Alright this chapter might be quite a touchy one. But a friend told me to cover as many topics as I could while of course, not missing the actual plot. The topic today is what I'll describe as grey. No right or wrong. No black or white. But you're permitted to have your own opinions, as long as they don't get personal. I.Have.None.Of.My.Direct.Opinions.Here.  And I'm not Melissa so don't come for me. *Inserts smiley face* But do leave your thoughts on every paragraph, I read every single comment.

"What do you mean, Pamela had an abortion?"

"Well," Amy folds both arms across her chest, eyes pointed directly at me as she shrugs, "exactly what you heard."

I stay fixed at my spot by the door, my hands gripping onto the cold tray for some kind of moral support. It's almost the only thing keeping me together and not breaking down the way she seems to want me to. Although it's hard. With every second of realizing this isn't a joke, it gets harder. Especially with how her announcement on my best friend was worded in the most casual way possible. Like this is as normal as talking about football on chill-at-home Sunday.  Or in her case, the new line of lipgloss from the Kardashian's youngest sister.

I move to drop the tray on the dress-table, not even properly reasoning as I avoid the mess of clothes and scattered bottle of pills on the floor. Despite the room being almost as large as my sister's, the clutter around makes it appear smaller. Feel smaller. Tighter. However, that could also be the weight of my confusion. And maybe Pamela's. She hasn't said a word, but distress stays written all over her face.

Amy's about the only perfect looking person in the room. Relaxed. Flawless. And still slaying in a uniform hours after school, despite the situation.

The second face I'd spotted on stepping into the room - that's when my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting - was Pamela's. I was certainly sure it couldn't be the flu anymore, if it was, then it had to be at the most chronic level. My mind went back to the cancer I'd thought of, but canceled it.

Now, i'm not sure what would've been better.

Like Amy's not in the room, I fix my pointed stare on Pamela who's standing sheepishly behind her. From the onset, it was clear I was the last person she'd expected to come over. Her widened eyes that later reduced in size, drifting to everything else but me, proved that. And her not wanting me here, I think was the first thing to hurt. If not the only thing. But I still force a stare on her.

"It's not true." I say as a statement, though uncertainty has it coming out as a question instead. Surely, if I was right then she'd have said something by now. Admit that this is all a joke. Laugh. I'd laugh too.

The red splotches on her cheeks could be overly applied blush. Sunken cheeks and visible loss of weight, a figment of my imagination.

"It's not true, right?" I hear myself plead this time. Yet i'm not only pleading for her sake but mine too. I'm pleading that if this were true, I'd be the first person she'd tell.  That in all possible events that probably led to this, I'd know enough to be able to stop it from happening in the first place. That...

And then i'm pleading for her sake.

She buries her face in both palms.

"Why would you do something like that? You wouldn't..." I also hear  myself whisper a 'you killed someone.'

"Don't be ridiculous, Melissa. And don't try to be religious." Hands still crossed over her chest, Amy begins making her way towards me with eyes like daggers. Her steps are slow, still as quick I am to back away. "From what I heard, you don't even like the idea of the big guy upstairs." A faded memory of telling Pamela I don't believe in God, comes flashing before my eyes. She told her. "Which is weird, coming from a goody two-shoes like you. Not a fan too but kinda makes me wonder what 'God' did to you."

"Or perhaps it's what he didn't do."

Something in me tightens but I don't flinch away from her gaze. I'd never thought about it before, though now I see another good reason for Amy's intimidating appearance is her eyes. They don't just stare, they dissect your soul. Mama Yoli describing her with the spiritual blue eyes, is not so much of a joke now.

"Amy, please stop. Leave her alone. Can't you see how scared she is?" Pamela speaks for the first time since I got here. Her sounding the same. Normal. I sneak a look at her from behind Amy to see it's about the only thing that's remained the same about her.

I can't get over the dullness of her face, and how the glow of her skin has erased completely, now resembling something faded. The usually fit hoodie practically overshadows her.

"I wasn't- Gosh, fine. I'm leaving, anyway." Amy rolls her eyes, stepping away from me and further into the room, back to where she was before. I let a breath out through my mouth.

"That's not what I meant."

