Emma was sitting in the clinic the next morning, her purse on her lap, staring out the window with wide eyes. Outside, it was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and she could see the streets below as cars drove along. She shifted her weight and a long, low sigh escaped her. A moment later, a nurse came in the room, wearing dark green scrubs. She smiled cautiously at Emma, as though she wasn't sure what to expect from the girl, and said, "Do you have transportation?"
Emma nodded. "My friend's coming to pick me up," she answered quietly.
The nurse rolled her blood pressure apparatus over to where Emma sat by the window and slid the cuff onto her arm. She puffed the air in and watched the monitor. Emma continued staring outside. "A litte high," the nurse commented, making a note in Emma's chart. She was quiet a moment as she looked it over. "How are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm just...great," Emma whispered, "Just great."
"Do you want a psych consult? We can recommend you to one and --"
"No," Emma said, "There's no point in that."
The nurse finished her business and left the room. A few moments after she'd gone, the door creaked open and Molly came in, followed by Jake. Molly sat down in the chair across from Emma, while Jake hovered by the door, staring at his feet, his hands in his pockets. Molly touched Emma's knee. "Em," she whispered.
Emma looked up. "It's fine," she said, "Let's go home."
Molly took a deep breath, "Em, what's the matter?"
Emma laughed bitterly, "Nothing that we didn't already know," she answered.
Molly's throat constricted. "The treatment didn't help?"
Emma shook her head, "Nope."
Molly leaned back and tears filled her eyes. She looked at Jake, holding his gaze for a long moment. Jake took a couple steps closer. He laid a hand on the back of Emma's chair and sighed, "What're we gonna do with you?" he asked quietly.
"Bury me," Emma answered in a raw voice.
Molly choked.
Jake shook his head, "We're not going to bury you, don't be crazy."
Emma's voice was level. "According to the doctors you are," she answered.
"They're wrong," Molly snapped, an edge to her voice that made Jake jump. Emma had been half expecting an outburst from Molly, and didn't react at all at the pitch as Molly continued, "They're wrong, we need a second opinion." She was beginning to sound panicked, an almost desperate tone taking over her voice.
Emma stared down at her hands. "Molls - they aren't wrong, I can feel that much."
"Don't you dare, Emma," Molly said, standing up, her voice shaking, "Don't you dare say that like you've given up."
Emma didn't look up at Molly, but studied her fingernails.
"Don't you dare give up," Molly repeated. "Not after everything we've been through trying to help you. There's got to be something they can do."
"What? More treatment so Brian can pay off more bills? I didn't want him to pay what he's already paid," Emma argued.
"He said he wanted to help out," Molly replied, "Emma you have to at least try!"
"I did try, and it didn't work," Emma snapped.
"Just because it didn't work this time doesn't mean it won't next time," Molly argued.
"I don't want to make Brian pay for that, it's too much."
Molly shook her head, "This is bullshit."
Jake sighed, "Molls, c'mon, that's not gonna help."
"Well it is, it's bullshit," she looked at Emma. "Brian wants to pay for the treatment. He gives a damn about you. I give a damn about you. Why don't you give a damn about yourself?"
"I DO!" Emma yelled. She stood up and faced Molly. "I do give a damn about myself. I want to take care of myself, though. I have pride, I have dignity. I don't want Brian paying everything off for me left and right like some kind of bank."
"He's a friend," Molly argued.
"No he was a friend, he used to be someone I could depend on without feeling stupid. But he's not anymore. He left me, Molly. He left. He didn't want to be a part of me anymore."
"But he's back now," Molly argued.
"He didn't come back here for me," Emma argued back, "He came back to get away from a gravestone and a memory, not to come rushing in and play Robin Hood, okay? He's not here to save me."
"He can save you, though," Molly said, "And you're not letting him!"
"HE CAN'T SAVE ME!" Emma shouted, "Fucking hell Molly, I'm dying, my body is eating itself." She took off her hat and whipped it at her friend's chest. "I'm bloody bald, Molls, I'm not getting better."
Tears were flooding Molly's face. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Jake stepped closer and wrapped her tightly into him, her face pressing into his shoulder. He rubbed her back and sighed as she started to shake. Emma stared at him for a long moment and he finally mouthed, I'm sorry.
Emma went to bed early that night. They'd sat through a tense dinner of spaghetti, and Molly had barely touched a bite, still bleary eyed from their argument at the hospital. Emma couldn't even look at her without feeling guilty. Guilty for dying. Jake had tried several times to start up light hearted conversation, but each one ended sourly or had not been responded to at all, and finally he gave up on the attempts.
Molly listened as Emma's footsteps disappeared up the stairs to the second floor. Molly set her jaw. She looked at Jake. "I refuse to accept this," she said quietly.
Jake folded his hands in a steeple formation over his empty dinner plate. "I know she's your best friend, Molls," he said quietly, "But... maybe it's time to let yourself accept the possibility..."
"No," Molly answered firmly. "No. I refuse." She stood up. "I refuse to accept it and I refuse to sit by and do nothing whatsoever about it." She grabbed her plate, kicked her chair into the table and went to the kitchen with a certain air of determination. Jake recognized that look on her face - it was exactly the same as the one she'd had when she'd approached him about a dance date the very first time they'd ever met. That face never led to an outcome of Molly not getting what she wanted.
Jake sighed.
In the kitchen, Molly put her dishes into the dish washer and grabbed Emma's purse off the counter. She held it for a long moment, her hands shaking. She looked at the kitchen doorway and didn't see Jake looming anywhere, so she reached for the zipper and opened the bag. Inside, Emma's things were all in a jumble. Molly fished around for a moment and came up a moment later with the cell phone.
Flipping the phone open, Molly felt more confident as she opened up Emma's contacts, typed in Brian's name and quickly wrote down the phone number.
Jake came in the room. He looked at the bag, at the cell phone and at Molly's expression of concentration. "Oh God," he said, "What are you doing?"
"Something I should've done seventeen years ago," Molly answered.
