"Are you a tea or coffee girl?" he asked, breaking the tension. He had driven in silence from the hospital and pulled up outside a cafe.

From the outside, it looked nice enough, warm and friendly, with a few chairs and tables outside on the sidewalk.

"I'll come in with you if you like, but I don't drink either," I smiled waiting for the questions.

"So a cold drink then? Juice or maybe an ice-cream or they do the best doughnuts..."

"I don't eat," I said cutting into his gluttonous daydreams.

He stopped and stared at me as if I'd grown a second head...

"Why? Are you a vampire or something," he asked, the humour flashed across those dark eyes.

He was definitely a goofball I thought, beginning to feel irritated. "It hurts - I've got these blisters on the inside of my mouth and down my throat, so I can't swallow too well. When I try and eat anything, it's like trying to swallow pins, which is not so good. I've got a gastrostomy opening instead, so I use a tube and get fed that way. I've had it since birth so it's no big deal..."

"I'm sorry," he'd lowered his eyes looking really uncomfortable. At least the apology sounded genuine. "I'd better drop you home..."

"No, it's fine. We'll go in and you can have a coffee. I really don't mind."

"I'll come back later. It wouldn't be fair..."

But I pushed open the car door before he could fire up the engine.

"We're going nowhere until you've had a coffee," I insisted staring him out.

"You are one fiery lady," he said beginning to laugh. "Are you always like this?"

"I'm nothing special," I asserted. "You really haven't been out with many girls if you think that's fiery."

He found us a table inside, well away from the few customers who loitered over cakes that I would never eat. It was easier not to mind when I didn't have to watch them finger up every sticky crumb.

"Isn't there a cure for your condition," he asked between sips of latte. "I mean, there's a cure for just about everything even most cancers?"

"Not for this. The only cure is precaution. My skin, as you saw, is really fragile, so I'm supposed to be extra vigilant about what I touch. I try and make sure I don't pick up infections, so I have to wear sterile dressings on the most vulnerable parts."

He sipped again all the time those dark eyes were watching me.

"But what happens next? With so many advances in science..."

If only, I thought.

"That's not how it works. Science treats conditions based on priority of need... I'm only one person in a few hundred thousand with this condition. Research companies aren't going to spend millions of dollars looking for a cure for just a few thousand when there are millions of people dying of other diseases. And anyway, it isn't that simple. EB can lead to loads of complications, like oesophageal narrowing, amputations because of infection...squamous-cell cancer. I've ended up with the worst sort of course; it's called Epidermolysis bullosa dystrophica. Right now every day I wake up it's a gift."

"Most of the symptoms are probably because there's a deficiency in the anchoring fibrils which impairs the adherence between the epidermis and underlying dermis, thus making the skin peel off. Since there is chronic inflammation, so it can lead to mutations in skin DNA which may ultimately lead to cancer of the squamous cells," he said, nodding his head, trying to analyze the situation.

"You sound like a doctor," I said bewildered.

"I love human anatomy and physiology," he confessed. He was smiling again; those dark eyes sparkled with energy. "But don't you worry. I'm sure God is watching. You're far too precious a creation to lose..."

"Don't you ever say that to me again, do you hear!" I could feel the anger bubbling inside. Who the hell did he think he was, preaching at me like that?

"What have I said," he asked his expression a picture of confusion.

"I don't believe in God - any god," I hissed lowering my voice.

A couple of customers were looking over in our direction.

"So you're an atheist? Wow... that's a bit out there. I can understand having doubts but..."

"It's deeper than that, Daniel," I said, trying to control the turmoil currently going on in my head. I'd never had a conversation like this. "My parents are staunch churchgoers, followers of the faith... but not me."

"So, did you never believe?"

It was so obviously a genuine question. He wasn't trying to provoke me. But why was I prepared to bare my heart to a stranger when I couldn't even discuss religion with my mother?

What the hell was happening to me?

Edited by lindajonesAuthor

A/N Why do you think Phoebe is an atheist? What made her be one? What is she hiding?

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