Chapter Ten: Round One

"Anna? You okay there, Red?"

I blink and hone in on the bulk of a man sitting across from me, wearing a confused—and slightly amused—expression with both eyebrows raised high.

"You've just been staring at your burger for the past five minutes," he says. "You trying to will it to talk or something?"

I force a dry chuckle and set my burger down.

"Sorry, Kristoff," I mumble. "Just-."

"Thinking?" he finishes for me with a smirk. "Yeah, I've noticed. You've been doing a lot of that lately. The fact that we lost two campaigns last night in Call of Duty says as much."

Despite the roll of my eyes, I can't deny Kristoff is right. I have been thinking.

A lot.

About Elsa.

Yeah, creepy, obsessed, stalker-sounding, right? Believe me, don't I know it.

Ever since meeting with Milo on Monday though, it's like my brain won't turn off; or even switch gears to something other than what I have now dubbed "The Elsa Problem."

Okay, so "problem" makes it sound worse than it really is. She's not a problem; far from it, really. But the entire circumstance of her arm? That's a problem. That's what I have not been able to stop thinking about.

How do you help someone who doesn't want help?

"Anna?" Kristoff's voice beckons me back. "You're doing it again."

I roughly shake my head, hoping to dispel any thoughts, but really just giving myself my one hundredth headache of the week.

"Ugh, sorry," I grumble. "I can't help it."

"What's got you so enraptured?" he asks, stealing a fry from me—which I won't complain about for the first time since I haven't eaten much since Monday.

"Nothing," I mutter.

"Well that's complete bullshit if I've ever heard any," he says sarcastically.

I can't refrain from rolling my eyes again. "It's none of your business, Kristoff."

"When it's changing my best friend right before my eyes, I like to think it is."

I compel myself to take a bite of my burger before I answer, "I can't tell you."

He opens his mouth, no doubt to try and refute, but I manage to cut him off.

"Listen, I can't tell you, okay?" I basically plead. "Let's just say I've gotten myself into a situation I need to handle myself. I already feel shitty by doing certain shitty things, and I don't need to be even shittier by telling you what I promised to keep secret."

"Sounds shitty," he quips.

That kind of sense of humor would usually have me clutching a stitch in my side with laughter, but now it only further serves to aggravate me.

"You have no idea," I grumble once more, all but shoving the rest of my meal down my throat.

XxXxX

The past few days, I had been doing all possible research of prosthetics. Seriously, you would think I was writing a dissertation on it or something if one was to look through my recent browsing history. I had found a multitude of results varying from your most simple prosthetic that wasn't much more than what Elsa had already, to a whopping million dollar, cutting-edge-technology, seriously futuristic shit replacement limb. And yes, the site actually used the term "replacement limb" rather than prosthetic. That—along with the fact that I will most likely never have a million dollars in my possession at once—immediately made me exit out of the page.

If Elsa was so against your basic prosthetic and the fact that she could possibly be "like she was," she would most likely die of frustration and woe at the term "replacement limb."

I mean, not like there was any easy way to breach such a delicate subject such as this, but really? Replacement limb? Yeah, that's basically what it amounts to, but you just can't say those things out loud!

It wasn't until Saturday morning—and by that I mean three in the morning—when I came across what just had to be the Holy Grail of all my research.

Graduate students from Columbia University are working with doctors at Mt Sinai Hospital in an experimental study to create affordable, robotic prosthetics. Of course, when I say "affordable," the site still means thousands of dollars, but…at least it wasn't a million, right?

The site had a link to an info page about the robotic limb and why it was so revolutionary. Hand, arm, foot, leg; all four were being tested. Regarding the arm specifically, it was all done through connecting the nerves still present in the stub of the actual arm, and connecting them in some scientific manner that I would be crap to explain to the prosthetic. The design is sleek and a combination of metal and carbon fiber. It actually weighs the same as an average arm, so it's not so blatantly obvious you have a Terminator arm.

The best thing?

They are working to produce a kind of sleeve if you don't want the robotic part to show. They can even match your skin tone and everything and, from the looks of the website, using Elsa's hated term, "it looks just like it was!"

Granted, the price proved a problem, but it wasn't any concern unless you completed the trial, meaning your body accepts its new robotic part without any form of rejection, as well as the patient passing a psych evaluation to make sure the gain isn't too much for the amputee's mind to handle.

