Before dawn | Dark romance

Chapter 7 - Camaraderie

29th of april, 2024
Monday
Dear diary,

Let me tell you about my day.
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The weekend flew by quicker than usual. Normally, we I plan a holiday, I organize everything weeks in advance— from
The best restaurants to the closest hospital. I usually know everything there is to know about my destination before I even arrive. But this time, I am going in completely blank, and honestly, that terrifies me.

I spent the whole weekend in a frenzy, scrambling to get everything sorted and done, so I could head off on my trip on Monday without any problems.

You want to know what was the toughest task on my to-do list? Convincing William that it was okay for me to travel to Italy alone. We had previously agreed to visit 'the land of love & pasta' together. I almost caved and canceled the trip, but I knew Emily would have killed me, and besides, the tickets were already bought and the hotel was paid for. That's how I found myself at London Heathrow on a Monday afternoon.

I thank the Uber driver and open the door. Somehow, airports have a way of lifting my spirit—I can't explain it. I watch as Emily struggles with her enormous suitcase in the trunk. I watch her with a smirk. I told her not to bring so damn much, but she obviously didn't listen.'I need options' she told me everything I asked if it was necessary to bring a large suitcase, with countless dresses and more pair of heels I have ever seen in my life. Really, how many times does one need to change during a four-day trip?

"Stop laughing at me, bitch, and help me already," she snaps, still struggling.

Shaking my head at my best friend, I decided to help her. After all, I am stuck with her for the next 96 hours— might as well keep the peace as long as I can without throttling her.

Even with our combined strength, it is not easy to lift her suitcase up. As it thuds to the ground, I give her a judgment look.

"You'll thank me when I dress you up fabulously," she insists, as if that justifies everything.

"Come on, I've brought enough," I reply, gesturing to my modest hand luggage.

"You didn't even pack a single pair of heels. I checked," she retorts smugly, waving to the driver before we head to the departure hall entrance.

"Why would I need heels?." My only plans are to relax and eat as much as possible. I am unstable enough without throwing alcohol or heels into the mix," I say.

"But we're going clubbing," she says like it is the most obvious thing in the world. "Bri knows a fancy nightclub we can go shake our booty's at, right Bri?."

Bri, a few steps ahead and clearly annoyed that we are putting our energy in talking instead of walking faster, calls back, "yes, but if you don't hurry, we might not make it to Sicily at all, and my nonna will kill me. So, come on!."

You see, people fall into two categories: those who stress over everything and those who don't. Bri, clearly, fall in the second on. Ah joke.

"Yeah Maddie, hurry up," she mocks childish, trailing after Bri but not without throwing a look back at me. "We're not done talking about this."

I roll my eyes and follow them into the airport. Please, God, stand with me this weekend.

The flight from Heathrow to Palermo International airport took about three hours. By the time we landed at 8:30 PM, I was famished. Skipping meals is a serious no-no for me. This girl loves to eat.