Author Note – takes place in Italy when Emily discovered she was pregnant. Spoilers for Demonology. Some of you may remember Charles from my other stories, A Mother's Dream and You Can Never Go Home Again.
Disclaimer – I don't own, just borrowing.
When In Rome – chapter one
"Sometimes I wish for falling
Wish for the release
Wish for falling through the air
To give me some relief
Because falling's not the problem
When I'm falling I'm in peace
It's only when I hit the ground
It causes all the grief"
― Florence Welch
For the third day in a row Emily finds herself hunched over the toilet, trembling violently as she wretches into the bowl. Some of it splashes against the porcelain but most of it drops into the water. She coughs and splutters, hoping it's the last for today. Even though her experience is relatively limited, she knows this isn't an average hangover. They've been pushing their tolerance lately, partying harder, more frequently but she didn't even drink the night before when Matthew and Johnoffered her a swig from the bottle of whisky they managed to smuggle from Matthews' father's liquor cabinet. She doesn't even like the taste, just the buzz she has after the first two. She's barely able to control her gag reflex when the alcohol burns the back of her throat. If she hadn't been feeling so queasy, she would have helped them finish the bottle regardless.
Anything to fit in.
Her new motto and her determination to fulfil it annoyed her mother to no end, which suited Emily. Her mother carted her around from country to country, giving no regard to Emily trying to make friends and being the perpetual 'new girl'. They arrived in Italy a few months ago and she met Matthew and John during the welcome dinner Matthew's parents threw for her mother. Neither boy cared about the social formalities and they snagged a bottle of wine from the kitchen when no one was looking. As soon as they were safe in Matthew's room, John pulled a crude corkscrew from his pocket and opened the bottle. He took a swig, Matthew second, then they offered it to Emily. Hours later she giggled as she was escorted to her mothers' car, Matthew's parents staring on in disgust. They didn't say a word to admonish their son, clearly thinking she had orchestrated the whole thing. Obviously they hadn't caught him in the previous drinking sessions he and John boasted about. Like they didn't catch the funny face he pulled at her from over their shoulder, causing her giggle to evolve into a full blown belly laugh. Her mouth grumbled beside her, muttering about how a girl should act. Emily didn't care. She would handle the blame and reprimand that came with it because in a few short hours she'd made two friends quicker than she ever had before.
In the months that followed, she spent more time with the boys much to their parents' dismay. They could hardly do anything about it as they attended the same school. Emily enjoyed the attention John showed her and the friendly nudge of the shoulder Matthew gave her whenever he sat down beside her. Their friendship fascinated her. John was the more outgoing of the two, always looking for a better, more powerful high; he'd been dabbling for weeks now but neither Matthew nor Emily had succumbed yet. He could be loud and crass, more intense under the influence of whatever he had drunk or taken. Matthew could be too, especially when he was with John, but he was gentler, thoughtful and he could spout off any number of bible quotes when someone gave him a reference; John dubbed it his party trick. John was definitely the leader of their little group and Matthew often bore the brunt of his strict parents' wrath and he inevitably would be grounded for one of John's schemes, whose parents travelled more than her mother, like a few weeks ago when it left just her and John alone in John's room. She had been flattered when he made a move and her new motto had been loud in the back of her head as she returned his kiss; anything to fit in.
Emily wipes her mouth with the back of her hand while blindly reaching for the flush with the other. The murky water swirls in the basin and is sucked down the drain, replaced by new, clean water. She stands on shaky legs; her hand covers her stomach as she worries she may hurl again. The moment passes and she moves to the sink to rinse her mouth out with water. She gurgles her mouth out three times and brushes her teeth twice and she still can't get rid of the taste. She knows bouts of nausea isn't normal and if her mother were here she'd already have a doctor's appointment. If the ambassador even noticed.
Emily exits her private bathroom and heads straight for her bed to gather her jumper and school bag. She secures the strap on her shoulder and folds the top over her arm. She straightens and stops when she notices the cookies on her nightstand, they weren't there before she dived into the bathroom and she never heard anyone come in when she was in bathroom. There's only one real suspect in her mind. Charles. He's the only who really gives a damn about her. Her mother is back in DC to rally support for a friend's new term in Office. Well that's what she told Emily. However, Emily knows she's probably finalising the divorce. Before she left, her mother was glued to the phone, taking call after call from the solicitors in DC, discussing 'terms'. She's due back next week. Not that it would make any difference, Elizabeth has taken to ignoring her till she steps out of line. That suits Emily, less scrutiny the better. Even Charles is letting her duck out without someone following her.
