COMPLICATED.

CHAPTER 22

CONFESSIONS

A dull rage boils in my veins, a creeping fire threatening to explode. I feel like a spoiled child who has just been scolded, but the fury burns hotter than the shame. He, the "adult" in the situation, my Nick, has become a stranger. His behavior is unforgivable; his outburst in front of everyone was a searing humiliation. Carried over his shoulder like a sack, exposed to the judgment of hundreds of eyes. He had always been the quiet guy, the one who shunned conflict, and now... now he is an incomprehensible force of fury. The sweet, kind, affectionate Nick from just a few days ago has vanished, replaced by a moody, blunt, almost cruel stranger. And his presence is truly starting to drain me.
I ignore my protests as Nick carries me away. We cross the garden like a lightning bolt, then step over the threshold of the villa. His body is a warm barrier against mine, his light shirt unable to hide the tension of every muscle beneath my skin. We begin to climb the stairs, the polished wooden steps seeming endless under the weight of his tread. I feel every vibration deep in my gut, my stomach already churning from the alcohol. We are so close that I can perceive the irregular thumping of his heart against my shoulder. The scent of his cologne—that mix of sandalwood and citrus that has been the soundtrack to every happy memory I own—fills my lungs, blurring the little lucidity I have left.
The upstairs hallway is bathed in a soft, amber light that warps the shadows and makes everything feel surreal. The music from downstairs fades, turning into a dull, muffled throb that leaves room for our ragged breathing. I feel exposed, vulnerable in this sudden silence that weighs more than a thousand words. It is here that my rage begins to crumble, replaced by a sadness that sits on me like a boulder, heavier than the alcohol itself. One day without drama. Is that too much to ask?
Once he sets me down, the sudden lack of contact leaves a chill on my skin. I turn on my heel, desperately seeking refuge in one of the empty rooms, but he is a shadow too fast for me. He bursts into the room right after me, slamming the door shut with a sharp thud that makes me jump backward. I am exhausted, drained; every fiber of my being just wants to disappear. I feel trapped.
"I’m really not in the mood, Nick. You did what you had to do, now enough..." my voice is a tired whisper, almost extinguished.
"Is that it then?! You think kissing a bastard like that is going to make things better? Make you forget all the shit that happened? Are we really at this point?!" he interrupts me, his voice a roar of jealousy and rage that fills the space between us, so loud that a group of girls in the hallway snaps their heads toward us.
"Close that door, or do you want more spectators?" I hiss, my dignity a thin thread threatening to snap.
He obeys, but his fury shows no sign of fading. I have a headache, I’m nauseous, I’m tired, and I can't stand him anymore. I’m losing my patience.
"Oh my god, so what?! What’s your problem now? Why are you here?! I do what I want. You had so much time to be near me, and you decide right now to act like a jerk. Great timing!"
I can barely keep my feet; immediately after, I trip over something and completely lose my balance. I feel myself falling into the void until Nick’s strong arms catch me and carry me toward the bed. He lays me down with an almost agonizing slowness, his eyes nailed to mine in that golden twilight. He stays leaned over me, trapping me with his arms on either side of my head, his body emanating an intense heat that completely envelops me. I feel his ragged breath mingling with mine, the air thick with a silence that tastes of unspoken truths and a desire that can no longer be hidden. I want to scream at him, vent all my repressed anger on him, but my throat is dry, the words stuck.
"Nick, leave, please."
"You’re drunk! Was it him? So he could take advantage of you? If I hadn't been there, I don't know what would have happened—I don't even want to think about it."
As he speaks, he places his thumb over my lips, tracing their outline with a gentleness that contrasts with the brutality of his words. It’s a rough yet sweet touch, electric, making me flinch, lighting a fuse inside me and giving me back a fierce lucidity. I get off the bed, sliding away from the contact that burns me, and distance myself from him.
"It’s true, you weren't there—but not just today. You just haven't been there, period."
My voice gets louder and louder, and this scares him; I see it, I can read it on his face. He looks down.
"You can't even look me in the eye."
"I’m sorry, I-I..."
Tears threaten to fall down my face, hot and bitter.
"No Nick, I’m sorry. Look at what we’ve become. We aren't this. Maybe you were right—that kiss changed everything."
"No..." he whispers, his voice barely a breath in the tense silence.
He closes the distance. I feel like I can't breathe. He is so close that his scent completely surrounds me—that sandalwood mix that always gave me peace, but now, in this suffocating proximity, only causes me agonizing pain. I take a step back, and I see a flash of pain cross his face, a reflection of my own.
"We’re hurting each other, Nick. Maybe London is coming at the right time. We need to stay away; we’re destroying everything. This thing has to end—whatever is between us."
"Emma, please, it’s worse like this. You aren't well right now. Let’s talk about that night, calmly."
He is scared. I am terrified. I am giving up on him, on us. To end this agony, I decide to lie.
"Like you said, there’s nothing left to say. What happened meant nothing."
I turn the doorknob and struggle to leave the room before I completely break down.
"It meant everything to me."
