The Expansion of the Universe {Completed}

Sixty-Six | "I'm about to cry like a little bitch."

"Do you have a piece of paper?" Whitney asked several days later, her face fuzzy on the screen of Elijah's computer as she moved around, as though looking for something herself.

"Yeah," Liza said, flashing several pieces of blank paper at the camera. She was in Elijah's office, since the man was out grocery shopping, and was thankful for his many supplies. Milo, whose head was resting on her lap, peered up at the paper curiously before closing his eyes and dozing back off.

"Good. Oh, here's mine." Whitney settled again, her head tilted down for a second before her sharp blue eyes found Liza's through the video camera. "And a pen?"

"Yup."

"Very good. Alright, let's make some lists."

"What are we listing?" The activity wasn't one with which Liza was unfamiliar. When she and Whitney discussed weekly or monthly goals, the conversation usually involved the creation of a list, even if it was only created mentally. As Whitney often said, "Making a list means our goals are tangible, and gives us something to work towards. When you complete a task, you cross it off the list, so it's one less thing to do."

"I'd like you to think beyond what we normally focus on," Whitney started, pushing her glasses further up her nose. "There is no time limit yet for this list; I would just like you to write it. Do you remember when we first began our sessions, and the list I had you make?"

It took a minute for Liza to recall the memory, but once she had, she grimaced. "Yeah, I remember." Shortly after Whitney had become her full-time therapist, the doctor had asked Liza, "Would you write down the goal you want to achieve through our sessions?" And Liza had written down. Only, it had been one goal, and it had been born of naivete and desperation:

I want to be normal, she had written. When Whitney had read the sloppy handwriting, it was the first time that Liza saw the woman's normally impassive face form what could be called a displeased frown.

"Now that you have made so much progress, and we have been meeting for a longer period, I would like you to ask yourself the same question: What goals or goals would you like to achieve through our sessions?"

This time, instead of writing down the first and only thought, Liza truly considered the question.

What did she want to achieve? As both Whitney and Elijah—Hell, even her mom—pointed out, "normal," was subjective, and she would never realistically be back to "normal" again. Now that she had gained some perspective and matured since the accident, she understood that.

Still, she also realized that it was possible to function, even if it wasn't in a "normal" fashion. She could still enjoy life. She could have a boyfriend. She could go on walks when she felt comfortable enough. She could call her mom and even have the woman over for dinner. She could mediate most of her panic attacks before they became debilitating. She could rationalize possible events and theories in order to stay grounded.

She could be happy. She was happy.

So, what did she have left to achieve?

After a moment, her pen moved over her paper as she put her thoughts down. Several minutes slipped by, in which there was silence only broken occasionally by the sound of a pen clicking or paper crinkling.

When Liza finished, she set her pen down with a quiet thud of noise. On the computer screen, Whitney glanced up from her own writing with a small smile. "Finished?" The woman asked.

Liza nodded. "Are you?" Whitney rarely spoke about what she wrote down when they did these lists together, but Liza knew the focus was always on her during their sessions, and so she never pried into the woman's own thoughts unless she readily offered them. Hell, for all Liza knew, Whitney simply scribbled shapes onto the paper so it seemed as if she was doing something.