The Expansion of the Universe

Twelve | "Is that smoke?"

Liza feared that, after the way she'd brushed him off during their last meeting, Elijah wouldn't return to her door for weeks, or perhaps even months.

She should have known, of course, that he was far nicer than most would be in the same situation.

The three knocks that came the following day were a pleasant surprise, the noise so welcome that she nearly vaulted off her bed and flew to the front door with Milo on her heels when she heard it.

When her feet stalled just before the oak, she paused.

She knew what she needed to say to him, but she had no clue how to say it.

Where was she even meant to begin? "I'm sorry for being so weird, but I suffer from severe panic attacks and a bucketload of mental health issues from a horrible accident that I don't want to discuss at the moment, so if you would just wait around for God-knows-how-long until I become a bit more sane than I would really appreciate it"?

Yeah, that didn't sound so great.

"Doll?" His tone was so soft and inviting that she wanted nothing more than to turn it into a blanket and curl into it. He paused, no doubt waiting for her to answer.

Liza opened her mouth, but no words came out, and she inwardly cursed.

Of all moments to lose her voice!

"Doll," Elijah repeated, the endearment followed by a hard sigh before another knock echoed through the door. However, the sound wasn't his normal "hello." Rather, it was the odd pattern he'd taught her: Knock, pause, knock, wait, wait, wait, knock.

A single step forward left her with her fingers against the smooth wood, and she raised on timid hand, curled it into a fist, and repeated the pattern. Knock, pause, knock, wait, wait, wait, knock.

She could almost feel the relief emanating from her neighbor-turned-friend. "There's my girl," he breathed, and she shot Milo a panicked glance.

Why had he called her that?! And, wait, why did she not mind it?!

Oh, God, she felt like she was back in high school, when all the kids had lost their minds when their crush so much as farted in their direction.

"Hi, Elijah," she murmured. "Are . . ." she sucked in her lips, unsure of how he would respond to her next question. God, she was lucky he'd even shown up again, for goodness' sake! "Are you okay?"

Her newest friend laughed, but there was no joy in the sound, and she flinched, preparing herself for the oncoming scolding. Instead of being berated, all she received was: "Am I okay? Shit in a boot, doll, forget about me; I've been worried to Hell about you. Are you okay?"

And in one quick sentence, Elijah reminded her that he was far more understanding than she gave him credit for.

A smile tugging at her lips, she replied, "I'm okay. I'm sorry for worrying you." Now came the hard part: "I-I wasn't feeling well."

The thud of Elijah's back sliding down the front of the door was accompanied by a derisive scoff. "No shit, Liza." His voice softened. "I know there's more to it than that, you know. You can talk to me, if you'd like. No pressure, of course."

She blew out a slow, loaded breath. "I don't know how to talk about it. I haven't even talked about it with my therapist—not really, anyway." They'd discussed the general points, but Liza had yet to delve into the deeper, more specific and haunting details. "She knows because, um," she shifted uneasily on her feet, wanting to sit down to mirror him but terrified of being trapped; she was about ready to start pacing as it was. "Because, well, uh, be-because she found out from the news and my past therapist and all my damned doctors and—" she cut herself off before she unraveled, clenching and unclenching her fists by her sides in the hope of feeling in control of something.