The Expansion of the Universe

Six | "Woof."

"I'm very glad to hear you made a friend, Liza," Dr. Whitney told her later—the following morning, maybe? Time was always slipping from her—after Liza had woken from her unconscious stupor to Elijah's worried questions of, "Are you alright, window-girl? You've been quieter than normal, and I'm getting worried."

She'd spouted off some vague response—"I have to go. I have to go."—before scurrying away from the door and returning with Milo to the safety of her bedroom. She hadn't moved, her eyes stuck on the ceiling, tracing the lines formed by paint as though she was following the movement of something else.

Something like a plane.

When her laptop had started pinging with the noise from the video chat software she and Whitney used, Liza had forced herself out of bed, creeping warily past the oak door and settling at the table with shaky limbs.

She and Whitney had started their regularly schedule meeting as they always did. Whitney had asked, "How was your week, Liza? The weather's been beautiful; I hope you got to enjoy it." Liza replied that she'd loved being outside in the backyard with Milo, Dr. Whitney had passed her a gracious smile, and then Liza had changed their normal routine by blurting out the words, "I met someone."

Even though that someone was just like everyone else. A pilot. God, she should've known.

Dr. Whitney had watched her carefully for several moments, no doubt wondering if perhaps Liza's isolated lifestyle was finally causing issues with her mental state, before passing Liza a careful, "That's very good news, Liza. Can you tell me about this 'someone?' I'd love to hear about him or her."

And so Liza had caught Dr. Whitney up on the events that had led to this moment, in which she was torn between memories of Elijah's laugh and the sound of bones being crushed into a morbid powder by multiple tons of metal.

"I notice that you used past tense to describe all your interactions with your friend," Whitney mused. "Did something happen recently, Liza?"

Yes.

Something big had happened, actually.

She shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable, and began to scratch at her sweatpants-covered thighs absently. Milo was there in the next instant, tucking his head in between her fingers and their targets to keep her from scratching herself until she bled.

"He's a pilot," she admitted finally, her voice coated with emotion.

He had been so nice.

Why was there always a flaw?

Always, always, always.

Whitney hummed, but Liza could tell, even through a computer screen, that the woman was carefully plotting her next words.

"When he told you that," the older woman started finally, "what did you do in response?"

Liza's fingers, which had been running through Milo's fur, started to move even faster as she was forced to confront her shameful handling of the interaction. "I left. I told him goodbye and I left." She hadn't even really told him goodbye, and she could feel her face flush with her embarrassment.

Of course she'd handled it poorly—she handled everything poorly.

Everything.

"What light do you see him in now that you know about his occupation?"

She cleared her throat. "It's . . . it's a flaw. It's bad. I can't talk to him anymore."

She wasn't sure if he was still going to visit, since she hadn't given him a chance to tell her the previous day, and she definitely didn't know what she would do if he did come by.