Phobic.

Usually saturdays are lazy, sleeping in from staying up too late on friday, but not this saturday, although I did stay up too late last night, like always.
I rush down the short hall of my apartment, a towel in one hand, trying feebly to dry my dipping hair, a cup of black coffee in the other.

"Shit, shit, shit"
I hiss, looking at the clock, I'm late for the second meeting with Matthew.
I grab a pair of jeans from a laundry basket of recently cleaned clothes that rests on my couch.
Tossing the towel to into the corner of my tiny living room, I shove one leg through the denim garment, and do a few hops to get the other leg in before zipping them up. I yank on a beige turtle neck, keeping my eyes locked on the clock that hangs on the wall, the seconds ticking away mockingly. Jasmine, a pampered ragdoll cat, meows impatiently from her perch on the kitchen counter, demanding her breakfast, not caring if I've had mine or not.

A scoop of Purina and some fresh water content her as I scramble to grab my messenger bag and a jacket, I push my feet into some beat up sneakers and race out the door.

Leaping into my 2000 Ford Mustang, I throw my bag into the passenger seat and slam the door shut, praying to make it in time.

As I leave the college city, most suffering a massive hangover together, the radio plays 'Ghost Towns' by Radical Face and rain begins to drizzle pitifully from the Heavens.

I press my foot down hard on the gas peddle when I reach the open, clear roads of the country, hands tightening there grip on the steering wheel.

The oddly placed, three spot parting spaces that sit off to one side, about a 2 minute walk from the mansion, comes into view and my vision darts to the neon green numbers on my dashboard.
I should have walked through that door 25 minutes ago.
Coming to a full stop and jerking the gear to park, I grap up my bag and throw the car door open.

My feet hit the damp pavement hard and I run full speed towards the looming, dark structure.
When I finally reach the front door, I'm practically 30 minutes late on the second and completely out of breath.

Ringing the door bell, I try to fix my hair into some kind of presentable form of wet tangles.

A peacefully looking Clarissa greets with an amused look on her face, no doubt in stemming from my disheveled, drippy state.

"I am very sorry I'm so late, it's just I slept in and forgot to set my alarm last night. I know it's very unprofessional and- " She lifts a hand up to cut me off, shaking her head and smiling.

"It's okay, these things happen, you better get inside quick and dry off before you catch cold"
She stands aside, letting me scurry inside, hugging my crib cage. The warmth of the mansion envelops me like blanket fresh out of a dryer.

"Stay here for a moment"
She instructs, exiting the foyer, only to return a minute later carrying a fuzzy white towel, handing it over to me.

"I'll need to attend to a few things in the kitchen, so you can head up to Matthew and if something comes up, you'll know where to find"

I nod in response to her statement, squeezing the dampness out of my hair into the towel.

Matthew's apartment is still and empty, like before, leaving me to draw the conclusion he must be in his hideaway.
I reclaim my spot on the staircase.

"Matthew, it's Beth, if you want to come out and talk to me, I'm here"
Excepting the response of silence, I lean one side of my face again the railing, but I'm surprised as the sound of the little door at the top of the stairs opening reaches my ears.

Turn my body so I can see him, I fold my hands on my lap, smiling.
"Hello"

The boy in the little doorway just stares at me, not a word coming from his lips.

"Okay, you don't feel like talking, that's okay, but if you do, don't be afraid to"
I declare, fiddling with the strap of my bag.

My stomach rumbles softly, unhappy for skipping breakfast.

"Is Clarissa very angry with me?"
He bites his lip, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Why would you think that?"
I question gently, turning my body towards him slightly.

"She doesn't laugh or smile like she used to, I know it's because of me, but I don't want to make her mad"
He leans his forehead down on his knees as he trails off.

"Matthew, she's not mad at with, she's just concerned, she loves you a lot, you know that right?"

He doesn't move, just keeps his head down, breathing steadily.

"Do you like music?"
I inquire, shifting to a more comfortable position.

