Part Three

Emily is out of the car before Charles can stop her. She runs into the house and moves quicker when she hears Charles get out. She's cleared the stairs and on the first floor landing before he enters the house. Without sparing him a glance she rushes into her room and slams the door behind her. She falls against the door and slides down it as the tears she barely held onto in the car ride begin to roll down her face. Her body sinks into itself as her arms wrap around her knees. She hiccups and covers her mouth as it evolves into a sob. They don't stop. She starts to rock with the intensity and she has to bite into her hand. She welcomes the pain, her teeth sink deeper in to the flesh between her thumb and index. The sharp piercing pain spreads through her arm into her chest. It's something tangible to focus on other than thinking about the doctor's words. Since she was little, her mother made a point of teaching her languages in preparation of moving to different countries. Besides French, Italian had been one of the easier languages for her to grasp but even she couldn't help thinking she'd miss heard when he told her.

"Proprio di precauzione," (Just precautionary) he says knowingly as he handed her the test as she again tried to convince him there wasn't a chance. She could've asked for a feamle doctor but it wouldn't have made any difference, doesn't matter to her as long as they're both as competent. A female doctor would've asked the same thing, it was a standard question. It wouldn't have been easier to answer. Unlike Emily, he had experience in this area. She isn't so sheltered that she didn't know about teenage pregnancies, but the doctor has more knowledge than she does. He asked as a precaution and she vehemently shook her head, not quite comprehending why. She took the question personally. It was personal. She'd been with Johnny weeks before. Only him. She wasn't Johnny's only. Johnny may switch from girl to girl quickly but he wasn't one to brag about it. She wasn't ready to admit it out loud, let alone to a stranger.

Minutes later his mouth formed a thin line of disappointment as he checks the test for her. He barely tries to mask his judgement, or maybe she's projecting her own as she cowers back in her chair. "Sei incinta," (You're pregnant).

She shakes her head, he's wrong, she won't accept it. She opens her mouth to tell him just that but the words get stuck in her throat. Her mouth closes and tears spring to her eyes. Tremors start in her hand and travel up her arm, through her shoulder to her throat and she can hear it in her words as she finds her voice. "Si può farlo di nuovo?" (Can you do it again?)

For a split second Emily had thought he would refuse her. He hadn't and gave her the same result. He never gave her the chance to ask him to do it a third time, just talked through her options. He gave her the facts on all options she had. He never assumed and didn't push one on her. She has no idea what's right, what she should do. She refused the leaflets he offered her because she couldn't take it any information in beyond informing a guardian because of her age, she needed signed consent to continue.

The sound of the door knocking on the frame caused by her rocking body makes her head snap up. She doesn't need to attract any more attention than she already has. She pushes up from the floor and goes to the window and throws it open. She leans out and breathes deeply, her hands brace on the windowsill, as the smell of the roses drift up to assault her senses. A few inhales don't ease her aching heart or her trembling body but the air dries her tears. Her head hangs down and her eyes focus on the paving slabs beyond the rose bushes in the flower bed beneath the window of the room below hers, her mother's study. She screws her eyes shut, she doesn't really want to think of her mother right now. The Ambassador was going to be furious. And disappointed.

She feels dizzy and pulls herself back from the window with a sigh. She bumps the bedside table with her hip and she steadies it with a hand. The plate of cookies Charles put there this morning is still there. They're stale now. Her eyes water again. Her mother isn't the only one who will be furious. His words of trust now more a condemnation rather than the confidence boost it had been at the time.

He never said a word after he ushered her into the car. She never looked at him, not even in the rear view mirror. She didn't have to. The tension rolling off both of them was stiffling. She doesn't know what Charles heard or how much he saw when he found her with Matthew in the alley. Then there was Matthew. Her friend who skipped school just to take her to the doctor because he cares about her. He expects her to call, expects her to talk to him. She owes him that. She doesn't know if she has the strength to do that or the will to talk to Johnny. For some reason she knows it'll be easier to talk to Johnny than Matthew. His opinion doesn't mean as much to her after today.

They have nothing to offer a child. She has nothing to offer a child. In any scenario she's thought about, Johnny's not involved. In her head she knows there's only one real option. The idea doesn't sit well with her though. This, nothing more than a seed, is a part of her.

Emily sinks onto her bed, her hands instinctively go to her stomach. She still feels sick and isn't sure if it's because of the doctors' revelations or the morning sickness. Probably a combination of both. Emily imagined having children when she was older, not before she had a chance to live. She never thought it would be like this. She always envisioned having a career then being a position where she could step back and dedicate the time a child deserved when the time was right, her child would be the priority she never was to her parents. And she would always be home in time to read bedtime stories. She enjoyed listening to fairytales when her mother or father read them to her but she never lost herself in them. She was right not to. This is a far cry from fairytales.

A single knock cuts through the quiet room as a knuckle bounces off her door. It's hard and loud, expectant. She wonders what took Charles so long. For a second she considers ignoring him but that would make it worse. He'd insist or call her mother. Then Elizabeth would cut her visit short, possibly delay the divorce, and she'd hone in on Emily till she explained why she holed herself up in her bedroom.

"Come in," Emily calls shakily and twists on the bed to face away from the door.

