The Expansion of the Universe

One | "Someone's moving in."

Her fingers shook as she fiddled with the torn fabric of her ratty sweatpants.

It was kind of funny, that they were so old and yet she refused to get rid of them. Her mom would probably be horrified if she saw the state of them, covered with holes and at least three sizes too large on her skinny frame.

She traced a wrinkle in the fabric, following it over her bent knee and then back up to the bottom of her thigh.

Down and back.

Down and back.

Down and—

"Liza?"

Her head snapped up, and her hazel eyes landed on the screen of her old MacBook, where a woman in her sixties with cropped gray hair and glasses watched her with sharp, intelligent blue eyes.

Liza cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. Even though she'd been conducting video calls with Dr. Whitney for the past six months, she still struggled to remain unbothered when the older woman's eyes were trained on her, picking her apart until she was reduced to nothing but her flaws and buried emotions. "Sorry," she muttered quietly, "what'd you say?"

Dr. Whitney spared her a kind smile. "I asked if you'd gone outside at all since we talked last week."

Liza cleared her throat and shifted in her seat once more, as though repeating the action would help. "Yes. I did."

The psychologist on the other end of the screen saw, as usual, directly through her vague responses. "And how long were you outside?"

To her credit, Liza didn't shuffle in her seat this time; instead, she began to pick at her fingernails rather incessantly, determined not to give anything away to those knowing blue eyes. "About ten minutes."

"How far did you get from your house?"

God damn it.

"I went to the end of the street and back." She refrained from mentioning that she made it to the end of the street only to see one of her neighbors on an afternoon jog, and had booked it back to her condo, where she'd collapsed against the wall and struggled to fight off a panic attack.

The only reason she hadn't entirely fallen into despair was due to the same comforting nose she felt just then, nudging against her side as if to ask, "Are you okay?"

She sucked in a breath through her nose, both hands delving in to the soft fur of her collie, Milo, who was ever-present and supportive.

Which, she supposed, was his job. Still, he was quite good at it, and she appreciated his dedication.

On the screen, Dr. Whitney hummed thoughtfully, which Liza knew to mean that, while she wasn't disappointed, the woman still wanted to see further improvement. "Could you remind me of what we spoke about?"

Liza swallowed heavily, the hand petting Milo's brown and white fur growing faster in rhythm along with her heartrate. "Sure." Realizing she sounded snippy and feeling her chest grow tight, Liza's fingers curled up tightly against Milo's fur, and the dog granted her a sympathetic, understanding whine as he nudged her again, harder this time. Her free hand moved to join the one already in her dog's hair, and she took comfort in his warmth and gentle breathing. "Sorry," she told Dr. Whitney again, and the woman passed her a gracious smile. "We talked about being brave, even if just for a minute."

"And did you feel brave when you walked down the street?"

"No," Liza blurted before she could stop herself, her eyes tracing the large spot that covered Milo's left eye. "I was terrified and shaky and everyone was looking at me and it sucked." She heaved in a steadying breath of air, taking a peek at the computer to find Dr. Whitney eyeing her thoughtfully.