So Many Reasons Why by Missy Johnson

I
crossed my arms over my chest.
    “You look fine.” He said quietly, as if he could sense my
insecurity. “Beautiful even.” I blushed. He thought I was beautiful?
    “Can I get you a coffee?” I asked. He shook his head.
    “I have Maddie downstairs, I just wanted to get these to
you.” He smiled and cocked his head to the side. “I’d love to catch up sometime
if you're up for it though.”
    “Sure.” I was startled with the words coming out of my
mouth. No Emma, you're not up for it. The smart thing to do would be to not go
forward with this. Unfortunately, one look in his eyes had me ready to sign up
for just about anything.
    He nodded, looking relieved. “I will call you later.” Oh
god. His smile. If he smiled at me again he’d need to wipe me off the floor.
     
    “How did you pull up after your party?” True to his word,
Simon called me that evening. Of course I’d been waiting impatiently all
evening like a cat on heat. An angry, frustrated cat on heat. Well, I guess all
cats would be pretty angry and frustrated when on heat.
    Just like that, we fell into a pattern. Simon rambled on
about his daughter, his work, and how he got into teaching.
    “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