Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 24

Elliot hasn't been asked to go to someone's house in ages, and so, when he walked into Emma's house, he was super nervous. He made sure not to touch anything, he made sure that his shoes were off and everything, and when Emma sat on the couch he remained standing.

Emma proceeded to give him endless crap, enjoying this way too much. As soon as he'd be about to sit down, she'd yell not to sit there, making Elliot's patchwork heart leap a mile out of his chest. She may look like Hell, admittedly, but she certainly hadn't lost her sense of humor.

But nothing quite floored him as much as the question she just asked him.

"You want me to go to group therapy with you?" he asks. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's rubbing his neck again, something Emma has caught him doing every time something gets slightly beyond comfortable.

"Yeah, I mean, just once. I figured you've at least tried it and, I don't know, I'm really scared to go by myself."

Emma cringes at herself, knowing how stupid she sounds. And maybe not stupid, but needy. She liked being independent, she liked being strong, but she can't do it anymore. This illness is bleeding into her personality and altering it, and that scares the living crap out of her.

Elliot folds his hands on his lap and twiddles his thumbs. He can't even look at her as he responds, "Emma, that's really not the best of ideas."

"Why? Is group like an awful experience? Should I even go?"

Elliot finally looks up at her and shakes his head. "No, actually, group is a fantastic idea. I know you read everywhere about these idiots who run it and, yeah, they ask the same questions, but you meet a lot of people who are going through similar situations. It really does help."

Emma furrows her eyebrows and brushes her hair back. "If it's such a good thing, why are you so reluctant to go?"

Elliot laughs, but it's not a "ha ha, so funny", laugh, it's a laugh that is sheepish and uncomfortable and even a bit of "it's a long story" in it.

"I don't know how to explain it without . . . I could say what my mother says, and that is that I'm "being ridiculous"."

"Huh?"

Emma's got her knees up to her chin, her oxygen tube pushed over the side of her knees, and she waits with anticipation for Elliot's answer.

Elliot's breathing gets really fast, and he keeps rubbing his neck and running his hands through his hair, and he keeps shifting on the seat. "Sorry, just give me a minute," he says. Emma furrows her eyebrows at him and watches him as he shifts and turns.

His thoughts were maps that had highlighted pathways to nowhere, and it was making him nervous.

He finally sits up, stares Emma right in her big blue eyes, and smiles.

"Emma, you scare the living shit out of me."

Emma's eyes seem to bulge out of her sockets.

"I don't mean to -" but Elliot lifts a finger towards her, stopping her from going on.

"Just, give me a minute to explain." He takes a deep breath and shifts again, and puts his hand on the back of his neck. "Emma, I am a sick kid who can't stand to see sick people. I don't - I just I don't deal well with it at all. I get really, I'm just really . . ."

Elliot's eyes are wide and they're shiny like he's tearing up just at the thought. Emma reaches her hand over and rests it on his knee. He smiles and places his free hand on it for a moment, then lets go.