It was Monday afternoon and I was sitting cross legged on Bernie's bed. Flynn went home a couple of hours ago and we'd both pretended that the entire discussion about future children— or lack thereof— had never happened. It was obvious that he felt bothered about it. He wanted kids and I knew that, even if he claimed not to need them in order to be happy.

Part of me hoped that I'd have a change of heart. But for now, it was a hard no and I appreciated that Flynn was willing to go along with it and pretend as though things were normal between us, even though I knew him well enough to know that he would struggle with this choice. Perhaps not right now. But one day. One day he'd ask me if I'd changed my mind.

Nattie was standing on a step stool between the end of the bed and the desk that was under the window. Occasionally Bernie would trip on a piece of fabric or clothing as she circled Nattie and pinned her dress for alterations. I made sure that I snapped a few photos once in a while, capturing this fashion mogul in action.

These photos would be nostalgic one day. When Bernie was running a fashion empire and someone wanted to create a documentary on her beginnings. I smiled at the latest photo I'd snapped, her standing in front of Nattie, hands on her hips, a splitting grin revealing her mild overbite while she evaluated her work.

Nattie of course was a vision with her porcelain white cheeks and pale blonde hair twisted into a bun on the top of her head. Bernie had created a maroon velvet dress with thick straps, a square neckline and a billowing skirt that stopped above her knees. It was elegant and sophisticated but appropriate for her age. She looked like a little princess.

"What will you wear?" Nattie said to Bernie who in turn, raised a curious brow. "You have to come with me."

"To your brother's wedding?"

Nattie nodded. "Mom said it was fine. Most of the guests will be older so she said it'd be nice for me to have someone to hang out with."

Bernie's expression lit up and she squealed through a clenched jaw. "I've never been to a wedding before. I thought Amalia's would be the first one."

I laughed.

"But what should I wear?!"

"Make another one of these!" Nattie gripped the hem of her dress and twirled. "We could match."

"But in pale pink!" Bernie exclaimed. "Pale pink suits me. And Amalia. I'll just use the same pattern and alter the size a little bit. We need platforms! Black for you. White for me. When's the wedding?"

"Two weeks."

Bernie gasped and mumbled something in Spanish. "Two weeks?!" She leaned over to her desk and started flipping through the pages of her diary. "I'll have to move a few things around. But hmm. I think I can manage."

"I'll do your homework for the next two weeks. So you have extra time," Nattie offered.

Bernie's lips parted as she stared up at her friend. "You're the best. That'll help so much."

"It'll be so fun. My mom said there's going to be a photo booth! One of those ones with the curtains and it prints like a film strip. Ya know, like the movies."

Bernie gasped and started carefully unzipping Nattie's dress. She'd pinned the places where it needed to be taken in. "We have to take so many photos! What about wine? We should sneak some."

"I'll pretend that I didn't hear that," I laughed, averting my attention to the phone in my lap when Bernie peeled the dress off Nattie's body with careful precision so that she didn't stick her with a pin. I started doing a little edit on the photo that I'd taken, adding a black and white filter and a vintage effect before I uploaded it onto Instagram.

Bernie ignored me and continued making plans with Nattie for the wedding. I admired their pure enthusiasm for a wedding. I hadn't talked so excitedly about an event in forever. Their adolescent outlook on the 'trouble' that they could get into was so wholesome that it made me jitter with envious thoughts. What I would give to have such a thrilling outlook on a simple girls date with a friend. I loved spending time with Amalia but these girls were practically humming with anticipation. It was gorgeous.

Bernie's bedroom door opened when Bernie and Nattie had their heads together over one of their phone's. They laid side by side on their stomachs, I leaned against the headboard and they were gasping and clutching their hearts over comments on our latest Instagram post. Each new post seemed to gain more and more attention and the love was overflowing for her natural talent.

There was the occasional bitch who gave her negative and unwanted opinion. But I deleted them and blocked the user as fast as I could. Criticism was part of the business and Bernie would have to get used to cut throat opinions in this profession. But I still preferred to keep a clear and calming space for her. She was only thirteen after all.

Kiara was standing at the door, just home from work I suppose. She smiled at the three of us. I must have looked so odd hanging out with thirteen year olds as often as I could. But this was something that gave me a sense of purpose and I needed it more than I could explain. 

"Hey girls," Kiara twisted a fresh braid around her finger. "Nattie, do you need a ride home?"

