I just collect my bag of meds, wheel to my room at the top of the hall, and close the door. Stupidly, I leave my crutches in the living room, so I won’t be practicing tonight.
Grabbing the TV remote on the way past my dressing table, I toss it and my bag of meds onto the bed, then I wheel into my bathroom and swallow my rage at the sight of an old folk’s chair in the shower.
A fucking chair!
I don’t stick around to explore my new space the way a kid might explore their new playground. I don’t stop and marvel at the new showerhead, or the handles by the toilet, or the fucking seatbelt, just in case I might fall off. I grab a clean glass from the sink and fill it with water, then one handed, I wheel back into my room and set it on the bedside table.
Restarting the process, I prepare my remaining leg to lift my weight, hold onto the chair with one hand, and my tightly tucked in bedspread with the other. Pulling myself up with a grunt, I balance on one foot and breathe through the wooziness.
It shouldn’t be this hard. Everyone can balance on one leg. Everyone can hop. Hell, I’ve been squatting and lifting on one leg at a time for years, so why is it so difficult now?
Because everything is different. Everything is broken, and the woman I care the most about is alone in my living room right now, probably cleaning my mess, or crying because I hurt her.
This is miserable for everyone involved; most of all Andi.
The woman that just wanted a little fun, now feels obligated to help her cripple friend.
It was the most expensive sex she’s ever had.
* * *
I hadto crawl onto my bed – literally. Holding the covers in a tight fist and dragging myself up, the fire in my belly hurt so much, I worried I’d need to crawl back off again and into the bathroom. Bile rose in my throat, and dots floated in front of my eyes. Dizzy from blood loss, dizzy from lack of the nutrition my body knows, dizzy from the shitty drugs they’ve pumped through my veins the last three weeks, I’ve found myself weak as a baby, and nostalgic for the strong body I spent so long training up to become a machine.
It took a whole hour after I slammed my bedroom door to work up the energy to flip the TV on, and another forty-five minutes to breathe through the pain that radiates through my body. It’s like a circuit of death, a fiery inferno that slides just beneath my skin and refuses to give me relief: my leg, my stomach, my leg, then a detour through my heart for good measure and to remind me she’s so fucking close.
She’s in this house.
All I have to do is call out and ask for a fucking hug.
With the TV remote in one hand, and a pillow beneath my left leg, I lie back against the headboard and will the pain to go away. I barely look at my leg, I don’t see the black brace, or the swelling at the end.
But Ifeelthe throbbing, and not even CHiPs reruns can distract me.
What feels like hours after I came in here, Ninja hesitantly pokes her head out of my closet and draws my attention to the doorway. Her short fur bristles as she watches me. Her golden eyes scan the room and continuously stop on my leg.
Seeing her forces a clamp around my heart, it holds on tight and squeezes until I can barely catch my breath. It’s so lonely in my room, so quiet and depressing knowing Andi is so close, so touchable if only I could be brave, so comforting, if only I would let her be.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to call out.
So instead, Ninja’s watchful eyes and her motor-like purring bring me to the edge of my overworked emotions, forcing tears to my eyes and a wild gallop to my heart. “Come here, Ninj. Come on.” I pat my bed and grit my teeth when the vibrations turns to throbbing in my leg. “Come over here, Ninja.”
I’ve swallowed my allocated meds for the afternoon, and the temptation to take more when the bag sits right beside my leg is too much. It would be so simple. It would be blissfully pain free. Three weeks ago, moments after the fire in my belly, I slid into what felt like a warm bath; I thought of Andi, I slid right in, and I smiled while I floated.
That’s what it would be like again.
Hell, Andi’s right here, closer now than she was the night I was hurt, so her close proximity could only help. I could finally sleep, I could rest, and I bet in Heaven, I’d have two legs.
I’d be able to watch over her. I could live her lifewithher, watching her crazy, flighty, impulsive schemes. I could be her guardian angel, so every time she took it too far – because she will always be the person that’ll take things too far – I could step in and save her. And all the while, I could watch her grow old, I could watch her flourish, and patiently wait for her to join me.
My cell vibrates in my pocket and draws me out of my half-asleep haze. I’ve been plagued by insomnia since I woke in the hospital, like my time under had left me rested enough for the rest of the year.
Exhausted during the day.
Wired up and overthinking at night.
But finally, back in my own room and thinking of Dee, I was on the verge of dozing off before the cell brings me back to my harsh new reality. Knowing it’s not her, but still wishing for some strange reason that she’d call, I yank the cell from my pocket and unlock the screen in a matter of seconds. My racing heart slows and disappointment washes through my blood when it’s not her.
Oz:Is Andi at your house? I tried to call her, but she won’t answer. Lindsi’s starting to worry.