"No"

"Why is that?"
My finger nails pick at a bug bite scab on my wrist, the small action quite loud in the hushed room.

"Because I have the right not to. Do you like music?"
He asks, finally lifts his head, eyes somewhat glazed over.

"Yes, very much so"

"Why is that?"
His question his in the same tone as mine was when I asked him. He's imitating me.

"Because it's hold emotion, it creates emotion, it portrays a persons story and feelings"
I answer, smiling. He simply looks at me, no reaction visible, I scribble this down, shaking my head a little.

"What about animal's, do you like animals?"

"I had a gerbil once"
His voice is low subdued.
"But I killed it"

"And why did you do that?"
I trace his face with my eyes, hoping to see some kind of perceptible emotion; nothing, like a mannequin. Has it been so long since he's been outside in the real world that he's forgotten what it means to feel certain emotions, just using a default of a stone wall? But any wall can be broken through...I hope.

"Because I felt like it, he was pissing me off"
He diverts his eyes, directing them towards the large windows, rain streams down them hypnotically.

"What did he do that angered you?"

Matthew simply shrugs, leaning back and letting his head thump against the door frame.
"I don't remember"

"Are you sure?"
I swallow, trying to push hunger down.
He looks directly at me, eyes focusing on mine for a long minute.

"I don't remember"
He pronounces every word carefully, as if I'm a small, dimwitted child.
"What about you Beth, do you like animals?"
He tone is sardonic, face contorting into a uncivil sneer. He's obviously done and fed up with the one being questioned.

"I like animals, I have a cat, Jasmine"
I smile slightly, looking down at my hands as I think about her big green eyes and downy fur.

"And how does she make you feel?"
The sarcasm in his voice makes me almost roll my eyes. This will get harder before it ever gets easier.

"She's a source of comfort and security, she doesn't judge me for who I am"

He lets out a bitter laugh, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Damn cat has it better than I do"

"Do you say that because you feel that everyone is judging you?"
At this, Matthew's mouth's falls open slightly, looking as if he couldn't believe what I just said.

"Seriously? You're asking that? I'm locked up up in a house and my only outside connection is someone who is paid to judge me!" He slams his large hands down on the stair step he sits on, I force myself to stay put and not let him scare me away.

"Matthew, this is not about being judged, this is about getting help- "Because I'm a freak? That's you opinion, you're judgment!"
He hisses before retreating to his room and slamming the door loudly. I sit for a minute, taking in what just happened. Picking up my things, I quietly get up and leave the room.

I can't help him until I gain his trust, and I can't do that if I push him to far.

"Oh leaving already? Did something happen?"
Clarissa asks, and rightly so, as she sat at the island with a worn novel in her hand. The lavish kitchen, all marble, cherry wood and stainless steel, takes my breath away. A rack of freshly baked cookies cool on the counter, the smell mouth watering.

"I upset him and he left quite quickly. I don't want to push him any further. If trust is as big a problem as you say and I've seen, it's best that I don't force treatment on him, and just take smaller steps"

She nods, setting her book down and going over to the cookies.
"Okay, well that certainly seems to make sense"
She carefully moves the cookies to a plate with a spatula before plucking one up and holding it out to me with a welcoming smile.
"White chocolate chip"

I take it gratefully and try not to devour it like a hunger animal. They taste so good, I bite back a moan.
"These are the best cookies I've ever had"

She laughs, handing me a second.
"I have a lot of time on my hands, and I just love baking, it's a mystery I'm not 300 pounds with all the goodies I bake!"
We both chuckle before thunder, sounding like a gunshot, invades the house, lightening outside the window flashes brightly.

"Why don't you wait out the storm here?"
She offers, I hesitate, brushing cookie crumbs off my hands.
"I insist! Besides, I'm making shrimp fried rice, and I've been told it's the best in town"

"Why not, what's the worst that could happen?"
I say with a little shrug of my shoulders.