The Expansion of the Universe

Interlude

"You have to ask yourself a question, Liza."

Liza studiously avoided Whitney's scrutinizing gaze through the laptop screen, even as she hummed her acknowledgement of the woman's words.

"Here it is: 'What do I expect to gain from therapy?'"

Liza scowled. She didn't like that question.

Doctor Whitney had told her that honesty was essential if this was to work out, though, so: "I don't like that question."

Whitney chuckled, and Liza spared the woman a glance. She was still getting used to that bland, half-smile that the woman typically wore; it was so perfectly devoid of judgement and other emotion that Liza was almost unsettled by the sight of it. "I don't believe anyone does," the doctor explained. "It is an uncomfortable question, Liza, and it's meant to be that way. We, as humans, dislike it when we are forced to finally face the obstacle haunting us and state, out loud, what we anticipate we will do about conquering it.

"When we say these things out loud, we are essentially holding ourselves accountable with our words. It's much easier to ignore what makes us uncomfortable when we don't need to talk about it with others."

"I'd certainly like to ignore it," Liza agreed.

"Yes, but I'm afraid I won't be allowing that." Whitney said, and Liza wondered if perhaps she detected the slightest hint of humor in the other woman's voice?

Huh. Maybe Doctor Whitney had some personality, after all.

"Okay, fine," Liza grumbled, chewing at her lower lip as she considered the question her therapist had asked.

What did she want out of therapy?

Really, that question went hand-in-hand with the very thing she'd been asking herself since waking up in the hospital after the plane crash.

What did she want to do with life? That was what she'd been given, after all, for whatever reason: Life.

So, what did she want out of life, now that she'd had more than a small taste of death?

Why was she so determined to complete therapy, even though everything sucked and she knew therapy would suck even more, if only because she was daunted by facing her many issues.

What did she want?

She couldn't have her friends back. Mitchell Pierce had made sure of that.

She couldn't have her old life back. Realistically, there was no way in hell she could go back to how she'd been living before the accident.

She couldn't go back to the way things had been. It was impossible.

But, maybe she could seek out something else. Something more tangible, though it would still likely be a hellish ride to achieve it.

"I'd like . . ." she paused, blowing out a heavy sigh. "I'd like to make progress, I guess. Progress towards living without fear of, well, everything."

"What would this progress include?"

Damn Whitney, with all her stupidly relevant questions.

"I want to go outside again, to start."

Whitney hummed her encouragement, pushing her glasses up her nose as she watched Liza carefully, no doubt searching for any signs of a lie.

"I'd like to call people again, even if it's just my mom."

Another hum.

"And . . . I'd like to make friends again, I guess. Or, at least one. Just to have . . . I don't know, a connection with someone." The thought was horrifying. How could she possibly seek to connect with anyone after the actions of a stranger had altered her life immeasurably?

Still, it was something she wanted to do. As scary as it was, she missed having a close friend. Someone to talk to, and with whom she could share secrets and inside jokes. Someone like Tim, if Tim hadn't been ripped from her—

Wait. Focus.

"I . . . I'd like to be able to trust again."

"I think those are all excellent goals of progress," Whitney said, her smile this time actually showing some amount of genuine pleasure.

"They're a start," Liza agreed after a beat of silence. "But I'm not betting too hard on reaching them."

"Oh? Why's that?" The gleam in the doctor's eyes said she knew exactly why that was.

"Well, Doc," Liza was unable to keep the derision from her tone, "I can't even go outside, and people scare the crap out of me. The outlook's dim."

Whitney just hummed again, damn her. "Maybe not right now, but I think your progress will surprise you. Not to mention, you may not have to go far; we often make connections with others when and where we least expect it."

"Sure." Liza was not convinced. "We'll see."

"We will," Whitney agreed, and that was that.