COMPLICATED.

CHAPTER 24

MISUNDERSTANDINGS

Paul and I are in Central Park, our special spot. It’s one of those spring days where New York seems to want to make up for everything: the sun is a warm caress and the air is filled with children’s laughter. Paul is the very image of carefreeness; he’s laughing heartily, a clear sound that fills my heart. I watch him on the swing while I sit on the bench, letting myself be cradled by that moment of absolute peace.
​I look away for a moment, observing the greenery surrounding us. It’s incredible how, in the heart of urban chaos, one can find such a primal refuge. Central Park has always been my sanctuary, the place to run to when reality became too heavy. I was certain Paul would love it: him and his inexhaustible urge to run outdoors.
​I turn my eyes back toward the swing. It’s empty.
My heart skips a beat. Paul is gone. Panic claws at my throat, a sudden cold that steals my breath. I start to run, screaming his name until my lungs burn. I cover infinite distances, but there’s no sign of him. The people around me are like they're made of smoke: they don't hear my screams, they don't see my desperation. No one stops.
​The sky suddenly closes in, turning a bruised purple, and the first drops of rain begin to fall, heavy as lead. Finally, I see him. He isn't alone. A dark shadow is leaning over him, a hand on his shoulder, whispering something with a coldness that freezes my blood. Paul is motionless, as if petrified.
​"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I scream with all the breath in my body. But it’s as if I’m behind glass: he doesn't hear me. "Help me, please!" I beg the passersby, but everything moves in an agonizing slow motion. That figure takes Paul by the hand and drags him away, far from me. My screams fade into a choked groan. I’ve lost him. It’s too late.
Paul... PAUL!

​Please, let it just be a dream. I wake up in the middle of the night, my heart thumping against my ribs like a caged bird. Nausea hits me suddenly. I bolt to the bathroom and lean over the toilet, purging all the alcohol from the night before in a painful heave. I’m shaking, sweat beads on my forehead, and my vision is still a mass of blurred spots.
​I rinse my face with ice-cold water, trying to banish the image of that shadow. In the mirror, I see a ghost: pale skin, deep dark circles. I am a faded copy of the girl from the dream. Calm down, Emma. It was just a nightmare. Paul is sleeping in the next room, my parents are safe, Nick is fine. And yet, that figure I called "friend" in the dream now terrifies me. She has become the personification of my fears, a parasite devouring my serenity.
I take a deep breath. At least the nausea is gone. I need to try to sleep more, or I won't make it through the day.
​The alarm goes off at eleven. I moved it forward two hours in the middle of the night, but the headache is still there, a dull throb behind my temples. I have to get up. Today is the day of truth: I’m sending the application for London. I don’t feel like pretending, so no makeup. I tie my hair in a quick ponytail, pull on some leggings and a pink shirt, and go out to face the world.
​After a quick breakfast, I sit at the computer. The Royal College of Music website is open; my future is enclosed in a few clicks. I fill out every field, upload my covers with fingers that tremble slightly, and hit send. Please, let me go away.
​A familiar scent hits me before I even hear his footsteps. Sandalwood and citrus. Nick.
"So, it’s final? You’re really leaving?" His voice is husky, weighted with a bitterness he can't hide. He has a distant look, the same one from last night.
Memories of the party flood back like a rushing river: him dragging me away from Jack, the confession about the kiss, his furious jealousy, my attempt to kiss him... and that girl, Kya. I try to push back the anger.
"I’m hoping for the college. As for the rest, yes, I’m leaving. You know that."
He sighs, closing his eyes as if my words were a slap. He just stands there in silence. Don't give in, Emma. He has to accept it.
​"Alright..." he finally whispers.
Alright? Is that all you have to say? I feel hollowed out. This game of chasing, screaming, and making up has to end. If he won't stop it, I will.
"What are you doing here, Nick?"
He pulls out his phone, sets it on my desk, and sits on the edge of my bed.
"I wanted to make sure you were still alive after yesterday. You were definitely out of it."
I try to maintain a glacial tone. "I’m fine."
"Yeah, right... Look, I want to talk to you, but not here. Shall we go out? Picnic in Central Park. I got strawberry cupcakes."
​Central Park. Cupcakes. Him and me. For a moment, I waver. After last night's nightmare, the idea of that place scares me, but if he's there...
Suddenly, the phone on the desk flashes. I pick it up without thinking, convinced it’s mine. There’s a message. From Kya.
​"It was nice being with you, I hope everything is okay. A kiss."
​The blood rushes to my head. Here is my daily dose of reality.
"Why don't you take her on the picnic?!" I scream at him, throwing the phone onto the bed.
He reads the message and rolls his eyes, seemingly impatient.
"If you would just calm down for a second, I’d tell you for the millionth time that it’s not what you think."
"And what am I supposed to think, Nick?! That you were discussing philosophy all night while you were eating each other's faces?"
"I would have told you that I was talking about you! I was confused, I wanted to vent to someone. Nothing happened with her!"
Sure. He talks about me with a stranger, but with me, he stays silent. My patience has run out. I walk toward him, pointing my finger at his chest, furious.
"Listen, stop talking bullsh—"
​I don't get to finish the sentence. With a lightning-fast movement, he grabs me by the arm and pulls me onto the bed. In an instant, I find myself pinned beneath his weight. I try to break free, but he locks my wrists at the sides of my head with a steel grip. Our breaths cross, his eyes are green storms that take my breath away. We stay like that, suspended in a silence that screams louder than my protests.
​The door bursts open.
"Emmy, I wanted to ask i— Oh. Sorry, carry on!"
"No, Paul! You’ve got it wrong!" I manage to shout, but the sound of the door closing drowns out my voice.
"Don't worry, you're not the only one here!" Nick exclaims, without making the slightest move to get off me.
Could I be any more unlucky than this?