So Many Reasons Why (So Many Reasons 1)

“When your father’s friend calls you up offering you a teaching position at one of the country’s top universities, you don't say no.”

“So you like teaching then?” I took a sip of my coffee, and pulled my legs up under my knees.

“I do like it. It's just more work than I thought it would be.”

“Especially when you have students leaving their work till the last minute then needing help.” I joked. He laughed, I closed my eyes and imagined him. Those deep blue eyes, his thick dark hair. Oh and his lips. Those lovely full red lips-

“Honestly, I've loved every one of your emails. And it's not like you’re slack. You can't help being sick.”

I bit my lip. I'd been biting my lip so often lately ulcers were starting to form. I'd forgotten the glandular fever fib, and I was annoyed he had interrupted my daydream.

At the time it was easier than telling the truth. Agoraphobia was an illness. It was just the stigma that came with it made me feel ashamed. I hated feeling that way. I think part of it stemmed from my family being unable to accept my illness. They didn't handle things well, and as a result, I didn't handle things well. I felt as though I had something to be embarrassed about.

I’d had a bad thing happen to me, but millions of people have bad things happen to them and they get over it. It'd been ten years, why wasn't I over it yet? Why couldn't I move on? Why did he get to move on while I had to continue to live in this hell?

“Some days I feel better than others.” That wasn't a lie. Some days were easier than others for me. Like today. Today was a good day. And it was getting better by the minute.

“How long will you be out of action for?” He asked curiously.

“Depends. I need another round of blood tests in a couple of weeks, will see what they say then. So, you dropped by.” It was a desperate attempt to change topic. Lying to him was hard, I much preferred to avoid the subject of my illness altogether.

“I did.” He agreed. “I love your place by the way.” He said “Such an amazing view.” I let out a breath. My distraction powers had worked. For now. Eventually it was going to catch me though, and the thought of that had my stomach in knots. For a change.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice. Mom and dad were insistent that I live somewhere within their apartment block if I was going to live alone. They pay for it. I wasn't happy with that, but if you knew my dad, you wouldn't argue.” How ironic. I barely knew my dad.

“That's good,” Simon pointed out, “that your parents care so much. I see so many kids who have screwed up their lives and it usually starts with something bad at home. They seem very protective of you.” I swallowed the urge to tell him my family wasn't as supportive as they seemed. I'd rather have my dad talk to me than shell out money for an apartment. He lived less than ten minutes away, yet he can’t find the time to visit?

I listened to Simon with interest. Hearing him talk about his work and his cases reinforced for me why I was doing this course, and why I needed to work past my agoraphobia. How could I help other people if I couldn’t help myself?

“What’s the case you're working on now?”

“A murder.” He thought for a moment. “Not unlike the first case you've covered, but this girl wasn't so lucky.” Simon paused as I laughed aloud. If only he knew the number of times I wish he had killed me.

“You think the girl in my first case study was lucky?” I was incredulous. My mind fought my heart to control my emotions. He didn't kn

ow it was me. Of course escaping murder would seem like a good thing. In many ways for me, I felt rape was worse than murder. At least if I were dead I wouldn't have to relive it every day.

“Well lucky might not be the right work, but at least she survived,” He observed. “She may not have felt that way then, but things get better. Providing she had the support and care necessary, she at least had a chance to move on. This girl didn't.”

I nodded. He was right. She wasn't given the chance to fight back.

Guilt suddenly swept through me. Was I wasting chances that some people just didn’t get? I was barely 20, yet the last ten years I hadn’t been living. I’d barely been coping. The difference between me and so many others was I still had a life ahead of me. Whether I chose to live it was up to me in the end, but it was there.

“I guess I see your point,” I admitted. “What she went through would have been pretty hard to live with.” I pointed out.

“I don't disagree with you for a second. Getting over something like that would have been incredibly hard, and a long process. From the victim statements it looked like she had a supportive family. Many victims don't even have that.”

“I know.” I whispered. “That’s what I want to do. I mean when I finish, I want to work with victims of violent crime. I want to be able to support people who have nobody. To experience something like that is one thing, but to go through the aftermath alone, now that's just unbearable.”

Simon stayed silent for a long time. Had he hung up?

“You’re a very surprising young woman, Emma.” He said, shaking his head in dismay. “Just when I think I have you worked out, you throw something else out at me. Not many people can surprise me like you do. Especially someone so young.”

I smiled. Goosebumps prickled my arms and shivered their way down my back. There was something amazing about hearing the admiration in his voice.

“It’s been lovely talking to you Emma. I hope we can do this again.” I could hear something in his voice. I wasn't sure what it was, or even how to describe it. It was just. Something.

“I’d like that.” I said shyly.