The silence that follows is deafening, nailing me to the floor. I turn slowly. He is there, shoulders slumped, breath hitched, his teary eyes staring at me without looking away.
"It’s true, and I know I lied, but... I can't."
He puts his hands over his face. I reach him, moved by an irresistible impulse, and gently pull his hands away; he is crying, and seeing him like this—fragile and naked in his feelings—breaks my heart.
"Go on."
He takes deep breaths and places his hand in mine, his fingers intertwining with mine with almost desperate strength. I feel his frantic pulse through his skin.
"It wasn’t a mistake, not at all. It happened suddenly, and it scared me. I mean, you’re Emma—you aren't just any girl. When I realized you were leaving, I panicked. It’s like the world collapsed on me, like they were taking the only thing that really matters. You were so distant, I didn't know what to do, and I did the thing I’ve always wanted to do. I acted without thinking and in the end it turned out... I don't know how to define it. All I know is the thought of seeing you kiss someone else makes me go crazy. I don't know what to think, I’m so confused, I don't know how to show you how much you mean to me."
"Prove it."
I don’t know who is talking—the alcohol or my screaming heart. I pull him by his jacket collar and we walk backward until my back hits the cold wall. I pull his face close to mine and lock him there with both hands, my fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him prisoner in my space. I feel the intense heat radiating from his body, the frantic thumping of his heart that seems to want to explode against my chest. We are a tangle of ragged breaths. Our noses brush, our lips are a millimeter apart—so close I can feel their softness without even touching them yet. It is a voluntary torture, a limbo of desire and despair. I feel his ragged sigh, his hesitation fighting the urge to lose himself in me. I give a lock of his hair a tiny tug—a silent plea—and I feel his stifled groan die in his throat.
"Emma..."
"Emma, we can't..."
"Nick? Nick, are you here?" someone calls from outside.
Suddenly the door swings open and a smiling girl I’ve never seen before walks in. She’s tall, dark skin, dark brown eyes, and short, black, curly hair. Nick pulls away from me quickly and gives the unknown girl an embarrassed look. Embarrassed? What is going on here?
"Oh, excuse me. Nick, you left your wallet earlier when we were in the other room."
Huh?! In the other room? The two of them, together? Why?
"Um, yeah, thanks Kya," he replies.
I notice suspicious looks between them. Wait, don't tell me... I feel like I'm going to throw up. He’s not here for me; he came to have a little fling with this girl!
"He's all yours now," I murmur in disgust.
I storm out of the room, down the stairs, and head to the kitchen. Aria, as soon as she sees me, sighs in relief.
"There you are, finally!"
She stops when she sees my red eyes.
"Hey, are you okay?"
No, I feel like shit. There are three shots in front of her; I take them and drink them one after another without stopping.
"Oookey, something happened," Aria exclaims, her eyes widening behind me.
Wanna bet Nick is there? Yep, exactly.
"Em, you misunderstood, nothing happened!"
If I hear him speak one more time, I swear all hell will break loose. I ignore him and take a sip of Aria's drink, but Nick snatches it from my hands.
"Listen to me, I’m serious!"
"Enough, enough! I can't take it anymore! Shut the fuck up! I'm leaving."
I run toward the exit.
"Go after her, what are you waiting for?! Run!" Aria says, pushing Nick in my direction.
A few minutes later, I find myself on the sidewalk, a block away from the house.
"Where the hell are you going?" Nick screams behind me.
"Home, away from you."
"On foot?! Are you crazy?! At this hour?! Come on, I’ll take you in the car."
He catches up to me, blocking my path at a stop sign. I struggle to check my phone. Damn, it’s two in the morning. Thirteen missed calls from my dad and a message from my mom. Shit. Nick checks his phone too.
"They texted me too. I said I was bringing you back now, so move it."
You can forget about me going anywhere with you.
"I’d rather walk than stay anywhere near you! Take your little friend in the car."
"Do you want to make your parents worry too?! They don't deserve it, so move your ass and let's go!"
Nick and swear words—I almost want to laugh at the thought, but I’m still pissed off, so don't provoke me and lower your voice, asshole. He’s right, though. They don't deserve it. I don't want to let them down today, too. So I decide to do the right thing.
"Fine, but don't you dare talk to me. You’ll take me to the front of the house and then you’ll leave. Period."
We walk toward the spot where he parked. I walk fast, fists clenched at my sides, my breath still short from anger. When we arrive in front of his car, I stop abruptly by the passenger door. I turn to look at him one last time before getting in, ready to glare him down, but I find him there, a few steps away, watching me.
He has a strange expression, suspended between a still-palpable irritation and a deep relief, as if the mere fact of having me there, ready to get into the car with him and safe from the madness of the party, had finally allowed him to breathe. He looks at me as I try to appear as furious as possible, and despite the tension, I see his eyes shine with a different light. A hint of a smile, almost invisible and barely held back, just slightly curls one corner of his mouth. He almost seems amused by my outburst, reassured by the fact that I am still so incredibly myself, with all my fury and my messy hair. That look, so full of a complicity he doesn't want to admit, confuses me more than any words.