“Any time,” he says, tossing her a smile over his shoulder at her. “It’s good to have you over again, Emma. I know she won’t say it, but Taylor’s missed you.”
Your outraged cry of “DAD!!” muffles Emma’s silent chuckles, which muffle the worst of your anger. You sit back down from where you’d stood up, taking your hands off your hips to brush down your skirt with swift, angry movements. He’s not allowed to tease you just because you teased him about mistaking his own handwriting and eating Darcy’s lunch at work. He’s a Dad! Dads aren’t allowed to tease their daughters, they exist to be teased!
“Any time, Mister Hebert.” Emma gives him a small smile. She turns her head to regard you with a small, warm smile. “I’ve missed Taylor too.” Her smile grows more hesitant as she takes in your face, but you just lean over and pat her leg again, tugging her contentment back up until she’s smiling at you.
Your angry pout doesn’t last long in the face of her beautiful smile. Your anger washes away, and soon you find yourself giving her a happy grin in return as you lead her back to your room.
It doesn’t feel great to have Emma over. You can still feel a pool of anxiety in your stomach as you sit beside her, and you’re not sure that will ever go away. You’d been sure, once, that you and Emma would be best friends forever, and up until you’d returned from that camp, you’d been certain that she had felt the same. And, yes, now you know the reason—but it’s a bullshit reason, even though it’s one you can kind of understand. If she turned on you once before, how can you be sure she won’t turn on you again?
But that kind of works in her favour, too. Emma might have turned on you, yes, but she was your best friend for well over a decade. Hell, she was your first friend, your only friend, for a very long time. She was your first in a lot of ways. Your first friend. Your first crush. The first girl you’d ever imagined kissing. The first girl you’d imagined while masturbating. And, as it turned out, the first girl to break your heart.
You shake your head wryly. Even your own thoughts are confused about her.
It’s hard to think straight about Emma right now. In the end, all you know that Emma is not in a good place—she hasn’t been for a long time. And you know that you could never stand by if you know that there’s something wrong with her. If there’s anything—anything—you can do to help her through this, you’ll do it. Even if that means ignoring your nervousness, ignoring the growing anxiety boiling away in your chest, and holding her on your bed for half an hour while she toys with the buttons on your shirt and breaths warmly against your neck.
Alan turns up a bit before nine, unfortunately. You’re a little annoyed at having an extra ten minutes stolen, but you have to let it slide—if you yell at him for it, you’re just not going to get any time with Emma. And besides, as he notes—Emma does have to get to bed. Even from half a house away, with hours of buoying her happiness passed by, you can still feel that thick smog of tiredness filling her.
You do make sure to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before she goes, though. She looks almost as surprised as Dad does, which just makes you poke your tongue out at her. She shouldn’t be so surprised—that’s how the two of you always said goodbye when you were younger.
After that, you retreat back to your room and pick your book back up, letting out a tired sigh.
School comes and goes on Tuesday, another dreary day at Winslow High. The one upside to the day is that it’s at least stopped raining, so you’re able to see the grimy bricks and crude graffiti that passes for decoration at the school lit in all its glory by the sun.
It’s tempting to ask Madison to take her shirt off during today’s tutoring session—or, better, maybe her panties—but you refrain. As much as you enjoy playing with your girl, it’s important that she keeps her grades up, and you don’t want to be a distraction from that.
She should have a life outside of you, or so you keep telling yourself. It’s pleasant to imagine keeping her all to yourself, having her stay in your house and cook and clean for you, but it’s not healthy. And as much as you’d like to take Madison’s fantasies that far, have her devote her entire life to you one day—it’s more important to you that she stays sound of mind.
Besides, there is one thing to look forward to through the day; today is Amy’s day at the clinic.
The clinic is surprisingly empty when you walk in today—there’s only one person in the waiting room, a bald man with a greying beard sitting on a chair, gingerly nursing an arm wrapped in plaster. Besides him, there’s two other men—a man in his twenties wearing a Brockton Bay University jacket washing the windows, and a man sitting behind the receptionist’s desk, looking frantically around as though he’s lost something.
You approach the receptionist hesitantly, looking on in. “H-hello?”
He jerks and looks up, as though startled by your appearance. He relaxes when he sees it’s only you. “Oh. Hi. Oh! Um. Yes, hello, how many I help you?”
You blink at him, a little taken aback. “I was just wondering if Doctor Fitzgerald is in,” you say quietly.
He nods. “Yes. He’s in his office. I can show you the way if you’d like—“
“No, that’s fine.” You take a step back, shaking your head. “I know the way. I’ll go speak to him. Thank you for the help.”
“No problem,” he calls after you, but you’re already gone.
The doctor’s door is closed, but you only have to knock once before you can hear him calling out for you to come in. You swing the door open, taking in the room’s tidy appearance, then step in and close the door behind you. “Hi,” you greet him.
He pushes his chair back, gesturing for you to take a seat, then walks his chair out from behind his desk. “Hello, Taylor.” He smiles kindly at you, an expression that you hesitantly try to match. “How have you been?”
“I’ve been alright.” You move over to one of the padded chairs in the office and sit down. “I’m, well, here for the day. Is there anything you need me to do?”
He hums for a moment, then pushes his chair back behind the desk. You’re kind of jealous. You’ve always wanted a wheelie chair of your very own. Especially one that spins. Mm. “I checked your forms last week,” he says casually. “You did a good job of filling those out for me. Natalie— our administrative assistant,” he explains at your inquisitive look, “was very grateful. We’re always looking for volunteers who can help out with the administrative side of running the clinic.”
You frown a little. “Is that even legal?” you ask.
