Face Of The Monster

***19***

Phoebe Kim needs to relax and she knows it.

Her heart has been beating fast nonstop today. Chloe passed out this morning when she tried to get up and go to the bathroom, probably because she hasn't eaten in at least three days. She begged Phoebe not to take her to the hospital and she agreed on the condition that Chloe let her feed her lunch. Even then, she only ate a couple spoonfuls of soup. After that, Chloe's parents called. Surprise! They are coming to visit from Omaha. Phoebe can't remember the last time she felt as suicidal as she did hanging up the phone after that conversation. The parents wanted to discuss "other options" for Chloe's care. Phoebe didn't like the sound of that. On top of that, one of Phoebe's patients, a young man with PTSD from childhood abuse who was working his way toward an engineering degree at the University of San Diego, threw himself off the Golden Gate bridge this morning. She can't stop thinking about the last time she saw him. She should have seen the signs.

Phoebe needs to relax, but she can't seem to sit still. She has been trying to finish her dinner for the past hour but keeps getting up to check on Chloe or to answer emails and phone calls from the boy's grieving family. They want, desperately, to know what led him to this. Phoebe won't tell them. The boy's father is dead, but his mother is not. She once held his hand on the stove burner as punishment for leaving crumbs on the kitchen table.

It makes her feel sick to think about it. Phoebe scrapes her dinner into the trash and collapses on the couch to cry for a minute or two. Even then, she can't make herself stay. Still shaking with sobs, she climbs the stairs and pokes her head into her bedroom. There's Chloe, still lovely, still sleeping, still sickly pale. Phoebe gave her a shower this morning, but she hasn't been out of bed since then.

The doorbell rings downstairs. Phoebe tiptoes over and kisses Chloe's cheek. It's gaunter now than it used to be, all bones and skin, none of Chloe's old fleshiness. Chloe is restless in her sleep, moaning and tossing and kicking. Phoebe makes a mental note to pick up some sleeping pills tomorrow.

She leaves Chloe and flies back down the stairs. She already knows who is behind the door.

The moment she sees her, Phoebe flings herself into Emma's arms. She doesn't care about the neighbors walking by or Chloe's fragile sleep upstairs. She cares about the soothing warmth of Emma's skin, the way her heartbeat is slow and steady.

A second later, she realizes there is someone else on the porch. He is watching them from the bottom step, his face set in a sad smile. He has sandy brown skin and curly black hair around his head like an unruly halo. His clothes are clean and unwrinkled, fitting tightly around his muscled limbs.

Phoebe pulls away from Emma and clears her throat. "It's good to see you," she tells her.

"You too." Emma's voice is shaky, quiet. Phoebe squeezes her hand and looks down.

"Hello," she says to the man. "I'm Phoebe Kim."

He shakes her hand and introduces himself as Ryan Konareski. Phoebe remembers Emma mentioning him to her a few times. She invites them inside, tells them to ignore the abysmal state of her house.

Phoebe doesn't ask why Emma is crying. She almost doesn't want to know. She needs comfort right now and doesn't want to accept the fact that Emma probably needs it more. She leads Emma and Ryan to the kitchen where she grabs the bottle of wine Chloe brought home from one of her catering functions last week.

As she is uncorking it, Ryan says, "Really sorry to barge in like this. Em said it would be alright, but we really should have called ahead."

Phoebe likes him already. She tells him it's alright, please sit down. He does, guiding Emma to the stool next to his. She sinks down like a turtle retreating into its shell and buries her face in her arms.