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A/N: Thank you all for reading - I'm so grateful for your comments and kind words, and I love knowing you're still here each week. As a heads up, this is another somewhat "heavier" chapter, and TW definitely applies to mentions of abortion, overdose, possible attempted suicide, alcohol/drug usage. I really struggled with where this chapter would go, but it explains some of the things you may have been wondering about. The entire chapter is a flashback to Emily's time in Italy, and shortly after. As always, enjoy, and let me know what you think!

Chapter 12: Black Balloon: A thousand other boys could never reach you. How could I have been the one?

I saw the world spin beneath you, and scatter like ice from the spoon.

Five Years Ago - Italy

Nine hundred thirty four seconds.

That's how long the procedure takes from start to finish. She lays on her back and stares at the cracked ceiling with Matthew's hands wrapped tightly around hers the entire time. He watches her with nervous eyes, clearly unaware of how these things are done.

The only thing she feels is numbness. She pretends to listen to the doctor who explains the whole procedure in the beginning with just enough detail to make her nauseous. Despite that, her voice is kind, clearly concerned for her fifteen year old patient. Emily barely hears Matthew when he tells her it'll all be all right as the doctor sits down at her feet, because it won't. Nothing about this is or ever will be okay.

She almost laughs when she's told to relax; the table beneath her is hard and unforgiving. Emily doesn't (or won't let herself) care. It has to end. There simply is no other option. She's given one last chance to back out, but with an indignant shake of her head, it starts.

There's pressure - a lot of pressure, a few pinches here, some burning there. She winces through the cramping that comes almost instantly, a reminder of just what exactly is happening under the sheet draped on her trembling knees. All she wants is to know is when it's done - to feel something - anything - yet she's frozen, a stranger to her own body. When it's over, she feels a juxtaposition of relief and an empty hollowness, and she sleeps for a half an hour before she's finally allowed to leave.

At "home" (Italy isn't home and never will be, but she's not quite sure where home is), the bleeding starts, and even she is shocked at the bright crimson that stains her sheets. She'd been warned of this part; she knows what to expect - but actually seeing it is the sobering reality of the consequences of her actions.

Matthew stays by her side as long as he can, but even he leaves as the sun starts to dip in the sky. She doesn't know if it's night or day; the darkness outside is just too still and all the colors of the sky run together outside her window. "I'll call you tomorrow," he says, rising to his feet, looking incredibly unsure of himself, and she suddenly realizes he hasn't eaten anything all day. "Will you be okay?"

Emily manages a nod, pain rolling through her abdomen like a wave. Or a rip current. She's still bleeding, that much she knows. It hasn't stopped since they got home hours ago. "Can you come back tomorrow?" She hates feeling this weak, but if there's anyone who won't judge her, it's Matthew.

"My parents want to go to Tuscany for a few days," he says apologetically, staring at his shoes because he knows he's disappointing her. "They … want me to come … a family thing, you know?" He won't meet her gaze, and Emily isn't surprised. Matthew's parents hate her, as they should. They'd most likely disown him (or worse) if they knew where he really was today.

She opens her mouth to speak, but another cramp takes her by surprise and she curls even more tightly into the fetal position, rocking through the pain. "It's okay." It's not okay, it'll never be okay.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," Matthew shifts on his feet after she's finally able to look up at him again. "I … I didn't know how to bring it up. They think something is up with me ...They think we need to spend more time together." He looks woefully guilty, which in turn makes her feel guilty. Moreso than she already does. His voice rises an octave, something that means he's stressed. "They're threatening to move us to another city if I don't get it together. Then I won't be able to see you anymore."

"Matthew," Emily croaks through gritted teeth. "It's okay. I understand. Come over when you get back?" It's not his fault, it's your own.

"I will," he promises, and she believes him, because it's Matthew and he's true to his word. He leaves reluctantly, his face grey with concern, and yet she pushes him out because deep down, it's the right thing to do.

Little does she know, it's one of the last times she'll see him.

…

It's 4:03 AM when she remembers them.

She's barely slept at all; her body hovers in a dreamless haze. Hours could have passed, or minutes - she's not sure, but when her eyes glance at the clock, it's been almost eight hours since Matthew left.

She still has the pills at the bottom of her bag. The small white triangular pills, stamped with the little tiny X, the ones she'd been given almost two months ago when she arrived at John's pool with Matthew close behind her. He's talking to her but she barely hears him. Something about not hooking up with John, because John is already hooking up with multiple other girls and he breaks hearts as easily as he breaks promises. Emily brushes him aside, smoothing her skirt over her bathing suit, saying a silent prayer that her makeup won't smear in the muggy summer heat.