He chuckles. “It’s a bit unorthodox,” he admits. “I did call your dad and ask for permission before assigning you inventory duty, don’t worry. And our sponsors don’t mind if our volunteers assist on the clerical side of things, either. We have nothing to hide. The New Wave movement regularly provides broad-level financial statements to the public, including expenditures. The only thing you’ll learn by filling out these forms for us that you couldn’t learn by reading their website is what brands of medical equipment we use.” You do remember that the forms had little private information on them, either—not even the required dates of delivery.
That doesn’t seem very smart to you. Then again, they are run in part by a lawyer. And they are a not-for-profit charity, too. Maybe there’s some legality you’re not aware of?
Learning that does a lot to ease your nervousness, anyway. You nod at him, most of your concerns appeased. “Cool,” you reply.
He coughs briefly, moving his hand up to cover his mouth. Once he moves it away, he starts searching through the papers on his desk. “I’ve got some more forms that you could fill out if you’d like,” he informs you. “I can find you something else to do if you’d like, but I’d appreciate it if you could do this for me. Natalie is very busy, even with Oliver’s help.”
“Sure.” You wait for him to gather up the papers, then take them and glance down. It seems to be just more acquisition forms—yes, it is. Although this time, it seems like there’s janitorial supplies in there, too. “Thank you, Doctor Fitzgerald. I’ll go fill these out now.”
He lazily waves you off. “If you need any help, just come ask me,” he calls out as you leave his office.
Disappointingly, Amy isn’t in the break room when you get there. You’re not sure why you expected her to be—she does have work, after all. It’s easy enough to fix; you just place your papers down and pull out your phone, sending her a short text to let her know you’ve arrived. Then you sit down and begin tidily filling out the papers. They’re pretty much exactly the same as last time.
You get so engrossed in the papers that you don’t notice somebody sneaking up behind you until they’ve wrapped their hands around you. Your first warning sign that somebody is there is when a hand sneaks out of nowhere and covers your eyes at the same time a warm body presses itself against the back of your chair. Instinctively, you attempt to jerk forwards, but you’re surprised enough that you can’t put any real effort into it—and by the time you’ve recovered somewhat, you can already feel the person’s hot breath against your ear as she whispers into your ear, “Guess who?”
“Amy!” You scowl at her, the expression only growing more glowering when you hear her giggle softly as she removes her hand.
“You’re a good guesser.” Amy moves around the other side of the table. She’s holding a small cardboard tray bearing two simple cups of coffee from the clinic’s cafeteria. “I guess I’m not very good at pretending I’m not me.” She takes one of them out of the tray and passes it over to you before sitting down.
You take it and poke your tongue out at her. “I don’t know anyone else in this clinic who would try and hug me,” you point out.
She nods her head, conceding the point. “That’s fair. Anyway, I bought you a coffee.” She points unnecessarily to it, prompting you to take a quick sip and nod.
“Thanks. I’m a bit tired,” you admit.
She nods easily. Now that she’s settled in, you can take a good look at her. The dark bags beneath her eyes are slightly less prominent than they were on Saturday, and there’s a slight smile on her face as she looks around the break room. She looks… happier. A little less stressed out.
You consider it for a moment, then speak again. “You look good,” you tell her.
Amy gives you a pleased smile. “So do you,” she says over her coffee. “I like your hair.”
You touch your hair self-consciously. You… didn’t even do anything with it this morning, except tie it back so it wouldn’t get in your way. Is she making fun of you? Hopefully not. You like your hair. “Uh, thanks,” you say, hiding your frown by taking another sip of your coffee. Then, eager to distract yourself; “Have you been doing anything interesting?”
She half-shrugs. “I’ve been busy,” she replies. “Work has been piling up, and Mom wants me to take some of my exams soon.”
Taking another sip of your coffee, you think about what to say next. Sometimes, you wish conversation would come to you a bit easier. Then; inspiration! “What subjects are you taking?” you ask curiously. You don’t think you’ve ever asked.
She’s happy enough to sit there and tell you about it, prompting you to tell her about your own classes in the meantime. As it turns out, she is entirely predictably mostly focused on literature classes and the sciences—“I have to take maths to get into college,” she confides in you, “but I’m not very good at it, so I got away with only having to do calculus and physics”—with a lesser focus on computer studies.
Eventually, the topic shifts towards college. You’re not sure what you want to study at college yet, or even if you want to go to college—after all, if this team idea of yours pans out, you probably won’t have the time to go to college. Amy, however, is actually quite surprising.
“I want to study medicine,” she says entirely predictably, “but I want to do some legal studies on the side.” At your surprised look, she elaborates somewhat; “From what I’ve heard Mom say, apparently a lot of legal work involves learning how to find relevant information and interpret it. I don’t want to get into law, but knowing how to look it all up will be useful, you know?”
It does make sense, and you make sure to tell her as much, giving her a pat on the shoulder for having such a good plan. She gives you a slightly confused look, but you just go back to filling out your papers as you talk to her, paying your actions no more mind.
The two of you fill the break room with idle chatter for the next hour. You’re done with the reports within forty minutes, but—surely Doctor Fitzgerald doesn’t need them right now, does he? He can wait a little, surely. You don’t want Amy to have to go back to work just yet.
Finally, however, time begins to catch up to the two of you. You jerk as you look over at the clock and see that it’s already half past six.
Amy looks over to the clock herself and sighs. “I guess you have to go soon?” she asks.
You nod, frowning a little. “I should leave in about fifteen minutes,” you say quietly. “I’ve got to take these papers back to Doctor Fitzgerald before I go.”
She smiles, but it’s an unhappy smile. “Alright. Do you want to go now so you can make sure you’re out on time?”