"No," Bernie answered fast without looking up. "Can she please stay for dinner?"

Nattie's pale cheeks turned a bright pink and she looked at Kiara who was still smiling, despite Bernie being a little demanding. Amalia had noticed it too and put it down to the fact that she'd had no other mother figure in her life apart from Amalia. Bernie loved Kiara when she first came along. The two of them bonded over their love of fashion and clothing but things changed a bit when Kiara moved in and started pulling rank. Especially when Kiara caught her skipping school and gave her a talking to before she called Elias.

Bernie was at that awkward age where she wasn't young enough to just accept a step mother without question but she wasn't old enough to be totally independent yet either. It was a balancing act. Kiara was handling it well.

"Of course she can. Dad is still at work. He had to go to New York to go over a few things with Max. So he'll be a little late. Should we get a pizza?" 

Bernie shrugged, still scrolling. "Whatever Nattie wants."

"Pizza is fine," she answered quickly, nodding.

Kiara looked at me. "Pizza?"

"No thanks. I have to get going."

She nodded and left the room again.

On the train later that evening, I sat in a corner seat, hood up and head down as I text back and forth with Lucas about our plans for the summer. I was due back in Texas next week and I felt a familiar ball of tension at the thought of being around mom and dad for three months.

We should ask mom and dad if we can spend summer in Cali. Texas summer kills. It's too hot. There's tons of room at the Hermosa house.

I waited for Lucas to text me back with an argument but instead his caller ID lit up the screen and I sighed, putting my finger on the volume button so that I could turn it down as soon as I answered. I hated the thought of other passengers being able to hear whatever he had to say at the loudest possible volume.

"Hello?" Click, click, click, I turned him down just in time.

"What's up fucker?! When you said we spend the summer in Cali, who? Just us kids or mom and dad too?"

"Mom and dad too, obviously," I said without a lot of conviction. I kind of hoped that dad would tell us that work meant he couldn't leave Texas for the entire summer.

"Hmmm. Would there be enough room?"

I counted the rooms in my head. There were six. "Yeah plenty."

"Well I dibs the ground floor. The whole ground floor. For optimal privacy."

I scoffed. "Since when do you care about privacy?"

"Ew I don't want mom and dad to hear me fucking."

I pulled my hoodie further over my face and sighed. "Fair enough," I couldn't help but laugh. None of us actually wanted to hear each other, it was just usually a matter of not caring enough to stop once we started. I don't think we'd all been coupled up and under the same roof before. Not for an entire summer.

"Na it'll be cool to all be together in Cali for the summer. We should do it. Hopefully mom and dad can manage it. Aye what the fuck's up anyway? Still eating?"

I heard Mills in the background. "You fucking donkey. Give me that."

There was a muffled scuffling and a slap and then a threat and then Lucas hollering about my best friends hot ass and finally, she spoke.

"Ignore him. He's a muppet. How are things? I miss you."

I laughed. "Things are great. And you can tell Luc that I am most definitely eating. A lot. No need for concern. How are you? And classes and the potential vlog?"

"Oh that's kind of up in the air at the moment. Marnie told me she wants to do it but we'll probably circle back to it when I'm off for the summer. Classes are fine. Uh but—" Milly went quiet for a moment and I heard a door close in the background— "have you seen the E news update on Instagram this morning. The one about Avery."

I went still, watching the world rush past the window outside. Shit. "I haven't."

"Three more girls have come forward, claiming he raped or assaulted them or whatever. Abby, is there something that I should know?"

"No."

"I'm not stupid. He did something to you, didn't he?"

Usually, I would tell Milly everything. But in this case, I would ask her not to tell Lucas and that didn't seem like a fair position to put her in. I was surprised he hadn't found out already. Not that he paid a lot of attention to celebrity news unless it was about himself.

"There's nothing to tell," I smiled and hoped that she could hear it and it would hide the pang in my chest. I also hoped that dad hadn't seen it either. Mom no doubt would have and she'd have figured it out too. I was just waiting for her call at this point. "I have to go. My train is stopping."

"Train? Heard of car service?"

"Ugh. You've been with Lucas for too long."

"Ya know what," I heard the door open and close again. "Sometimes I think so too, bloody pain in my arse."

"Who is?!" I heard him shouting.

"You!"

"Well not right now, but I could be."

"Bye," I hung up and gagged. But a text came through a moment later. It was from Mills.

