me as he ploughs towards the water. As soon I realise that the water has risen to the tops of his thighs, panic settles within my chest. What the actual fuck! What is this man doing? "Nico!"

The sand is mushy against my bare feet as I'm brought to the shoreline. Water and lightning. Nico may as well have just signed his death warrant.

I'm torn into two - irrational or rational. Do I follow him and risk us both dying or do I wait and hope for his safe return? The war rages on inside my head, on the brink of being more violent than the storm. What was the man shouting? What is going on?

Fuck it.

My legs are almost frozen beyond repair as the harsh waves hit them with the icy water. Irrational it is. Nico's shirt, which I had thrown on, weighs me down as I become fully submerged. I begin swimming, not knowing where I'm going, or whether I'll even make it out of this alive.

The first wave.

It hits me with the power of a thousand suns and I'm dragged under. Holding my breath, I attempt to remain calm as the saltwater pierces my eyes. As soon as the wave passes, I gulp down the air in an attempt to refrain from drowning.

"Nico!" I shriek, not able to see where he swam to or if he's still even above the surface. My unease and panic are only magnified as I'm unable to identify Nico's whereabouts and my limbs are quickly growing tired.

"Heidi!" I hear the remnants of his voice before I'm swept under once more.

The second wave is much more violent than the previous. I'm swallowed by the ocean and spat back out. Involuntarily, my lungs beg for air but are only given a gulp of salty water. When I break for the surface, I erupt into a fit of coughs.

Something wraps around my wrist and I attempt to find whatever it is off of me until I realise it's a hand. A hand attached to an all too familiar Italian.

"Che cazzo! Why did you follow me!" His hands grip my legs, pulling them around his waist whilst still somehow maintaining being above the surface.

Another wave comes bounding towards us. "What were you thinking-" although I'm cut off when the crash of water hits us. I'm thrown away from Nico despite his harsh grip and I realise just how stupid we both are.