She'd had one goal - finding John of course - but that girl with the dark hair … what was her name … Becca … Becca told her the high was unlike anything else she'd tried as she pressed the small bag into her hand, a knowing glint in her eyes. Emily pocketed the pills and lit a cigarette, leaving Matthew to fend for himself as she disappeared behind the door of the poolhouse only to return with an overwhelming sense of shame, pills forgotten.

Her room is dark but she doesn't need the light. The pills are exactly where she left them, tucked at the very bottom of her bag in their own smaller plastic bag. Emily isn't sure how many she takes - it's too dark to see and she's too dizzy to count - the cramps are unlike any she's experienced before- but when she dry swallows them a few get stuck in her throat. She washes the rest down with water, and soon enough, the world is fuzzy, her body seemingly weightless and the air around her pleasantly warm. The cramps are gone; it's as if she's floating before everything goes dark.

…

Elizabeth Prentiss stares at the wall, unable to look at her daughter, her lips pressed into a thin line, her face pale. She looks weary, Emily notices immediately when she opens her eyes, and for a brief moment she wishes she could take it back. Take all of it back.

They've been sitting in silence for almost forty minutes.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Emily mutters, twisting the edge of the blanket in her fingers. "I don't know what happened."

"According to the doctor, you swallowed enough of those pills to kill yourself, Emily." Her face is pale; her typical steely exterior gone. "Where did you even get those things?"

"I wasn't trying to kill myself, obviously." But was she?

"Even if you didn't mean to, you got quite close. Do you have any idea what it's like to be woken up in the middle of the night to ambulances and paramedics banging on your door? You are lucky, Emily. Lucky that Marjorie happened to find you in the bathroom when she saw the light on. Do you remember any of it?"

Emily cringes at the thought of their sweet and kind housekeeper finding her. She didn't deserve that. She makes a mental note to apologize to the sweet woman who did nothing but take care of her since she arrived in Italy.

"Do you know what it's like to watch your daughter get her stomach pumped? That image will be forever seared into my memory." Elizabeth swallows, the wrinkles lining her face suddenly more profound. "To see your own child covered in … charcoal and...her own vomit?" She shudders, her lip curling with disgust. "Once in a lifetime is enough for me."

That's why her throat aches. She cringes at the thought of that - she knows what it entails.

Her mother is talking; Emily can't hear her. She didn't take that many pills, did she? Racking her brain, she tries to recall just what happened in the moments before everything went dark, but nothing comes to mind. The only thing she remembers is the burning pain of cramps and the emptiness of the silence.

"We're going home, Emily. Back to the US." There's something in her mother's voice that sounds like disappointment, and Emily is certain it's not because her mother is upset about leaving Italy. Nope - she's disappointed in me- I let you down, again.

"No we're not." Emily rakes her fingers through her hair, wishing she had a brush or a hair band. Her hair feels matted and dirty; a shower would feel incredible right now. "We're not fucking leaving."

"We are."

"It was an accident, Mom," She feels the panic starting to rise as she attempts to think of a plausible lie. "I wasn't trying to kill myself."

"This isn't the right environment for behavior has shown that time and time again. You're out all hours of the night, doing God knows what. I've suspected it for a long time - I just didn't want to believe the daughter I raised," she places emphasis on those words, "with every possible opportunity, would be so cavalier, with such blatant disregard for everything I taught you."

"I'm not leaving," Emily crosses her arms and sets her jaw, her mind flashing to Matthew, even to John. She'll have to drag me on that plane.

"This could be damaging to my career, Emily" Her mother says coldly. "You never learn, do you? We are leaving, and I will drag you on that plane myself if I have to."

"Mom," Emily attempts, but it's pointless, because Elizabeth is already on her feet, headed towards the door. When it slams behind her, she doesn't look back.

...

Exactly one week later, they land in DC after an endlessly long flight in the midst of a rainstorm. They're whisked away to the Ambassador's mansion and Emily stares absently out the window as the limousine glides up the long driveway. She already hates it here.

…

A few days after that, she's back at it again. It's a lesson she still hasn't learned. Maybe she never will.

