The Expansion of the Universe {Completed}

Sixty-Two | "You're terrible."

Liza knew she was close to breaking. She knew that.

Still, she'd failed to consider just how quickly the feelings of doom, anxiety, and frustration that had been welling in the back of her mind would reach a breaking point.

It happened in the middle of the night.

Elijah, who had returned from his flight safely the previous day, was asleep on the couch instead of the chair, for once. He'd tried to fit on the bed beside her, but Milo had been just as stubborn as the man, and refused to move from his spot. Elijah had been forced to surrender with a pout, and had made his usual bed on the reclining chair that was flush against her bed.

Liza had insisted that he at least try the small, two-person couch that was pressed against the room's window. It was minimally more comfortable than the chair, and allowed him a little more room. He was curled up on the rubber cushions in the fetal position, though his feet were still sticking up and out over the armrest.

His snores echoed around the room, but instead of giving her comfort as they usually did, the sound grated on her ears.

That was the first indication that her sanity was finally splintering.

The second came from Milo. Sweet, loving Milo, whose fur was suddenly hot and suffocating where it rested against her side.

Third was the IV in her right arm. She'd been unconscious when they placed it, and it was easy to forget about normally.

Not now.

Now, she stared at the plastic cannula of the device, noting the way it slipped under her skin and into one of her veins. A foreign object. Something that wasn't supposed to be there. Something that didn't belong.

Like metal. Like shrapnel. Like fire.

Was something burning?

She couldn't breathe.

Slapping a hand to her chest, she rubbed at her sternum frantically.

Was she breathing? She thought so. She was, right? She was breathing?

She couldn't tell. Oh, God, she couldn't tell!

The world was too small. It was confining. Like the cockpit of a plane. She felt as though she was falling. Was she falling? She still couldn't tell if she was breathing!

Pressure against her chest. Something cold and moist against her cheek. A low whine.

Wait. Wait, what?

Fur tickling her skin. Comforting weight over her and against her, reminding her that she was not falling. Grounding her.

Milo.

Her dog, Milo.

She focused on the weight of his body atop hers, counting her breaths, her eyelids clenched shut tight.

One, two, three, inhale. Four, five, six, exhale.

Her fingers gripped Milo's soft fur tightly.

Inhale. Exhale. Count breaths. Inhale, exhale. Count. Inhale, exhale.

Focus on something else.

What was there to hear?

The IV pump that was delivering fluids. The slow swishing as it pumped liquids into her. The steady rumble of the air conditioning above her head.

Elijah's snores—

Wait.

She tried to listen for the sound of his snorting, but the noise was suddenly absent.