"I'm a bad frieeeeeend!" I sob.
"I'm sorry I ruined your night."
I look up at Sara. She's holding me like a cat. I haven't seen her in months and just barged into her apartment in a sad, drunk, panicked crisis. She strokes my hair.
"I'll stop crying."
"You don't have to."
"I'm gonna throw up."
I run to the bathroom and hit her door.
"Watch your head!"
Between hugging the toilet and choking on tears I spot a blanket in the dirty laundry. With all the strength I have, I wrap it around myself and decide to sleep on the floor.
"Get up, Tea. I've made my bed for you."
Berlusconi may be leaving Italy-but I'm ready for another year-of shitty drama, feeling terrible and making my friends take care of me.
"I'm glad I'm back."