"No, it's not you." She dismisses, walking around and packing up her things, which aren't many to start with - phone, keys, blazer she never even wears during school hours and lipgloss. "I live too far away to be here at what? 6:15? Gotta go." She then makes an abrupt stop on getting to her friend. Well. If Amy could know all these before I did, Pamela's surely more of her friend than mine.

"And as for you darling, take care." Pointing a warning finger at her, "I mean it."  With heels on, she towers over Pamela with solid inches. But Pamela doesn't bother to look up. Not when her friend gives her a kiss on the cheek. Not when she's marching towards the door, heels clicking with every step. And not when she jams the door shut after leaving.  Pamela's eyes stay on me instead.

The tension doesn't magically melt away once Amy leaves. I'd thought it would, seeing her by the doorway, blowing a kiss to the room like this was a normal day. I'd hoped it would.

But it's obvious she wasn't the problem. It actually almost feels worse without her. She'd managed to do things that whiled away time, kept us from facing the real thing. Regardless of how mostly negative they were towards me, it created a fair haze of background activity.

Now, it's just Pamela and I staring at each other from opposite ends of the room. Her eyes watching me as much as mine watch her.

"You must hate me." She's first to speak.

There's faint sounds of chatter downstairs. A clock ticks on the bedside table and i'm reminded how such sounds would usually be buried by our voices, talking on random topics. Mostly her voice, anyway. But those were better times.

"Say something. Melissa, please say something."

"I don't hate you." My voice comes out choked. And when I attempt swallowing, the insides of my throat feel like I've dragged it on gravel.

I finally push myself off the wall, ruffling my scattered curls with shaky hands that don't know where to stay. But I fix them into the back pockets of my jeans.

"Thank you." She says quietly, trying a smile. I nearly scowl at her. "How's school been? And your reports? how's George?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to have an abortion?"

"Melissa," She blinks away, playing with the strings of her hoodie. "Melissa, look-"

"You told Amy. Or did she just find out?" I ask. Though incredulously. "I doubt it."

"It's- you need to understand that I was-"

"What led to an abortion or a pregnancy in the first place? When did you... and why didn't you tell me?" My voice breaks at the end. I'm not crying but everything in me feels like it is. I want to understand, are possible reasons to not feel slighted. Also again, I want to focus on what's probably the more important thing, yet all I can think about is if she and I are really best friends. Amy and her have known each other since diaper days, I know it. And still i've never had to question our status till date.

"Why didn't you tell me, Pamela?"
 
"Because you're pure, okay? Because you're... you. Good. And innocent and-" Her eyes trail down to the floor unsteadily, "I didn't want you see me in a different light, see me differently 'cause I know, I know you're not like that. Like this."

She gestures at herself, "Like me. You're as pure as you're pale."

I'm taken aback but fold and unfold my fingers into a fist, waiting patiently for the outburst to sink in. The whole thing doesn't, but the last line does. "That's actually offensive."

Her eyes flit to mine.

"Calling me pale."

She appears to ponder over it for a while before blurting out an apology. "I'm sorry?"

My eyes have nothing to do but follow her as she begins pacing around the room, down to the pink screen door of her built in closet, then back to the regular closet she was standing next to. "The thing is, we don't- we don't talk about such things. So, I didn't know where to start."

"Talk about what things?"

Realization hits when she gives me a side-glance.

I know exactly what we don't talk about. But I'd always thought our conversations were fine consisting of how hot a certain player is, new fashion lines she'd love to try out, and our different music tastes. In which she'd mostly just tell me how depressing mine is, and to attempt listening to something other than Billie. I don't expect us to talk about every single thing going on in our lives. I'd be a hypocrite now if I did. But I really thought. I really thought our conversations covered all areas we basically care about.

I try another question.

"Where you ever going to tell me?" I'm quite already able to guess the answer. And I hate how right I might be. "Are we even friends?"

"Yes, we are! Of course we are, Melissa! I just-"

"Trust Amy more."

"That's not it. Now, that's not it and you know."

"Do I?"

"Shit."

I watch in confusion as her eyes narrow in slits on the floor. I'm hesitant to go meet her even as she grips her shirt at the abdomen.

