Author's Note: This story delves deeper into Emily's past, and it shows just how close she and Matthew were. Hence her quote at the end of "Demonology": "It's like the end of 'the Dead.' When Gretta remembers the boy she loved when she was younger and she says, 'I think he died for me.'" It also describes more of Matthew's character, and just how much he cares about (loves?) Emily. More than John, in fact. But anyway, I'll stop ranting. Read on, and I'll hopefully have the last installment up sometime this week. Enjoy! (:

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Pacing back and forth in her room, Emily knew that she had to tell John. But how?

"'Hey, John,'" she said to herself. "'I just called to tell you that I'm pregnant and you're the father.' Yeah, he'd be so enthusiastic," she said sarcastically.

Sighing, she glanced at the clock. It was just after ten at night. Walking over to her desk, she picked up her phone and dialed John's number.

"Hello?" came a voice that Emily recognized as his mother's.

"Hi, Mrs. Cooley, it's Emily."

"Oh, Emily. How are you, dear?"

"Not great. I got knocked up by your son," she thought mockingly. "Pretty good, thank you," she answered. "I was wondering if I could speak to John."

"Sure, just one second." On the other line, Emily heard her yell, "John! It's Emily, pick up the phone!"

Emily fought to restrain her laughter.

"Hey, Em. What's up?"

Suddenly, Emily was feeling sick. "Um…nothing really. I…there's something that I have to tell you."

"What is it?" There was an odd creaking sound, and Emily pictured him lying back on his bed and running a hand through his messy brown hair.

"Could I tell you in person? Tomorrow? You could come over after breakfast…"

"Sure."

"Thanks," she said, breathing out a sigh of relief.

"No problem." There was a pause. "Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah." She was about to hang up, but she froze when she heard John say something else.

"Love you, Em."

"Why does he have to make this so hard for me?" she thought. Closing her eyes, she asked, "Do you promise, John?"

He sounded momentarily confused. "Of course, Emily. Are you okay?"

She nodded, then realized that he couldn't see her. "Yeah," she lied.

"Okay. I'll talk to you later then."

"Alright."

"I love you."

"I love you, too," she admitted, hanging up and falling backwards onto her bed in exhaustion, defeated.

~.~.~

Emily heard the doorbell ring and winced. John had arrived.

"Hello, John," she heard her father greet from downstairs.

"Hi, Mr. Prentiss. Do you know where Emily is?"

"She's probably in her room."

"Alright, thank you."

Emily heard footsteps in the neighboring hallway and seconds later, John entered her room.

"Hey."

"Hey," she answered weakly.

"There was, um, something you wanted to tell me?" he asked, coming to sit by her on the bed.

She squirmed slightly. "Yeah…"

"Are you sure you're okay? You look really pale, Em."

"Um, whatever I say, please don't hate me, okay?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

"Of course not. Why would I hate you?"

"You might as well say it," Emily thought. She took a deep breath. "Because…I…" Her voice cracked and she looked away.

"Come on. Whatever it is, you can tell me." He took her hand in his as a reassuring gesture.

"John…I'm pregnant," she finally said, her eyes not meeting his.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He closed it slowly, looking like an odd fish gasping for air. "You…"

She nodded, unable to say anything.

"Emily…you know you have to get an abortion," he said softly.

She hadn't even thought about it, and as soon as he said it, she gasped. "You want me to kill an innocent baby?" she asked incredulously.

He didn't know how to answer that, so he said nothing.

Emily took his silence as a yes. Shaking her head and removing her hand from his, she said quietly, "I need some time to myself…"

"Emily…" he said equally as quiet, standing up.

Turning away from him, she sighed. "Just go."

~.~.~

Emily spent hours lying in her bed, in a state not unlike a coma. The only sound in her room was faint music coming from her bedside radio. Barely coherent thoughts kept running through her head, and she was developing a major headache. Although she desperately wanted to keep the child, she knew she couldn't; she was just too young.

She couldn't even give the baby up for adoption, because that would mean that she would have to carry for full-term. She would be mocked and school and what would her parents think? They would be so ashamed. She had wanted -no, craved- their attention, but this wasn't the way she intended things to happen. Deep down, she knew that she would have to abort…but she couldn't even bear to think about it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on her door.

"Go away," she murmured.

The person didn't listen and walked into her room instead.