Charles steps in carrying a glass of juice and a sandwich. She's touched but her stomach turns at the gesture, there's no way she'd keep either down. He moves to her bedside table and places them beside the plate of cookies, never looking at her or trying to force eye contact.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks gently.

"No," Emily tells him. Her curiosity, her need, to get a better read on him overcomes her fear of exposing herself or her secrets and she turns back to face him to find him looking at her with sympathy and compassion. He sits in the chair next to the bathroom and waits, obviously not letting her get away with her refusal. She doesn't think he'd force her to talk, but she feels an obligation to. "I...I don't...," she stammers.

"Did Matthew hurt you?"

"What? No!" Emily exclaims defensively.

"Really? Because what I walked in on-."

"He would never hurt me," Emily tells him. "I went to cross the street without looking and he pulled me back because a car was coming." The lies which stem from the truth are always easier. It's easier to omit details rather than change them. "I was more annoyed at myself for being disorientated than at him. He was trying to help."

Charles doesn't buy it, that much she can tell. He sits rigid in the chair, his unblinking stare fixed on her as he waits for her to elaborate. His posture may seem intimidating to others but she knows that's not his intention, his concern shines in his eyes in the way she wished her father's would. She looks down as she swallows the lump in her throat, clasping her hands over her torso. She lifts her head again. "This morning you said you trusted me, do you still trust me?"

"I do," Charles nods earnestly.

"Can I trust you?"

The question reveals more than she wants it to and it'll pique his curiosity more than it already is. On cue his eyebrow cocks but he doesn't push. "You can."

"Not to tell my mother?" Emily pushes. The eyebrow levels out and he looks away to the window. At least he's not lying to her. Her heart sinks. "That's what I thought," she says evenly.

"Emily," Charles objects rising from the chair to pace like she had minutes ago. She wants to believe the words she knows he's about to say. "Whatever the doctor said, your mother will support you."

"Not with this," she tells him with a shake of her head though she wishes she were as confident in her mother as he sounds. Charles stops and stares at her for long moment, battling with the urge to refute and trying to figure out what she refuses to tell him. It wouldn't be hard to fit the pieces together, Charles isn't stupid. She cares about his opinion of her and doesn't want him to look at her differently after this. "Please don't try to figure it out. I need to do that for myself," Emily all but begs. "Trust me to tell you if I need to. I just can't, not now, not yet," she explains to stop him from asking anything else.

"Your mother asked me to look after you," Charles tells her, his guilt for failing her mother clear. "I failed you both."

"I messed up, not you," she's quick to assure him. "Part of growing up, right?" She tries to smile, pass it off as a joke but he stares through it.

Finally realising he wasn't going to convince her otherwise, Charles nods wearily. "I'm here Emily," he promises.

"I know," Emily nods. "I just need you to trust me."

He's not comfortable with her request because he sees it as abandoning her in a time of need. For her, it's the opposite. She hopes his consession will give her the strength she needs to make the right decisions in the coming days. "Emily," Charles repeats about to refuse her but stops at the resolute shake of her head. "I don't...Okay," he agrees reluctantly. He looks around the room, stopping at the open window. He frowns and moves to close it. His hands brace the window sill as he hunches over with a sigh.

His loss of composure isn't comforting even when he doesn't know everything or maybe she's more transparent than she thinks, after all there can't be that many reasons she would be upset after a doctors appointment if it wasn't because of an argument with a friend. He could force her to tell him but he won't because that wouldn't instill her trust in him. Eventually Charles turns and picks up the plate of cookies. "Eat your sandwich," he advises as he leaves the room, bestowing her with another long gaze till she obliges him by lifting the juice and sipping it. The lingering taste of bile mingles with the orange and she forces herself not to retch again. The door clicks shut behind Charles.

Emily may be young and made some stupid decisions lately, but she knows this isn't the end of it. She isn't naive enough to think Charles will let this go lightly or at all. She confirms this hours later when she opens her window again, her bag on her back as she rests one foot on the window sill, ready to climb out when she sees the guards pacing the section of the back wall she usually climbs over to escape the grounds. No one sees her as she drops her foot back into her room and shuts the window. She wanted to talk to Matthew face to face but it won't happen tonight. Her bag falls to the floor and she quietly gets ready for bed.

Sleep doesn't come and she lies there staing at the ceiling through the night watching the shadows move around the room with the moonlight. Several times in the night her hands find her stomach, it had been comforting during the nausea, now it's to feel if anything is different. It's stupid as she realises there's nothing physically different except the pang of an empty stomach and the ache of muscles she strained when she was sick, but she feels different inside. Numb. Either that or too overwhelmed by emotions to react. She puts the detachment down to shock, it happened when she lost her grandfather a few years ago. She's held onto it since she told Matthew she was pregnant as it gives her something to hide behind, it's gotten her through the past few hours. Only now she doesn't have the strength to keep up the façade. Beneath the carefully schooled front, she's frightened and angry with herself and has no idea what to do or how to do it. She curls onto her side, her hands slide to her side as the tears begin to seep from her eyes.

Thanks to everyone sticking with me here, especially those who took the time to review. Any thoughts? Please don't hesitate to let me know either by with a public review or PM. Also I apologise if any Italian is wrong, I don't speak the language and used Google translate for the words in brackets so I hope they're correct.