Death Sentence

1.

Emily Watson was not a small person. She filled up a room when she entered it, exponentially expanding and laughing loud enough to be heard miles away. She had a way of dragging people into a topic, of drawing them closer and convincing them, with a low murmur and a wink, that they didn't have to stay if they didn't want to - but God did she want them to. She was the kind of girl you think should end up somewhere, just because of the way they are, but you never really notice if they do anything with their life. They must, you think to yourself, because look how they act. Look who they're surrounded with. It's in their nature to succeed.

Now, she was sitting in a small booth in the local coffee shop with her ring-adorned fingers curled around a lukewarm to-go cup. She was drawn in on herself, dark eyes peering out nervously from below yesterday's mascara-lashes. Her bottom lip was bright red and swollen - and if Nicholas Morrison looked close enough, he could see the indentations her front teeth left.

"So," Emily said. She tucked a short strand of hair behind her ear.

"So," Nicholas agreed.

"So." She took a sip - she'd only put a single packet of stevia in, but she still pursed her lips at the bitterness as though she's expected it to magically sweeten. "Why?"

The barista called Nicholas' name then, and he shot up to get in. When he returned with a black coffee and a fistful of miniature creamers, Emily had set aside her drink and was picking at her acrylic nails.

"What were we talking about?"

She rolled her eyes. "We weren't."

He popped the lid off of the cup. "I figured you would have questions. You never liked to stay silent."

"Yeah," Emily said bitterly, "And you never got over that, did you? We can't all be brooding Renaissance men."

Nicholas peeled back the wrapper and poured the creamer in. Then another, and another. He had used up all six packets before he spoke: "I don't want to fight."

"First time for everything."

"Emmy," he said softly, and she flinched. "I'm... sick."

Her mouth dropped open and she bolted upright. But it wasn't pity in her eyes: it was pure, unadulterated rage. She slammed both her hands on the table; it shook, and a few hipsters glanced up from their poetry books. Emily leaned forward and hissed out, "I swear to God, Nicholas, if you gave me fucking AIDS, or, Jesus Christ, gonorrhea or - fuck. I swear, I don't know what I'll-"

"God, it's been two years; if I'd given you something you'd know by now, don't you think?" He shook his head and quirked his lips up in a small, twisted smile. "No need to worry about yourself; it's a prion disease, it's genetic."

She raised her eyebrows.

Nicholas sipped his coffee. "I have maybe two years, if I'm lucky. I can't pronounce its actual name - it's GSS, if you remember from microbio."

She blanched, opened her mouth, and snapped it shut again. After a few heartbeats of silence, Emily finally managed to say, hesitantly, "And you called me to...? Make amends?"

"What? No, of course not. My car was towed, I need someone to drive me to my doctor's appointment. It's in," he tapped his phone, "Thirty minutes." He smiled that smile again. "I figured you wouldn't say no to a dying man if you only had to deal with me for half an hour, otherwise I would've invited you out for brunch or something. Do people still brunch? Is that a thing?"

Goddammit, Nick, she thought.

"It's about twenty minutes away, though, we might as well get going. Traffic, you know?"

Emily pushed her sweatshirt sleeves up to her elbows and placed them on the table. She clasped her hands together and then rested her chin on them, looking like a CEO about to support a merger instead of an almost-graduated college kid with only two hundred and twenty-four dollars to her name. "And you think that I'd do that? Drive you?"

Nick furrowed his brow and counted the patterns in the wood grain of the table as he thought. He looked back up. "Well, yeah."

"I took the bus here," Emily said.

"Ah. Well." He drank the rest of his coffee in one go. "This is awkward. You don't have a car? You used to."

She shook her head.

"Well, it's forty minutes if we speed-walk. Maybe an hour if we take our time. And it's not like the doctor's gonna tell me something I don't know, anyway." Nick stood up. "Ready?"

Emily leaned back against the wooden booth. Damn hipsters, it used to be cushioned. Aesthetics didn't beat out comfort. "Ready for what? I already told you, I didn't drive here. You can go to your appointment by yourself now, no need to involve me. It's not like we stayed in touch."

"We're friends on Facebook," Nick said. "And you still follow me on Instagram. That's friendship."

"You don't follow me back, though."

He grimaced exaggeratedly. "Shit, you noticed?"

She nodded silently. Nick grabbed her drink off the table and took a sip. He grimaced again.

"That's disgusting."

"It's mine, I don't need your prion germs in there."

"Fuck off, it's in my DNA."

"Saliva has DNA, plus you backwash."

Nick gaped. "No, I don't. That's disgusting, you're disgusting. Liar."

"Don't talk to me about lying," she said quietly.

Nick rolled his eyes and put her drink back down. "Are you coming, or not?" He smoothed some imaginary wrinkles out of his Black Sabbath tee shirt.

Emily's hair caught in the light - she'd dyed it purple a few week back, and it had mostly faded to red now, but when the fluorescents hit it just right you could still see violet. "I'd rather not. I'm genuinely sorry for you, and if you set up a GoFundMe or something I'll check it out, but I can't open that chapter of my life again, Nick. I'm sorry."

"Yes, you could. It's your choice, and it's one doctor's appointment. I need moral support, I'll look like a loser in front of the whole nursing staff if no one comes with me."

She laughed the only way she knew how - loudly. A few other patrons looked up, startled. "Come on, Nick. You're a big boy. You can handle it."

He rolled his shoulders back. "Just once, that's all I'm asking. Just this time, okay? I know you, or at least I used to. I thought you'd... I don't know. I figured, out of everyone that used to be in my life-"

Emily held up her hand. "I don't want to deal with this right now, Nick. Emotional manipulation, or whatever it is."

They were quiet again. Nick was still standing by the table, poised to leave.

"You really won't walk with me?"

"Sorry."

Silence.

"You drove here, didn't you?"

"...Yeah."

He grinned toothily and his eyes lit up. "You can drop me off at the front of the building if you want." He whirled around and almost tripped, but still managed to make it out the door. Emily tracked his movements through the large glass window. Nick waved to her when he reached her car.

Emily swore silently but still stood up to join him, leaving her coffee cup behind.