"Emily," the voice said, placing a cold glass of water on the table beside her.

"Matthew." The bed dipped where he sat by her. She reached out and drank the cold beverage, wincing as it uncomfortably hit the bottom of her empty stomach. "What do you want?" she asked, her back facing him."To keep you company." There was a pause. "And to know what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong. Why would you think that something is wrong? The only thing that is wrong is you thinking that there is something wrong. Which there isn't, by the way," she ranted. Turning to look at him, her eyes wild, she asked, "Why would you say that something is wrong?"

"Because you just said 'wrong' five times, and you look like a mess," he pointed out.

She sat up. "Thanks," she said sarcastically.

He sighed. She obviously wasn't opening up any time soon. "What song are you listening to?" he asked, attempting conversation.

"I don't know," she replied, turning the volume up.

'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you
You're gonna believe them
When you're fifteen and your first kiss
Makes your head spin 'round
But in your life you'll do things greater than
Dating the boy on the football team
But I didn't know it at fifteen

Recognizing the melody, Emily immediately answered, "Fifteen."

"By Taylor Swift?"

"Yeah." Drifting back into silence, she paid attention to the song, faintly humming along.

When all you wanted was to be wanted
Wish you could go back and tell yourself what you know now

Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday
But I realized some bigger dreams of mine
And Abigail gave everything she had to a boy
Who changed his mind and we both cried

'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you
You're gonna believe them
And when you're fifteen, don't forget to look before you fall
I've found time can heal most anything
And you just might find who you're supposed to be
I didn't know who I was supposed to be at fifteen

Emily's heart clenched as she realized how true the lyrics were. Before she knew it, she was crying again.

Matthew's eyes widened. "What the hell happened to her?" he thought, remembering the usually bright and smiling Emily that he knew…and loved. He pulled her into his arms and held her, feeling her shoulders shake as sobs wracked her body once more. "Emily…" he whispered. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"Everything about that song pertains to me," she said, trying to catch her breath. Matthew tentatively reached out and wiped her tears away. She unconsciously leaned into her best friend's touch. "All I wanted was to be wanted, I gave everything I had to him, and I believed him when he said he loved me. And now I have to get an abortion!" she practically screamed. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she gasped and clasped a hand to her mouth. She hadn't meant it to sound so…blunt.

"But…" he said carefully, "In order to have an abortion, you have to have a…" He stopped and took in her fragile expression; she looked as if she had lost faith in the world. "Oh my God. You're pregnant."

"Yeah," she choked out, so quiet that he could barely hear her.

He cleared his throat, trying to straighten his thoughts. "Who…who is the father?" he asked, already guessing the answer.

"John," she answered reluctantly.

Matthew's hands clenched into fists as jealousy surged through him. "Why am I jealous?" he thought weakly. "Maybe because she didn't trust me enough? Because she's not my girlfriend?" He felt like screaming. Like punching a hole into the nearest wall. Or John's face.

This time it was Emily comforting him. "Matthew?" She put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry…"

"How could he have done this to you, Emily?" Standing up abruptly, he said, "I swear I'm going to kill him…"

"No, Matthew," she said, grabbing his hand. "I'm the one who asked him to -"

"That's not what I mean, Em," he interrupted, not wanting to hear the words she was about to say. "How could he just leave you like this? Does he even care? About you, about the baby?"

"Well, there's not much he can do…"

"Except stand by you. And he's not here now, is he?"

"I kicked him out."

"Yeah, but if it was me, I would be camping outside of your door, begging you to let me in. Why are you defending him?"

She sighed angrily; she had the same question. "I don't know, okay? I don't know anything anymore." She grimaced. "I feel like I'm about to throw up." Getting up, she walked to her bathroom and splashed water on her face. In the mirror, she saw Matthew approach her, a somewhat tender expression etched in his features.

"How about this," he offered. "Tomorrow…or whenever you feel like it…we can go to church and ask Father Gamino what he thinks about it."

She turned around to look at him, and he couldn't help but notice how vulnerable she looked. "You would do that for me?" she asked softly.

Looking straight into her eyes, he said truthfully, "I would do anything for you, Emily."

Giving him a watery smile, she stepped forward and enveloped him in a hug. "Thank you, Matthew."

Pressing a gentle, innocent kiss into her hair, he whispered, "You're welcome, Emily. Anytime."