A/N: Again, everyone, THANK YOU. You're the best. Every time I see that there's a new review my heart does the flips. Fuckin' love it. Haha. I'm really sorry for being slower than a frickin' turtle when it comes to updating, I just have tons of work to do right now. This is a tiny bit shorter than the other chapters, I'm sorry about that too. Btw, I was wondering, do you guys prefer long chapters or short chapters? I know everybody has their own taste preference when it comes to this, but I was just thinking about it. I, for one, love the long chapters. Especially when you never want the story to ever end. Ah. It's great. Well, anyway, let me know! If you want the chapters shorter, I'll sort it out from now on. Right now I'm starving though. Mmmmm. Food. And mmmmm. Update. You know what to do! Read n' review! Let the game begin.

We're sitting outside in their backyard, sharing a bench. The sun is setting behind their birch trees, a cool wind breezes gently between us, making Emily tighten her grip on her jacket. I'd give her mine if I weren't too much of a chicken heart.

"You want one?" I ask, holding out the cigarette package for her.

"No, I'm fine. You go ahead." She wanted to come here too. To talk to me too. Her answer stirring every emotion I should be used to by now, but it still comes as a surprise every time. The fluttering, tingling feeling.

I place a cigarette between my lips and light it. Inhaling a long drag. Trying to calm myself for whatever this is. I want to ask her about everything. I want to know who that person was last night, I want to know about the look she gave Luke at the party and if he has a little brother that she'd crushed on before. I want to know what she likes to do in her spare time, what makes her happy, what makes her sad. I want to know everything I haven't been able to figure out by myself in all these years.

Some of the things I do know about Emily though, is that she likes to dress in blue. She hates peas. Just pokes at them on her plate every time it's been served at the dinner table. She loves meat on the other on hand. She likes video games. And when she's tired, she always yawns twice in a row. She prefers to wear her hair down, unlike Katie. And when she paints her toenails in front of the telly, it's usually the colour red.

"Do you write?" I suddenly ask. Needing to stop my head from rambling about Emily, when she's finally sitting here right next to me.

"What?" She's still seems surprised by everything I say.

"Yeah, I mean, like, do you write stuff? Stories, novels, poems, whatever. Just, write." I try to elaborate my question.

"Oh. Uhm. I guess? Sometimes. Or well, yes. I do. How did you know?" She looks at me expectantly.

"I didn't. It's just that many people who likes crosswords, also likes to write. I've heard that it goes hand in hand, you know?"

I can see her nodding in the corner of my eye.

"Do you?" A glance of brown.

"What, write? Nah. It always ends up shit when I try. I was always better at drawing." I shrug, mumbling in the end, not really used to praising myself.

"Really? I'd love to see some." Panic spreading inside. She can't. Almost every painting is of her. Well, not every, but oh so many. She'd report me if she ever saw them. I've been drawing her since I first laid eyes on her. It's all red, red, red. Her flowing her. Her rosy lips.

She notices my hesitance, and instantly backtracks her words.

"But I understand if you don't want to. It's okay. I respect you artistic privacy." She says, teasing me, but also providing me with a free pass out of this situation of having to turn her down. And I never want to turn her down.

"Maybe one day you'll be lucky enough to see some of my work. I'm a natural, you know. You might pass out, it's that good." I'll play along. Not wanting to disclose too much of my drawings of red.

"Yeah, maybe. But it's a risk worth taking." She breathes out. Smiling.

I can hear her trying to collect some kind of courage, or trying to find the right words. The irregular intakes of breaths betraying her and I'm instantly flooded with a bad feeling. She seems to be struggling with this, like when you've had something on your mind for forever, and when you finally get a chance to talk about it, you have no idea what to say. I don't really want to know what she's trying to get at. What if she knows everything?

"Naomi.." she looks distressed. Frowning, still trying to find the right words.

"Does Freddie know?"

I can feel the blood drain from my face. Going pale. Cold. Trying with all of my strength to protect these walls that always comes crashing down whenever she's near. I didn't really know what to expect from this conversation when we got here, but I sure didn't expect that she'd talk about this.

I stay silent for longer than I expected to. Glancing down on my cigarette every other second or so. I take another drag, and carefully shake my head.

"No."

Another drag.

"I can't tell him." It's almost a whisper. I hate myself for feeling this small in front of her. Hating her for having this power over me. This effect. But I can't. I can't tell him.

"Why? He's your best friend, isn't he? You know he'd understand."

And of course I know. He always understands. And I curse myself everyday for not telling him. Seeing him straight in the eyes and lying about it. It fucking hurts, but I'd rather not risk my life. Or somebody elses. Even if they do deserve it.

"It's not about that." I can't bear to look at her right now.

"Then what?" She looks impatient. And questioningly.

"If you know Freds, you know what would happen."

And by the look of how her jaws suddenly clenches, she knows exactly.

"And why would that be so bad? It's not like he wouldn't have it coming to him." She scowls. I hate her for doing this, but I love her for caring so much at the same time.