Yeah, so this was a huge, monumental step—and maybe even a step in the wrong direction—but I still felt like I had cracked the code to some long-lost secret or something.

The obstacle still in the way was how to gingerly bring this up to Elsa without setting her off. I knew I was treading on thin ice with this particular concern, and I had come so far with her that the last thing I wanted was for her to start hating me.

But, I also wasn't about to let her live the rest of her life in hiding and never figuring out all the potential she still had. I mean, Milo said it himself, she could still possibly compete in the Olympics if she got some kind of prosthetic. That had to mean something to her, right? Sure, she had already won the gold once, but she was still so young! She still had so much of her career left unexplored! She can't just discard her talent and waste away her years when she could potentially become the best boxer in the world!

Sorry, Mr Muhammad Ali…

So, I knew it wasn't going to be easy, and my trip through Hell hadn't even started yet, but I was young, stubborn, and naïve. I thought I could accomplish anything and I was determined to show Elsa I was right about this; about everything.

She would come out on top of this, and I would be right there with her.

Happily ever after, right?

If only it could have been that simple…

XxXxX

"Anna, your timing is completely off," I hear Elsa criticize me for the umpteenth time that night. "If that bag were a person, you would have been down for the count several times already."

I huff and wipe sweat from my brow before spinning to face her.

"Sorry," I mumble out an apology. "I'm just-."

"You're thinking about something," she, like Kristoff, finishes for me.

Damn, am I really that easy to read?

Hanging my head in shame, I nod. "I'm sorry, Elsa," I whisper.

I never see it, but she grants me a small sympathetic smile before approaching me, and I feel her hands coming to rest on my shoulders; one heavy and warm, the other light and hollow.

I grimace at the touch subconsciously and she immediately removes her hands.

"I-I'm sorry," she stutters, "I was just…"

I'm immediately flooded with guilt when I see the hurt and fear in her eyes as she even starts to back up from me.

"No, Elsa!" I cry, reaching out for her left hand and stopping her retreat. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"But you flinched," she points out.

Because the reason I'm so lost in thought just literally landed on my shoulder, I find myself bitterly thinking.

Instead, I manage a smile and reply, "My shoulder's been sore the past few days. I must have pulled a muscle sometime earlier this week."

Another lie. Go me.

"Oh," she breathes, an overwhelming look of relief passing over her face as she smiles bashfully. "Well, good; I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You mean it's good I'm hurt?" I manage to snidely comment.

Immediately she blushes and shouts an adamant "no!" before I'm doubled over laughing.

Seconds later, she joins in, and in that moment, everything was good. I may have been hiding so many things from her and simply postponing dropping this imminent bomb, but at that moment in time, no matter how fake it was on my side, that happiness was good enough.

I just wish it had stayed…

XxXxX

"What?"

I gulp as Elsa stares me down, the light in her eyes quickly clouding over. It was several nights later. Having just finished a training session at the gym, Elsa invited me back to her place to unwind. A kind, innocent invitation, yet one that meant so much more since Elsa was really beginning to reach out, and here I had just gone and fucked it straight to Hell.

"Just…theoretically," I repeat, "if there was a way you could box again, w-would you do it?"

"I thought I made my distaste for any prosthetic clear enough, Anna."

I look away from her heavy gaze as she uses my name as if I'm a child to be scolded; which, honestly, suits the situation perfectly.

"I mean, you told me not to mention it, but why, Elsa?" I question. "Why don't you want one?"

"Why do you want one?" she fires back.

"'Cause I want you to be happy!"

"I am happy!"

Shit, no! We're not supposed to be fighting! This was all supposed to be theoretical! A simple curiosity! The truth wasn't supposed to come out right now!

When I don't say anything back, mostly from fear I'll make things even worse with my awful track record when it comes to trying to explain myself, Elsa wraps her arms around herself and hunches over like I've come to see her do too many times.

She's scared. She's breaking down. She's closing in on herself.

Because of me.

Fuck me; I'm an awful person.

Then why do I keep talking?

"I don't think so, Elsa," I whisper, hesitantly making to approach her.