I don't believe a word you told me. But if you're not ready to talk about it, I understand. I'm here though. As soon as you want to chat, I'm on the first flight out. I love you so much.

Tears pricked at my eyes and I hated that I felt like such a fucking burden. This was the exact reason that I didn't want people to find out. They worried but I couldn't help but think that they felt like they had to worry. As if it was some friend duty and it was more of an inconvenience to them than anything. But it was the right thing to do, wasn't it? To be there for those who need it even if meant going out your way and taking on the emotions of someone else that you didn't really want.

If you didn't show up, you looked like an asshole. So was it genuine? Or just an obligation. I should have felt self assured that my friends wanted to be a shoulder to lean on. But it didn't stop me from feeling like a hassle.

I took a deep breath and opened the E news website to find the article. It was the seventh story down. They reported so often that stories got bumped fast. It gave me a little bit of hope.

Continuing this rapidly growing story of allegations against modelling agent Avery Hale, three more women have come forward in light of claims made against him after he suffered an assault a couple of weeks ago. The women, who have opted for name suppression, submitted a statement to police just before Avery's bail was set to go forth.

In these statements, the women claim different forms of assault which took place in the 57 year olds office which is located in upper Manhattan, New York. One of the women claimed that he offered her a three year, multi million dollar contract if she let him perform anal sex on her over his desk. The women declined, but admitted to offering Hale a blow job instead. Hale accepted but went on to perform anal sex on her against her wishes anyway. She was never granted the contract but she was threatened to remain quiet.

My vision blurred as I read what this woman went through. That could have been me. It made my stomach turn. But the part that had me seething with anger was the wording of this article. I tapped on the comments section and felt anger pulsing through me, hazing my vision and making my heart pound as I wrote a response.

Anal sex against her wishes?! It's called RAPE! Can you news outlets stop protecting these fucking RAPISTS and word it like it is. Quit watering it down! Do you think the girl who went through it can water it down? Water down the fact that she was raped !? You're not helping anyone except the filthy assholes that are doing this shit and getting away with it. Do better!

I swallowed and kept reading the article with shaking hands.

Amid the latest allegations which bring Avery's victim count up to four women, the court raised his bail to one point three million dollars. So far the modelling agent is still behind bars but his lawyer released a statement claiming that this is all a vicious attack from upset models that have a grudge against Hale for their dead end careers.

I scoffed and closed the article, furious at the entire situation. For a moment I considered walking right into the precinct, putting in a statement of my own and demanding that justice be found for the women in this shit show. But just as soon as the thought came, I cowered and felt myself cave to the fear of the media finding out. Dad finding out. A tear slipped down my cheek and I felt that familiar nauseous swirl in my stomach.

I made it off the train just in time to throw up in an alleyway.

The apartment was empty when I got home. There was a note scribbled on the bench top.

Met Max at the studio because he's working late. We're going to get dinner at Jolt. Join us! Reservations at eight. xx

I screwed up the note and threw it in the trash, passing the kitchen without bothering to get dinner. I went straight to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, getting rid of the after taste of vomit. There was a little voice demanding that I turn around and eat something but my body refused to move. I stared in the mirror and felt my breath rapidly becoming faster and faster. 

God, I'd put on so much weight. My face was rounder. My underarms were puffier around my bra straps. I turned side on and ran a hand across my front, flattening my sundress against my stomach, the little pouch protruding despite the fact that I'd skipped dinner.

"What the fuck," I snapped, resisting the urge to punch the mirror. My entire body vibrated in anger as I sunk to the floor and pinched my legs until it hurt. I hadn't been over eating. I'd been exercising. I'd been balanced with occasional treats and healthy options. And I still couldn't keep from becoming a fucking frumpy bitch. Tears streamlined down my cheeks and I pinched my legs harder until I broke the skin.

What was so fucking wrong with losing weight the way I wanted to? At least it worked. I was sick of working hard and still hating who I saw staring back at me. I got up onto my knees and lifted the toilet bowl lid, kneeling over it. I didn't bother grabbing a toothbrush, I stuck my fingers into my mouth, sliding over my tongue and toward the back of my throat.

"Abby?!"

I froze at the sound of dad's voice shouting for me.

"Abby?!"