"You haven't told anyone, right?" I turn to her, fear probably written all over my face.

"No, no.. I would never." Her voice softens immediately when her eyes reaches mine. "But.." Pausing. "I could never live with myself if, well, you know. Something.. worse happened."

She's not averting her gaze this time. She is just staring right into my eyes, mirroring my previous fear with her own. Suddenly I realize the mistake I made when I went to their house that night. That damned December night. I'd never wanted to worry her.

"Don't worry."

"Are you kidding me?" Frowning.

I start to rub at my eyes. This is not how I wanted this to go. This is not what was supposed happen.

"Do we have to talk about this? I just.. I don't know." I sigh. It's not her fault. None of this is her fault.

"You weren't supposed to see that. I wasn't planning on coming over. I just couldn't do anything else. I'm sorry. I really am."

She looks at me with disbelief coating her eyes.

"Again. Are you kidding me?" Shaking her head. "Don't fucking apologize, Naomi. It's not your fucking fault." She raises her voice ever so slightly. Her eyes seemingly mirroring mine. Fear, disbelief, worry and love. For a friend, if nothing else.

I can't say anything. My voice can't muster a single sentence that could help me right now. Because I know she's right and I'm wrong. I know it's not my fault. I know I don't deserve the bruises. I know it. I'm not one of those who blames themselves. Not that it's wrong. It's more than understandable. I'm just not that kind. So that's what I say.

"I know."

And we stay silent. She takes a deep breath.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that when I saw the bruise on your arm downstairs, I remembered that night."

I was going to interrupt her, pleading her to forget it. I don't want her to worry. I never want her to worry.

"No, listen. I can't even remember for how long you've been a part of this, us. All of us. You've been around forever. I know we haven't spoken much, but I've been through more dinners with you than any of my friends. More movie nights. More campings. Everything. I still know who you are, Naomi."

I don't understand.

"What are you getting at?" I ask, slightly annoyed. I don't understand what she's trying to tell me.

"I'm trying to tell you, that you can't tell me off like I was a stranger. I'm not. You can't expect me to ignore this."

"Are you trying to say that you're going to report him? Please don't. Listen, I'll take ca-" I stutter, fear instantly taking over my actions and words. She was never supposed to get involved.

She interrupts me. "No, no." She shakes her head. "I'm not going to report it, okay? But I know who you are, Naomi. And I know that nobody can tell you what to do." A pause. "But just remember that you're better than this. That there's more to you than, this." She says, and pulls down my cardigan. Surprising me to say the least.

I instantly flinch as I watch her eyes travel down my arm, witnessing new bruises. More than one. More than three.

"This is not all there is. And when you're ready to do something about it" She lets go of my cardigan. "Let me know."

And in that moment I love her even more. Not because of her silent promise to help me get out of this. Not because of her warm and caring eyes or her slender hand that rests between us on this bench. No. But as I realize that this version of Emily, the real human version and not the fictional one that I've created from bits and pieces put together, I see so much more in her. More to love.

All the feelings that I've had towards Emily suddenly transformed into something else this this night. As if everything I've felt before is only fraction of what I'm capable of feeling. When the longing turns into something real, something to grasp, someone with a voice, a personality that I always knew was there but never dared to question.

"So Luke's little brother, huh?" I say, staring into the open air. I'm a bit scared to look at her. Not really having a clue if I'll be able to control myself from conveying everything with my eyes.

She turns her head and I feel her eyes bore into my side.

"No. Not really. He doesn't have a little brother." She says carefully, as she glances back down and suddenly acts somewhat nervous.

"Oh. I.. I just assumed after the game at Gerry's. He did look quite secretive when the question came up" I said, chuckling a bit, only to realize my own answer to the same question that particular night.

"Katie was somewhat right, though. You have." She says.

"I have what?" I look at her curiously.

"Fucking lezza! You don't think I've noticed how you've been looking at me?" Echoes in my head.

That's when my heart probably stopped. And I really mean stopped. Just a second before it was pumping furiously against my ribcage, echoing through my body, pumping against this bench we're occupying. But now, now. Nothing. In a second, it stopped. And in a second, it came back. I could feel the rush of blood through my limbs, the speed intensifying with my violently racing heart.

The expression on her face is undescribable. I would call it a smirk if I didn't know Emily, but this, this, hint of a smile on her lips but yet the seriousness in her forgiving brown eyes is impossible to even question. Not knowing what to ask. Not nothing what she's hiding.

She gets up, zips up her jacket and clears her throat with her back turned. The irregular intakes of breath once betraying Emily during our conversation tonight, has now affected me. I try to find any kind of comeback, finally comprehending what she implied with her silence. She must know.

Katie was somewhat right. Somewhat. A somewhat separating two twins.

"He does have a sister, though."

And with that, she walks back inside. Leaving me with a flickering cigarette in an too sweaty hand. The other one leaving a damp mark on the surface as I raise it to my heart, trying to keep this thunder inside from ripping my chest up.

"Shit" I slowly breath out. Covering my face with my hands.

"Shit, shit, shit."