Messing with the bad boy

Oops

Nola woke up the next day feeling groggy, her body heavy with exhaustion. The memories of the night before slipped through her mind like water through her fingers, elusive and hazy. She managed to pull herself up, but her head throbbed, a relentless pounding that echoed in her ears. She was grateful it was Sunday; at least she didn't have to pretend to be functional today. Sinking back into the pillows for just a moment longer, she closed her eyes, hoping for a few more minutes of peace.

Finally, she reached for her phone, her fingers fumbling against the screen. Two missed calls from Emery stared back at her, alongside a text that read, *"I'm on my way."* The simple words brought a flicker of warmth to her chest. Emery always came through, even when she felt like she didn't deserve it.

Dragging herself into the bathroom, Nola peeled off her clothes, letting them drop to the floor like dead leaves. She sank into the bathtub, the warm water enveloping her like a soft blanket. It was here, surrounded by the steam and the scent of lavender, that she felt herself drifting off. Sleep took her again, heavy and consuming, until Emery's voice broke through the haze.

"Nola, your help let me in," he said, his tone a mixture of concern and irritation. She didn't know how long she had been submerged in the lukewarm water, but now she was jolted awake, her heart racing.

Shaking off the drowsiness, she pulled herself up, water cascading off her skin. She padded toward where her towel hung, her mind still foggy. "Girl, I am still a man, you know," Emery joked, covering his eyes with his hand in a playful but protective gesture.

Nola couldn't help but smirk, wrapping the towel around herself. "You can open your eyes, pookie." He hesitated, a flicker of distrust passing through his gaze. Nola knew he was worried about her—she had been acting out of control, and for good reason. With a playful nudge, she pried his fingers away from his face. "See? Nothing you haven't seen before," she quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

As they left the bathroom, Emery trailed behind her. "Marie, make bacon and eggs with sausages!" he called out, his voice bouncing off the walls, a sense of normalcy creeping back into the atmosphere.

Nola flopped down onto her bed, her damp hair spilling across the sheets, clinging to her skin. She was lost in her own thoughts, trying to shake off the weight that hung over her like a dark cloud. Emery, ever the attentive friend, wouldn't let her lay there wet for long. He rummaged through her closet, retrieving a dry towel and gently helped her dry off, his hands surprisingly tender despite their roughness.

"I brought some weed if you think it'll help," Emery said, pulling out a small pack of weed and some rolling papers from his pocket. He looked at her with a mix of compassion and concern, as if he was unsure whether this was what she needed.

Nola felt a pang of guilt twist in her stomach. Emery shouldn't have to be taking care of her like this while she wallowed in her despair. But no one understood the betrayal she felt. The weight of her brother's burial pressed heavily on her heart; it had been a hasty, quiet affair, barely acknowledged because Nicholas had been deemed a disgrace to the Clark family. Her parents had pretended he had never existed, as if denying his existence could somehow erase the shame.

With cold efficiency, they announced her upcoming marriage, hoping to shift the focus from their "scandalous" son to their perfect daughter. Nola remembered the way they had swept everything under the rug, as if she could become their new token of success. "I'm not even sure they would mourn me if I died," she muttered under her breath, the bitterness in her voice thickening the air around her. There was a hardness in her eyes, a glint of determination that spoke of her desire to be the exact opposite of what they wanted.

"Here," Emery said, passing her a pill for the hangover and lighting up the joint he had rolled. Nola took it from him, resting her head on his shoulder as she inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke fill her lungs, numbing the jagged edges of her thoughts. It was a brief escape from reality, a momentary reprieve from the overwhelming sadness that clawed at her insides.

Few hours later Marie came in with the food and dropped it on the Ottoman before leaving.
Emery fed her small bites of bacon and eggs, coaxing her to eat even though she wasn't hungry. His presence felt like a lifeline, and she clung to it, allowing herself to relax just a little. After a few minutes, he rummaged through her closet, picking out a loose gown and handing it to her. The fabric felt soft against her skin as she slipped it on, the simplicity of the moment almost soothing.

Then her phone pinged, breaking the fragile silence that had settled between them. Nola picked it up, and her stomach sank when she saw it was a message from Camilla. Anger surged within her like a tidal wave, and she threw the phone onto the bed, frustration boiling over. Emery, who had been watching her with a quiet concern, asked gently, "Are you still mad at Cams?"

Nola's throat tightened, the words clawing to get out. She didn't want to hurt Emery, didn't want him to know how Camilla had spoken with such disdain about Nicholas. The truth was too ugly to share. It would shatter the delicate facade of their friendship. Camilla had agreed with Nola's parents, echoing their belief that Nicholas was a disgrace simply because he was gay.

The memories crashed into her like a storm. Nola and Camilla had been friends since childhood, ever since they first met in church. They had spent countless hours dreaming about their futures, sharing secrets, and laughing over nothing. Camilla and Nicholas had been meant to be together; everyone thought so. But then, suddenly, she had started avoiding him, and Nola hadn't understood why until everything clicked into place. Nicholas must have confessed his truth to Camilla, and instead of embracing him, she had turned away, leaving him alone in his pain.

Nola recalled the rage that had flared in her father's eyes when Nicholas had come out to him. She could still hear the echo of her father's voice, laced with venom, shouting, "Do you want to ruin everything I've worked for?" His hands had flown in anger, striking Nicholas repeatedly, the physical violence matching the emotional turmoil in the room.

It all made sense now: the contempt in her father's eyes, the glass he had thrown that had barely missed Nicholas, the tension in their house before he left. It was because he had dared to be himself, and that was something they could never forgive.

Feeling the weight of those memories pressing down on her, Nola turned to Emery suddenly, her voice raw. "Kiss me," she whispered, leaning in closer, her heart racing with both fear and desperation.

Emery froze, his eyes wide with shock. For a brief moment, time stood still. But he quickly recovered, shaking his head as he stood up. "I'm going home now," he said, his voice steady but tinged with sadness. As he walked to the door, he paused and turned back to her, his gaze piercing. "I don't know what kind of self-destructive path you're on, but don't drag me into it." Then he left, the door slamming shut behind him, and the sound echoed in the silence that followed.

Nola sank back onto the bed, her heart heavy in her chest. She couldn't cry. The tears just wouldn't come. In that moment of solitude, the reality of her situation crashed down on her like a tidal wave. She reached into her bedside drawer, her hand closing around the familiar bottle of pills. With shaking fingers, she unscrewed the cap and popped two pills into her mouth, swallowing them dry.

The numbing sensation began to spread through her, a welcome relief from the chaos swirling in her mind. She lay back against the pillows, letting the darkness close in around her. In that cocoon of stillness, she felt herself drifting away from the memories, away from the pain, until she was enveloped in a haze of nothingness. For a brief moment, she was free.