COMPLICATED.

CHAPTER 23

ROUGH NIGHT

My head is a battlefield. Too many sudden confessions, too many truths I would have preferred not to know, too many lies that have carved deep rifts. It’s all too much. Until recently, my life ran on perfect tracks—a future planned to the smallest detail, the kind of dream existence you read about in books. College, music, the desire to play the greatest stages in America, and why not, the whole world. And then there was Leo: I dreamed of living with him, building a family, growing old together.
​And now? Look at me. I’m trapped in a car, my senses blurred by alcohol and my heart in pieces, sitting next to the person I thought was my best friend. Nick. Now I don’t even know how to define him anymore; I don’t know what he represents to me. Our bond was sacred because it was built on transparency, on telling each other everything, right away. Now, however, the air between us is so tense it feels like a miracle we haven't sent each other to hell already. But we are close—terribly close.
​I’ve always detested drama, and he knows it. Yet tonight he staged a colossal scene. Why did he do it? To protect me? A small, naive, and romantic part of me wants to believe it and rejoice. But the cynical and wounded version of Emma cannot forget that girl. They knew each other; it was obvious. They weren't two strangers at all. No, Nick didn't do it for me. He was just furious because I hadn't made him part of my future plans. He wants her, and she wants him. End of story.
​Stop chasing fairy tales, Emma. Your boyfriend cheated on you, you’ve disappointed your family’s expectations, and even Nick seems tired of you by now. The only solution is to move on. Go to London and leave it all behind. But that’s the point: can I really forget what happened with you, Nick? Will I ever be able to erase you from my mind?
​I watch him in profile as he drives. His face is a mask of exhaustion and worry, his hands gripped on the wheel as if he feared losing control. Every now and then, the lights from streetlamps and other cars cut through the darkness and illuminate his aqua-green eyes. They are marvelous. I could drown in them without putting up any resistance.
Oh my god Emma, get a grip! Don't start making up movies in your head again! I just need a bed and for this epic hangover to vanish. I’m definitely losing my mind.
​"Do I happen to have something on my face?" he says, with a hint of laughter in his voice.
​Wonderful. He noticed I was staring at him like a psychopath. His laugh... it shakes me inside. What the hell is happening to me? I need to control myself. I’m angry with him, and the fact that he is damn handsome doesn't change the facts. I huff loudly and turn my face toward the window. He wants her.
​"You know it’s not how you think it is, right?" he breaks the silence.
"We agreed not to talk..." I snap back.
"I didn't promise you anything. Come on, I know what you’re thinking."
"And how do you know that?"
Nick takes his eyes off the road for a second and looks straight at me.
"I know everything about you."
​Touché. He hit me right where it counts. It’s the truth: he knows me better than anyone. Or at least, he knew the old Emma.
"I already told you. I’m not the Emma you remember anymore."
"She’s right here in front of me now," he replies with a conviction that throws me off.
I’m not so sure. "She’s gone," I whisper, feeling the air thin out in a cabin that has become too small.
​Finally, I spot the driveway. I’d like to be polite, say goodbye, and thank him for the ride, but the words stay stuck in my throat. What happened tonight is too serious, almost unforgivable. I open the door and scramble out, but the ground beneath my feet feels anything but solid. My head is spinning dizzyingly; the world is a blur of lights and shadows. Never again—I swear I will never drink this much again.
​"Alright, drama queen. I’ve got you."
I decide to ignore his usual nickname. Before I can protest, he grabs my legs and lifts me up. He’s carrying me toward the entrance. Despite the anger, the situation is absurd and comical.
"Look, I’m not a bride you have to carry over the threshold!" I exclaim, trying to wiggle away without success.
"Yeah, you’d wish for a husband like me!" he retorts with a smirk.
​We both burst out laughing—a liberating laugh that for a moment dissolves every tension, every lie, every pain. It’s just the two of us, Emma and Nick, as we’ve always been. For a second, London and everything else disappear. He fishes the keys from my bag with extreme ease, opens the door, and sets me down on the hallway floor once we’re inside. The house is shrouded in silence and darkness; my parents must have been asleep for a long time.
​I try to reach a lamp, but my feet trip over the Legos Paul always leaves lying around. I collapse to the floor and start laughing like crazy, unable to stop. Nick gestures for me to be quiet, terrified someone will wake up, but it’s a lost cause. The kitchen light suddenly snaps on, revealing my parents staring at us, petrified. How long had they been there waiting for me?
​"Hi guys!" I exclaim in a voice that is definitely too loud and shrill.
Yes, I’ve definitely hit rock bottom. Nick helps me back to my feet, holding my hand tightly to prevent me from collapsing again.
​"She’s drunk, isn't she?" my father asks in a tone between resigned and amused. I love him, truly.
Nick bites his lower lip, making a superhuman effort not to burst out laughing in front of them.
"Just a little. I’ll walk her to her room and put her to bed."
"Alright, thanks Nick. It was very kind of you to bring her back in one piece," my mother comments, her voice still thick with sleep.
​But the alcohol decides to speak for me one more time. "Hey, wait! And you agree to let him take me to my room? Don't you even wonder if we might have sex?!"
The silence that follows is tomb-like. I want to sink into the floor. My parents are literally stunned, and Nick has turned such a bright red he could light up the room.
"That’s enough, I’d say! So sorry..." he intervenes, pressing a hand over my mouth to stop me from adding any more nonsense.
​"It’s fine by me, as long as you don't make too much noise. I’d like to sleep," Paul declares from the top of the stairs. He’s ten, and apparently, he’s the most clear-headed of us all.
"Paul! Back to bed, now!" my father thunders.
"Alright, we’ll try," I reply to the little one, winking at him as Nick pushes me toward the stairs.
"Oh my god, let’s go!" he sighs, escorting me up to my room.
​Once inside, I drop onto the bed like dead weight, crawling under the duvet.
"Aren't you going to put on your pajamas?" Nick asks, standing beside me.
"No, I’m too tired." I’m destroyed, empty.
He leans in and, with unexpected sweetness, settles the pillow under my head.
"Then try to sleep as much as you can, because it’s going to be a rough night for you."
​"Nick?" I call out, my voice barely a breath.
"Yes?"
"Do you like me? I mean... do you really like me?"
He doesn't answer with words. He simply gives me one of those smiles that reaches his eyes.
"Goodnight, piccola," he murmurs. I feel the warmth of his kiss on my forehead and, finally at peace, I sink into a dreamless sleep, or at least I think so.