"What's happening?" I ask carefully.

She doesn't reply.

"Pamela, what's- Is there anything I can do?"

In the split of an eye, she's off running into the bathroom. Leaving me stunned and alone in her room.

Drumming my fingers on my thighs is the only distraction I have while she's away.

I pace around the room too. Sometimes contemplating going down the narrow lit-up path to her bathroom, but decide against it. The anxious cycle recurs a few times before she returns, halting me everything I'd been doing.

Her bathroom doors are sound-proof but when she's out, it's clear she threw up. There's a towel held in her hands as she slowly steps back in.

I can't help but study her every move. Watch her walk, watch her take a seat on her dress-table, watch her breathe- " How long has this been going on? You... throwing up."

"Days. No, weeks. It only got worse recently but over two weeks, officially." She spares me a conservative side-glance as I crouch down to the edge of her feet. "That's how I found out I was pregnant."

"How did you...?" Her hazel eyes sharply meet mine, so I clarify in the least awkward way I can. Not sure who's more uncomfortable at this point, but it has to be said. Asked. "How did you get pregnant? Who were you... dating? The last relationship I know you were in was the one with Thomas and you dumped him."

"It was a fake relationship. You know he wasn't supposed to get feelings."

"Why are you having complications?" I ask, ignoring her additional info. The last thing I care about is why or why not she dumped Thomas.

"It was a quack. The abortion I- It had to be a quack, couldn't afford visiting an expert or doctor Creek 'cause God knows if my parents find out, I'm corpse." She lifts her legs up on the chair, hugging them tight to her chest. "Now, i'm having all these complications."

"Is that why you aren't eating?"

She looks down at me funny, eyes squinting in the low light.

"I mean, It's clear you've been skipping a few meals? More than usual. You look... skinnier. And it's not in a good way." I rise out of the low position to tip the tray of food on the table to her. She looks at it with caution. "Mama Yoli sent this to you."

"Gosh, she shouldn't have-"

"She worries about you, Pamela. And so do I." Childish bitterness has me adding, "Amy's not the only who does, you know."

"Melissa-"

"I'm sorry." I huff out a shaky breath, looking up to the ceiling before tilting my head back down. Back down at my hands and her. "I'm actually sorry. You're... you're sick, and here I am making this all about me and our ... well, our friendship." I shrug. "Still all about me."

"Well, you are kinda making this all about you." When she stands, it's me who has to look up at her. Although she's not gigantically taller, there's some difference. "But it's helping with my anxiety so thank you."

It's the first time I actually scowl at her. "Mel, I know I should've told you, it's just that I- I felt so ashamed. And not just because of the abortion." She steps away from me, clearly holding back something on the tip of her tongue.

"What is it?"

Her eyes fix on mine. "Leo was the father."

Oh.

Okay.

There's first the obvious answer. The very obvious answer. But regardless, a benefit of doubt still has me hoping it's any other Leo but the one I know. The one she knows I know. The one we all know. "It's not-"

"It's him. It's.. not the sole reason, but part of why I had to get rid of it. What would Steph think of me? Fooling around with her boyfriend."

She chews on her lower lip, watching me warily. My vision stays static on hers, then slowly drifts off to the floor.

I feel the gears in my head turn as I begin seeing her in what I'd hoped I wouldn't have to. A different light.

"You must hate me now."

I take a step back. Then many steps till I somehow fall on the bed in a straight sitting position, my fingers grabbing the soft fabric of the duvet while the other side of the bed sinks.

She shuffles closer, so much that I can not only feel the heat from her body, but the unflinched stare she has on me.

"Do you hate me?"

"I... don't." Shaking my head out of thought. "No, no, I don't hate you, Pamela." I grip the soft fabric tighter as I spare her a glance. When it's clear she doesn't believe me, I move to close the gap between us, hesitating wrapping my arms round her. In the end I do. The moment feeling weirder than ever, especially with the awkward angles our bodies are at. But she relaxes into it. Even though our minds must be raging wars within us.

I've never seen she and Leo alone together, or look at each other either. Never spotted a questionable moment. Or is there something I missed? Something we all missed?