I quickly stood up and looked in the mirror. Shit, I was a wreck. I wiped my face and grabbed Amalia's tinted moisturiser. It was a shade too dark but it would hide my red cheeks. If I didn't move fast, dad would bust this door down. I rubbed it all over my face and swung the door open, meeting him in the middle of the living room.

He looked distraught.

"What are you doing here?"

"What's going on?" He looked behind me at the bathroom and I refrained from telling him to fuck off.

"Nothing. I was just about to have a shower."

He exhaled and rested his hands on his hips as he swallowed and looked around the room without focusing at all.

"What are you doing here, dad?"

He was quiet for a minute but then he looked at me and I knew that he knew.

"I saw it on the news, Abby," he was speaking slow, restrained, possibly afraid that he'd trigger me into fight or flight. He was right. I was not coping. "The allegations of rape, assault."

I clasped my hands together and shook. This could not be happening.

"And then I started thinking about the fact that I'm not a perfect parent, I'm not, I admit that, but I like to believe that I always raised my children to be proud of who they are and what they're doing with their lives. To love themselves. I know, I know the daughter that I've watched grow up would never need to change her body to feel validated. I know you so damn well and I know that isn't you. You've been the most confident little princess from the moment you were born. So what happened? Did he— did he ra—"

"No!" I shouted and put my clenched fists in front of my eyes.

"Abby!" He shouted back. "Tell me the truth." His voice dropped to a pleading whisper. "Please."

"No," I broke. Snapped. My legs almost gave out. Suddenly, I just didn't have the strength to lie. "Not— it was— there was indecent—"

"Abby," he sounded as though he'd been winded. He stepped forward and drew me into a hug that threatened to suffocate me but I didn't care. I didn't care at all that I could barely breathe, or that I was crying so hard his T-shirt would end up drenched or that he was keeping me upright because my legs were failing.

The weight off that I felt at the fact that my dad knew the truth was a bigger relief than I could have imagined. I hadn't realised how much tension I was holding just by keeping this secret from him. I had no idea that sharing the truth would in turn share this pain and as much as I didn't want him to hold it, I felt so much lighter than I could have dreamed possible. The revelation brought on a new set of tears.

"You should have told me," his voice was trembling and I knew that he was crying as well. He held my head, his words muffled by my hair. "Honey, why didn't you tell me?"

"I just knew how guilty you felt about what happened to Aunt Abby and I didn't want to put you through that again, dad. I didn't."

"Yeah I did shoulder that guilt for a long time. And there are still some moments where I think, what if I'd done something differently. I've learned to live with all of those emotions," he leaned back, still holding me but forcing me to meet his red rimmed stare. It hurt to see him so upset. "But this is different, Princess. I wasn't anywhere near New York when this happened. I couldn't have known what was going on. I know that. The thing that I feel guilty about is the fact that you went through that, and you felt like you couldn't come to me about it. I didn't get to support you. That's what hurts. You're my little girl, Abby. You can come to me about anything."

"I'm sorry dad," I blubbered. "I just didn't want to hurt you."

"No. You couldn't. You couldn't ever hurt me. I want to be there for you. All the time. Whatever you need. All I want is to support you. It would hurt more to know that you were going through something like that without me."

We moved to the couch and sat down, he kept his arm around my shoulder and I sank into his side.

"You're being very calm," I sobbed, wiping my face. "I'm surprised you're not on a man hunt right now."

He chuckled but it sounded strained. "You think I wouldn't love to find that fuck? I want to— na I can't even explain what I want to do to him. It might give you nightmares. But you're my priority. All I want is to help."

I nodded and wiped my nose with the bottom of my dress. Gross.

"Please come home?" He said, holding me a bit tighter. "Whether you want to go to the police, or not, this whole thing with that bastard is going to be followed in the media. Come home and let us be there while it happens. Please? I promise that I won't be weird with mom."

I laughed and looked at him. "Dad, that doesn't bother me. I just said that it did as an excuse. I actually love that you and mom are so happy after so long. I want that."

"You deserve it too."

I liked that he didn't promise that I would have it. He couldn't promise something like that and he knew it. As much as he loved Flynn, he couldn't guarantee happily ever after.

"I just— it was so hard to be around you and mom and lie about what had happened. It made me feel sick with guilt. I don't know. I hated knowing that I wasn't being honest but I was also scared of you finding out and being upset so I jus—"

"It's okay," he mumbled and kissed my head. "I understand. Just think about coming home?"

"I'd love to come home, dad."