just imagine me away (tronnor)

1.7

Emily

Troye gripped my hand tightly as a doctor spoke to his dad. "Are you scared?"

He shrugged, and opened my palm, so he could do his version of talking.

CAN I TALK

"Of course you can, Tro."

He smiled. "Thanks," he croaked. "And yeah, I'm scared."

"About what?" I shifted to look at him. 

"School. The teachers. Will they make me talk?" For your sake, Troye, I hope not.

I shrugged. "They make everyone else talk. I guess that if you or the doctor or someone explained then you wouldn't have to. Or, if you're in my classes, I could talk for you."

He grinned and chuckled a little. "People wouldn't think it was weird?"

"They would think it's very weird, but they could get over it."

"Well, I think I want to be normal. So I'll talk." I smiled encouragingly, well I hope it looked that way. 

"Okay, Troye," a doctor, I think his name is Dr. Matthews, said to the two of us. "So, congratulations, you're pretty much functioning normally again." He smiled, but it felt fake. "And you've been getting voice lessons, right?"

Troye nodded. "That's great. It's always good for someone recovering to move on as much as they can. Anyways, so if your dad agrees, then school is definitely a viable option. The nearest middle school has a great program for students coming out of being home schooled, so you'll fit right in. Unfortunately, your voice is still going to be the way that it is now, except, apparently, when you sing." (idk if this is in anyway medically accurate, but go with it)

"So I'll never sound normal again?"

"It's not likely, no." That was code for: yeah, you'll sound awful for the rest of your life. "But you can do everything else normally, but your muscles are still weak so build up to things like sports. Keep going with the physical therapy. Take breaks." Troye nodded, and we listen for awhile longer until Dr. Matthews finally finished talking about all of Troye's limitations. 

I called my mom after talking with Troye about nothing for awhile more. "Mom?"

"Emily? What happened?"

"Uh, well, Troye's coming to school tomorrow."

"I'm coming over." Then she hung up. 

"Hey, Troye?" I walked into his room. He looked up and reached out for my hand, then thought better of it.

"Yeah?"

I smiled at his newfound almost confidence. "I think my mom's coming over to yell at you about tomorrow. Give you instructions and whatever for tomorrow and prep for Connor."

"Prep? B-but I've known him since - No. No, uh. Wait." His face fell. "Oh. Right, sorry, I keep forgetting." He tripped over his words, like he was reading a script he was rewriting as he spoke.

"So does he," I whisper. "I'm sorry that you're going to have to avoid your best friend."

He swallows and looks down, not letting me see how upset that I know he is. "It is okay. I mean, I haven't seen him since we were five. Besides. You're my best friend."

I smile.

- - - -

My phone screen lights up with a picture of Connor holding two cats up to his face. "Hey," I said, picking up the phone call.

"So, uh, where are you?"

"Jonas', still," I lied flawlessly. After eight years of it, lying to Connor was somehow easy and I hated it.

"Then why'd Mom rush off to go see you?"

"Uh, he gave me a test thingy and I didn't do so well, so she and him are in the other room like talking over some sort of curriculum." Behind me, there was the faint sound of Mom talking Troye through the lie and avoiding Connor and Connor's schedule and everything that he absolutely needed to know. Why did she have to talk so loudly?

I step into the living room so Connor couldn't hear. "Okay, fun." In the background, I could hear someone yelling something. "Okay, I have to go now, but yeah, I just wanted to find out what was so upsetting. See ya, Em."

"See ya, Con."

- - - -

There are two names in my life that are forbidden around certain people. At what I call home, say "Troye" out loud and instantly there's an overprotective mother, a father that honestly could care less, and a girl tired of it all, crawling over your words and twisting them into something exactly one person believes, blotting out the name entirely. Here, say "Connor" and bring back memories better left buried, start a conversation that no one wants to finish, encourage dreams that can't come true. So I just call both of them "he". 

He keeps forgetting. At night, he remembers. In the morning, he wants to. Every other second, Troye is a dream.

He keeps forgetting. At night, he falls asleep and forgets. In the morning, he doesn't care - or doesn't want to, anyway. Every other second, Connor is just out of reach.

The way I see it, there's two choices here.

Stay within the borders of sanity and keep Troye for myself. Or, disobey my parents and set up - as friends or more, who knows - Troye with my brother, who could possibly have a mental breakdown if the two ever met.

I know what I want to do.