Voicing my thoughts, catches in my throat. So calming my mind, I make sure to calm here too. "I can never hate you, Pamela, if I wanted to." And that's the truth.

I hear soft whimpers from her and her body vibrates against mine. It takes me a while to realize she's crying. She never cries this way. It's always loud wailings filled with inaudible explanations while stomping around with her arms crossed.

But the last time I'd seen her cry was when she was twelve so it's normal if things have changed.

We create make-shift seats for ourselves as we move down. Down to the fluffy carpet at the center of the room, allowing silence blanket us for what seems to be hours. Her cheek sits softly on the crook of my neck. And we're in a much better angle.

It's 8:28pm when we step out to the balcony.

Holding onto the flower-designed steel rail barricade, we're directly facing my house- my room. It's meters away but the building towering like, well every other building around, has it quick to make out even in the dark. It's easy to make out my room too since it's directly across and the lights are on - despite the fact I'd turned them off before leaving.  Annoying, but It's alright. I think I've come to terms with the fact that siblings aren't created with any ability to understand or respect the laws of privacy.

The door leading here being shut has us in near pitch-darkness. Nevertheless, there's small glimpses of the fluorescent lights in the yard downstairs, and crescent moon above to help us know at least where the other is standing. 'Cause if I had to rely on sound for that, I'd have no clue. Excepting the time I'd blurted a sorry to her when she nearly tripped on our way to the balcony, we've not spoken. Sometimes I feel her gaze on me from the right, but when I return it, she'll look away.

I lean forward on the railing.

"Don't do that."

We trade a weird look, but I lean back anyway.

"Are you- are you, like- cold?"

"Uh, no." I answer more as a question since I'm now also wondering if I should indeed be cold. I'm in a tank top but the weather feels warm to me. Though I know I've also never been on the thin side. My thick arms can show for that, so it could be why. Grandma always told my sister and I we'll end up fat. Just the basic nice things old people say.

"Okay. Wanted to make sure in case- 'cause you've got like, spare clothes still, remember? If you want a jacket or hoodie or-"

"I'm fine, Pamela." I spell out carefully to her, my eyes searching her worried face. And shaking hands. "Are you okay? Are you cold?" Although, she's wearing a hoodie. "Do you need gloves?"

"No, I'm-" She cuts herself off with a sigh. "God, i'm so... fucked." There's some kind of thought I notice go into that, and I'm proven right when she adds, grimacing. "Probably shouldn't have used that in the same sentence."

"How do you feel?"

Her answer takes a minute to come, eyes glazing around like they're searching for something to focus on. Besides me. She later joins to hold onto the railing, though quickly jolting her hand away when it touches mine.

"Sad." She says simply. "Sick too, of course and just- I'm sad. And no don't say sorry or anything, I should feel this way. I deserve to." Her lips press tightly together first, allowing a beat pass. "Do you think I deserve to?"

"I don't think so. No, you don't."

She snorts to herself. "You're always so sweet."

"And truthful." I say, an attempt to lighten the mood. A very weak attempt to be honest. I know my sense of humor's never been on the Kevin Hart side, but she doesn't even smile.

I give myself the smile. A tight one, before looking forward at the scenery. Which is my house mostly. A lot of other things are covered in darkness.

The clouds overhead move so the moon returns, light casting down on her as she spares a look my way. Looking like she certainly doesn't believe me. "I deserve it. And you were right."

"No, I said you don't. You don't deserve to be sad, Pamela. You're one of the best people I know... really. We all do morally grey things sometimes and- And everyone makes mistakes."

"You were right when you said I killed someone."

I freeze. Strain my eyes away from hers.

I remember when I'd blatantly avoided the most important thing, and focused on that instead. A friendly worker at one of the repair branches of Martinez works sort of made that narrative stick with me. He spoke about it lightly and just once while we both arranged on the shelves new mechanic oils. Just once, but I guess it stuck around somewhere in my head, showing it's existence for the first time tonight.  I'd hoped I hadn't said it out loud, but of course.

Don't try to be religious, Melissa.

Or perhaps it's what he didn't do.