She's lucky enough to make one friend at her new school - a girl named Allison - when she's desperately in need of a cigarette during her lunch break. Allison saves the day, passing over her lighter and striking up a conversation. She's intense, smacking her gum loudly, her hands adorned with a variety of rings, fingernails painted black and her hair flying about in a mess. But Emily is grateful for someone to talk to, and for a fleeting moment she thinks of Matthew in Tuscany. He has no idea, she thinks, her heart twisting. Maybe, just maybe, she'll work up the nerve to call him once he's home. She wonders how he'll take the news.

Most of the girls at this school turn their noses up at her, not even giving her a chance. She's used to fancy prep schools, yet this one is a whole different ball game. She looks like the part in her too-crisp skirt and blazer, but there's no denying the whispers of the other girls when she passes by. It's as if they know too much already, and Emily keeps her eyes on her shoes as she navigates the maze of hallways with a lump in her throat.

As they're eating lunch, Allison mentions a party later that night - and while Emily knows it's not a good idea, she agrees to it anyway, because what the hell, what's one more mistake?

...

That night, she paints her lips red and her eyes black and puts on the shortest, tightest outfit she owns before sneaking out of the Ambassador's mansion almost too easily. Allison is dressed similarly, and for once she feels like she fits in as they walk into the party together. Allison knows everyone, and she wastes no time introducing Emily to the offspring of the various DC elite.

They're about halfway through the crowd when Allison suddenly stops, pointing to someone Emily hasn't met yet. "Stay away from that guy over there," she says casually, flicking her cigarette. "Tom Seymour. He's bad news." She gestures to a tall, dark haired guy, achingly handsome, and even from the distance Emily can tell his eyes are a shocking shade of blue. "It's a shame because he's so hot."

Emily swallows; her throat is suddenly dry. "How so?"

Allison rolls her eyes. "He fucks anything with boobs and has a really bad temper. All around problematic. The girls he hooks up with …" she looks around suspiciously. "They're all insane. Or at least they end up that way."

Sounds exactly like my type, Emily thinks as someone presses a plastic cup of something that smells like straight ethanol into her hand. She wrinkles her nose at the bright red liquid in the cup. "What is this?"

"Jungle juice," Allison also has a cup in her hand. "Refills are over there," she points to a large plastic swimming pool filled with the red mixture. An obviously drunk girl is stirring the liquid with a large sand shovel, another is dumping in a large cooler of ice. Emily nods slowly, blinking curiously at the scene in front of her, already feeling tomorrow's hangover.

"I'm going to find the guy I've been hooking up with," Allison says, downing her cup in one easy gulp. "I'll catch up with you in a little bit." She spins on her heel, nearly disappearing into the crowd before turning back. "Whatever you do, don't set your cup down."

...

Emily is getting a refill (her third) when he sidles up to her, the perfect mix of cocky, confident, yet slightly aloof. "I'm Tom," he says, his eyes flicking between her and just over her shoulder. "Haven't seen you here before."

"Emily," she extends her hand and when he shakes it, he grips just a little too tightly, his smile never quite touching his eyes. It sets off warning bells in her head but she doesn't care - tonight she just wants to feel something besides pain.

"Prentiss?"

"Yeah - how'd you know?"

He smiles again, and it gives her chills. "You just moved here right? From Italy? Your mom is the Ambassador?"

"Yeah …" Emily lifts her cup to her lips. The refill tastes stronger than her first two, if that's even possible. How does he know all of this?

"My dad told me about you. He works with your mom. He helped get her appointed in her new position." Tom is looking her up and down with unabashed boldness, and there's no question what's going through his mind. His eyes linger on her chest and Emily fights the urge to turn around. "I heard you guys had to leave Italy pretty unexpectedly."

The warning bells get louder, no matter how much she tries to ignore them. "Uh .. yeah .. something like that."

"I don't know details, but my dad says your mom is pretty awesome at what she does. He told me to make sure I introduce myself."With an amused roll of his eyes, they settle right back on her chest. "He told me to take care of you and show you a good time."

There's something in his words she just can't trust. She's about to ask him just what that means when he dismisses her with a wave of his hand, reaching into his pocket. "Want to have some fun?"

Her eyes narrow and when he laughs, she's almost certain he's laughing at her.

"Not like that," he says smoothly. "My girl is somewhere around here." He jerks his head in the direction of the jungle juice before reaching for her wrist. He presses 3 triangle shaped pills into her palm. "You ever done X, Emily?"

She shakes her head, and even though she's only known him for five minutes, she's already told him her first lie. It certainly won't be the last.