2 kids

Unfair.

Alex.

I stare from the doorway, contemplating whether I should turn around and tiptoe away, or offer a helping hand.

I've caught Sophie vomiting for the third time in two days, seen her struggle walking and doing hard physical activities, witnessed the breathlessness attacking her suddenly, observed the colour leaving her face, heard her cough her lungs out and watched her get bruised suspiciously too easily followed with a small stream of blood.

Whatever's happening with her is leaving me worried and confused. Worried for my friend and confused as to why she hasn't said anything.

The seconds I hesitate to make a decision, unable to decide whether I should prick into her privacy, or leave her alone, are enough for Sophie to sense she's not alone.

With the significant red hair of hers, now pulled in a messy ponytail and looking somehow too thin and fragile, she's kneeling before the toilet. Hands wrapped around the seat to steady herself, and panting heavily. I can't quite recognise the version of her I'm seeing now. Looking so vulnerable and hurt, almost broken. And it's not the physical part of it, it's the despair and pain in her eyes. No hints of her never ending hope I always loved to spot in that light blue colour.

Since she has already noticed me, I close the door and kneel by her side. My hand automatically goes to rub her back, something I've never understood why people do when others are pouring their stomachs out in the most disgusting way possible. I suppose it has a calming effect on the brain.

"What's going on, Soph?"

It's enough I stumbled upon her back home in New York, looking far from her usual self and blaming it on a heartbreak. While those can be truly wicked and cause your heart unimaginable pain, Sophie's not the type to easily let a departure of her former lover break her like this.

"Nothing," she whispers. "I must have eaten something that –"

With that another round of puking starts. Tears stream down her face, and I sit with her in silence. Wondering what bad food she must have consumed if she's the only one vomiting. Though I want to believe her with my whole heart, I can't. I know there's something more, something utterly disturbing to her words. Something I should rather wish to now know, yet for some reason am drawn to.

And then it hits me.

"Are you.." I struggle getting the words out, rethinking my own question. It's unlikely, almost near impossible, but still I ask. "Are you pregnant?"

I've caught her in a moment where her stomach is giving her a single minute of rest. The faintest shadow of a resemblance of a smile coats her lips, never reaching her eyes, as she shakes her head. "God no. I wouldn't have drank last night."

"Are you hungover?"

"I wish."

If it's not alcohol, and it's not a surprising teen pregnancy then I've run out of ideas. Possibilities. All that's left in my brain is worry.

With a vomiting Sophie on my right, I think back to the day we first met. She was so different from the woman she is today. Small, fragile, and so scared to even keep eye contact for more than three seconds. I still vividly remember how her eyes frantically scanned the room, in search of nothing particular. She stood by the door frozen, not moving. So still I expected her to pass out any second.

She came with Violet, a girl I hadn't known for long either. Back then even Cal's place was different. More friendlier faces, more people I knew. It was a place where people didn't only come to hide and drink and get high. Conversations actually filled the different areas and people knew each other. Everyone in that place accepted each other and had each other's backs. Somehow they did. The older kids looked after the younger ones.