"I am happy…" she mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You're afraid to go out," I tell her. "Aside from that time we went to the park together, when was the last time you didn't try to blend into the crowd? I saw how many times you checked the people around us that day, Elsa; you can deny it if you want to, but I was watching. Eighteen times," I restate. "You checked to see if anyone had recognized you eighteen times that day. You feel the need to hide from people because you're trying to hide yourself. You're not comfortable with yourself. I want to help you regain that confidence. Prosthetic or no prosthetic, you need to feel comfortable in your own skin again."

"How the hell am I supposed to be comfortable being a freak?!" she shouts at me, the fire in her eyes halting me in my tracks.

"You're not a freak, Elsa," I say, keeping my voice soft in any attempt to soothe. "Not having a hand doesn't make you anything like that."

"How the fuck would you know?!" she snaps, closing her eyes once more. "You have all your limbs! You're perfect! Your life is fucking perfect! Don't tell me how mine is!"

I try not to be hurt by her words, but it's hard. My life is anything but perfect, but she has no way of knowing that. To her, this is all about her; and maybe it's better if she continues to think that in this moment. I don't need to try and one-up her here.

"I'm not trying to, Elsa," I continue to speak softly. I have her backed against one of the walls in her apartment, and she leans heavily on it, her arms still encircling her like a safety blanket. "There are other people out there who have missing limbs. They're not freaks, right?"

I see her shake her head slowly, eyes still clenched shut, tears running down her face, and I swallow a knot in my throat.

"So why are you?" I continue.

"B-Because…"

I'm right in front of her, hand a fraction of an inch from her shoulder when she lunges forward, irate once more.

"Because I just am, okay?!" She spins around and I can almost see the steam radiating from her body. "Why can't you leave it alone?"

"Because I care about you," I tell her firmly, and I see her flinch momentarily before her body stiffens once more.

"Well don't," she mumbles bitterly.

I sigh heavily as I realize I'm not getting anywhere. I'm dealing with the many different sides of Elsa again after thinking I had conquered them. It appears they were just lying dormant for the time being, and I have just woken them up again.

Remembering Milo's words from my session with him and figuring I have nothing else to lose at the moment, I take the plunge.

"Elsa?"

When she doesn't give any indication that she heard me, I take that as a sign to go ahead and continue.

"Have you ever considered talking with others who have lost their arm or leg? It might help-."

She turns on me then, and that fire I had caught briefly earlier is now a full, raging inferno.

"You think some shit group therapy will fix this?!" she shouts. "Those ignorant asses don't know what true pain is! They may have lost a limb—maybe even two—but I lost more and they can't even begin to understand my pain! I don't need their fake sympathy and I sure as hell don't want it!"

She's backing me up now, and I stumble over the leg of the coffee table as her tirade continues.

"Fuck my hand, Anna; I lost my fucking parents! You think they'll understand that? Do you?! You think they'll understand being stuck in an overturned car on fire and seeing your dad in the front seat and knowing he's dead?! You think they'll understand waking up from a coma and realizing not only did someone hack half their arm off, but their mom's dead too?! You think they'll understand having to bury your parents on your own with no trace of family left?! You think they'll understand being so fucking famous that if one fucking person finds out what happened, the whole world will come down on you with the snap of your fingers?! You think I want that, Anna? I'm struggling enough surviving as it is, you really want to make it worse?! Do you want me to die?"

"No!" I cry out in a feeble attempt to stop her from going off the deep end, even though I know we've long since passed that opportunity. "No, Elsa, I just want to help!"

"There is nothing you can do!" she screams at me.

"If you would just let me try-!"

"No!"

She actually goes as far as pushing me back with this expel, and I'm stunned. Never could I have predicted this would be how this would play out. Never could I… Never would have I predicted Elsa would actually lay a hand on me.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment!"

"Elsa…" I whisper, my voice wavering considerably.

"Get. Out!"

I see her left hand—her good hand—clench into a tight fist and, heart breaking, tears identical to hers flooding down my cheeks, I turn tail and run from her place. The door slamming behind me echoes in my ears until I reach the stairwell, bypassing the elevator in favor to escape the distraught, heart-wrenching, gut-twisting scream that's now coming from Elsa's apartment.

Fourteen flights later, I exit the side door of the building in a haste I didn't know myself capable of before I'm crumbling to a sniveling heap on the ground. Luckily, I'm in the side alley, away from prying eyes as I scream and cry my eyes and heart out.

What the fuck have I done?

So… That happened…

*runs and hides*