We return to sky-gazing. At least, I return to doing so, I think she's more lost in thought. Although, that actually, might make the both of us.

"It's like- making someone else pay? For your mistakes." She says into the night air. It sounds like a baring-out of mind, and not hopes for conversation. At least not yet, so I don't say anything. Not like I've got anything to say. " 'Cause... well- alright wait. Unless it was a rape or, forced? I don't think you've got the right to abort. But perhaps, I'm just being religious. Though, the bible never really spoke about it, would you know? Wonder if the quran did."

"When are you going to stop being sick?" I ask, carefully avoiding a topic i'm sure I've got no enlightenment on enough to give an opinion.  "Be able to resume school again?"

"School is the last reason I'd want to get better but, but I have to. Or else. Who knows how long Mama Yolanda's gonna remain quiet.  Once she tells my parents how aloof and sick I've been, they'll be down here in the time of a private jet, acting like i'm on the verge of death. And like they care."

My body freezes up, as well as my hands on the rail. Pamela hardly talks about her parents. Though it's clear to see they're never around, it's also a kind of unspoken rule to not talk about it, go that far.

But when she ever does talk about them, It's always with the same words, 'like they care.'

"Verge of death. Yet I think I died a long time ago."

She has her gaze straight ahead when I turn to her, but it's so frozen I doubt she's actually looking at anything. For the third time tonight, I'm wondering if I ever really known her. Yes, I've seen her come down the high of the popular, bubbly self a lot of people know her as, but I've never seen her be this pessimistic.

"Pamela,"

"Joking!" She flashes a tight smile, and while I'm not buying it, there's nothing I planned to say. So though my eyes linger on her a second longer, I let it go.

"Sorry, I think I went besides the point there. Amy's promised to hook me up with a 'proper' doctor this wednesday. Gave me a long lecture on how wrong my initial move with the quack was."

I blink away, nodding.

There's a voice in my head saying, Amy, Amy, Amy. Of course there's gonna be an Amy to save the day. But I bite my lip to refrain whining out petty behavior.

Perhaps I should've bitten my whole face as well since the emotion there must be why she places a hand over mine. "Melissa. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about this and kept stopping you from coming over instead. I was just scared what you'd think of me."

"It doesn't matter now." The words came out clipped and before I think of it.

But eyes widening, I try again, "Well, I mean... you know, all that matters is that you get better. Physically and-" I switch the placement of our hands so mine are over hers as I finish. "Emotionally."

She dry laughs. "The last one's gonna take some time."

"It won't if you don't let it. It won't if you... allow yourself heal."

She snorts. "Where did you see that?"

My eyes narrow at her.

Yes, I picked it off somewhere... maybe pinterest one depressed day, but she didn't have to point that out.

"Your words are nice alright and I- God, I swear I want to believe you but it's just- I was this close. This close to being a mother, Mel. That's scary enough. And then, while I'm certain I didn't want to keep it, a part of me wonders what it would've been like. What it would look like."

"It would've been pretty." I quickly say to her. "Like it's mother. But it might've had to struggle in the circumstances of having a teenage, probably unprepared mother. And Leo for a father." I have no problems with him. Leo. He's on the lacrosse team and I only ever get to see him around a few times. Always looked like an alright guy. But if he could sleep with his girlfriend's friend then, I don't think he's the perfect father-figure. So, I guess the right way to put it is, I had no problems with Leo.

She doesn't utter a thing.

I chew on my lip, stealing glances at her frozen frame, determined to give her a quiet moment. Till I just can't.

"You know, my mom used to say the stars in the sky represent every one on earth who's left it." I walk over to her other side, my arms automatically wrapping round her shoulders. "She could've been biased." We both smile at that. The first time we're ever smiling since I arrived. "But if she's right, then that little star there,"

She looks up at it. And I watch her do so, looking a shadow of what she would on a regular day. Pity rises in me so much that I want to hug her even tighter.

"That little star?"

"Yes, um, it... It might be your little boy." I finish.

Her eyes go soft on me, appearing to be only one step away from crying. But she doesn't let herself cry.

With her head moving to relax softly on my shoulder, we look up at the star-lit sky, directly at the one I pointed.

"Or little girl, of course."