The Expansion of the Universe

Thirty-Six | "I just want you to be safe."

All the doors leading into her house were locked. The blinds were closed, and the lights were off.

If anyone drove by, they would think that the condo was entirely devoid of life.

She'd used a keyhole lock on the main lock of the front door, so Elijah wouldn't be able to enter using the key she had so foolishly given him.

The backdoor was only unlocked long enough to allow Milo into the backyard, but she stayed inside while he was out. Just in case.

She refused to sit on the couch, in case he was outside and trying to peer through the windows. Instead, she and Milo were holed up in the master bedroom, where she kept that door locked, as well, when they were inside.

Just in case.

Her laptop and phone were in the kitchen, untouched and likely both with drained batteries. She hadn't bothered to charge them.

She didn't know what time it was, or even the day.

Elij—her neighbor had returned to his condo on a Saturday afternoon. So, it may have still been the weekend, or perhaps it was the following week. Her stomach hadn't been cramping too badly with hunger, though, so she was guessing that it hadn't been more than a day or two since the incident.

Not that it mattered. She was trying not to think about it too much, because—if she did—she would have another panic attack, and she'd had plenty since she'd been yelled at.

Still, it didn't take long for the knocking to come: Knock, pause, knock, wait, wait, wait, knock.

She didn't even move to the door, choosing to remain tucked away in her room, where she knew it was safe.

Safe, safe, safe.

She tucked the blanket tighter around her shoulders, in an effort to cocoon herself from the outside universe, which had become a terrifying behemoth once more.

Knock, pause, knock, wait, wait, wait, knock.

No. No, no, no, no.

Not a man. Not a man who was a pilot, who yelled and slammed his hand against things. No, no, no.

That meant he had a hidden temper. A temper was bad. A temper caused people to make poor, impulsive decisions that led to death and crashes and sadness and crying and—no, no, no, no, no!

Knock, pause, knock, wait, wait, wait, knock.

No.

She didn't move. The knocking continued, every ten minutes for a total of four-hundred and thirty minutes, before the world went silent once more.

Elijah must have given up. Good.

Liza moved sideways, catching Milo's gaze and blinking when she took note of the water bottle in his mouth and the granola bar he had already dropped on the comforter beside her.

She wasn't hungry, or even thirsty, but she knew that basic needs were still a necessity, and she forced both the items down her throat, giving Milo a hoarse, "Thanks," and a scratch under the chin in return.

Curling back into her ball, she shut her eyes tightly.

Drifting in and out of these post-traumatic hazes was always disturbing. She could never determine what was real and what was a memory, leaving her feeling as though she was experiencing the crash all over again.

Her muscles were taut with fear, and every little noise in the house echoed within her skull, vibrating down her spine and causing the pace of her heart to escalate, until the pounding of the blood through her veins was just as loud as everything else.