She doubts she'll keep anything down but the cookies look good. The last nanny told her a dry biscuit could settle her stomach if she felt queasy just before her period. It's about time, she's a week late and she's never had any problems with it before. She takes one and snaps it half, chewing as she makes her way out of her room.
The sugar hits her tongue and she feels marginally better as she pulls the door shut behind her. Turning right towards the stairs, she finds the head of her mother's security team. Her caretaker. Charles half turns and glances at her over his shoulder as he hears the click of her door. She bites the remaining half, refraining from verbal appreciation. She is supposed to be a moody teenager after all. With a smirk he falls into step behind her, like he does with her mother. They don't pass any other staff as they reach the foyer and trade places like they do every day. Charles opens the door and checks outside. Emily has long since learnt the cues to be aware of. If Charles stops, she stays behind him. If Charles keeps going, she follows close behind till they get to the car and he will open the rear passenger door for her.
Seconds later she slides into her seat, dumping her bag in the empty one beside her so she can rush out of the car when Charles pulls up in front of the school. He quickly takes his place behind the wheel, diagonally across from her. It was another thing he taught her, always have full view of the driver, no matter whose car she was in. She holds out the mixtape she slipped into her bag and he shakes his head.
"You know your mother's rules Emily," he chides as he revs the engine and steers the car down the driveway.
"Can't remember all of them but I'm sure cookies for breakfast isn't one of them," she shoots back as she slumps back and slides it back into the front pocket.
His eyes meet hers in the rear view mirror. "Thought they might help to settle your stomach, you've not kept much down lately."
Emily had no answer except to avert her eyes. Charles let her and drove on in silence for a few minutes. He stops at a junction and a piece of paper is thrown at her from the front seat. "Your mother will have a fit if you're ill when she comes home," is all he says as she unfolds it to find a doctor's name, address and a time.
"I don't need to see a doctor," Emily replies. She doesn't add that it's probably just a really bad hangover.
"Humour me, okay?" Charles tells her gently. "You can go on your own but I'll meet you after. Head there straight from school."
"You're letting me go by myself?"
"I can be there if you want me to," with those few words he offers her more support than either of her parents have for the last year. Her heart clenches painfully at the reminder and she feels like crying. Instead she curls her fist, the tips of her fingers dig into her palm. "I thought you might be more comfortable if I wasn't."
"I would, but my mother is going to be pissed at you if she finds out," she points out.
"I thought that would make it more appealing," he teases.
Emily smirks a little at the thought. "You won't ask any questions?"
"You're getting older, boundaries change, a little trust goes a long way," Charles says with a searching glance in the rear view mirror.
"You trust me?" His trust in her is difficult for her to accept given how many times she's snuck out of the house recently, duping him and his men. It wasn't the response she had on the tip of her tongue, he's taking a lot of liberties in her mother's absence, making decisions she knows her mother wouldn't allow and likely fire him for. Charles was one of Elizabeth's most trusted confidants and there's a good chance her mother is aware of everything that's happening in her absence. If she does, there's only a small chance her mother will confront her about it when she gets home. Emily appreciates it more than she can put into words, she doesn't really want another exhausting shouting match with her mother.
"I trust you," Charles agrees. Emily smiles slightly. "Your friends on the other hand…"
Her face drops and she goes on the defensive. "You like Matthew," she accuses as he pulls into the school grounds. She grips the strap of her bag, her other hand already reaching for the seatbelt.
"He's a good kid," Charles says keeping his tone neutral, refusing to be goaded into an argument. "John, however," he scoffs as he pulls to a stop behind another town car.
Emily rolls her eyes, not willing to listen to the observations Charles has, ones their parents have neglected. She saves him the tired spiel defending her other friend, not because it wouldn't do any good but because she knows Charles is just looking out for her. And if she weren't so desperate to feel accepted she might see the sense of it.
"If you trust me, trust me to choose my own friends," she says as pushes the door open and sweeps out of the car. She leaves the crumpled piece of paper on the seat and slams the door behind her without another word.