She’s been shooting me glances that are probably meant to be sympathy, but all I feel is pity, and it’s ugly. I’m ready to get the hell out of here and go back to my quiet life.
With North.
Because apparently, that’s a thing now.
“Ow, fuck!” I was too lost in thought and ran into a doorframe, feetfirst. The pain shoots up my spine and, weirdly, pools in my crotch, which is new and fun. Gasping for air, I roll back and look over at the PT tech, who’s offering me a look of actual pity, which I probably deserve.
“I guess there goes my A+.”
She laughs and gives my arm a pat. “I’m not deducting points. It’s your first day, and this is pretty much your only real lesson on how to do this. You’re a great student.”
The pain starts to ease, and it’s replaced by a sudden, almost violent itch. I breathe through it as I turn the chair the way she’d shown me and make my way back toward my room.
“Were you always a perfectionist?” she asks as we turn the corner.
“I’m not a—” I stop. She’s right. I always have been.
It was obvious in the quiet way I tried and failed to get my parents’ attention as a kid. And being told how good I was doing by teachers and staff always soothed the ache of being ignored at home. That desperation for attention crept into my marriage too, and it was very likely why I stuck with Liam for so long, even after realizing I was unhappy.
“I guess I always have been. It didn’t usually work out the way I wanted though.”
“It never does,” she says in a tone that tells me she knows from personal experience.
I turn my head and take a glance at her badge for the first time. I wasn’t bothering with names before this. I’ve changed nurses and techs so many times my head is spinning. But she’s worth remembering.
Shani, it reads. I say it in my head a few times and worry I’m getting it wrong. And there’s a good chance my brain will misfire, and I’ll forget both her name and her face.
But I won’t forget this.
“It doesn’t get easier either,” I add.
She laughs as we turn the corner into my room, and I wince at the smell. Someone’s changed the sheets, and there’s nothing I hate more than the smell of freshly laundered hospital sheets. It’s all bleaches and starches, the scent stinging the inside of my sinuses.
It gives me almost violent flashbacks of lying in a bed, unable to move most of my body, my soul screaming with a grief I couldn’t quite process.
“Let me lower the bed,” Shani says, walking over to push the button. “I know they told you this already, but it’s really important you don’t try to bear any weight.”
I nod. I wouldn’t try, even if they asked me to. The blisters are kind of incredible-looking—at least the ones I can see. They’re all in odd shapes like alien continents, cascading from my knees to the arches of my feet.
The scars will be interesting.
With a heavy grunt, I brace myself on the bed railing, then twist from the chair to the mattress the way Shani had showed me earlier today. My calves knock against the side, and I bite back a cry as she lifts my legs and hooks my knees over the little wedge pillow that keeps them elevated.
It’s not a perfect system, but it’s something.
“Comfy?” she asks.
“Yes,” I lie with a small smile.
She laughs and pats my arm again. “If it helps, I’ve seen a lot worse heal really well. And you’re getting through this like a champ.”
It doesn’t help, but I understand what she’s trying to do. “Thanks. You’re a great teacher.”
“Don’t tell my mom that. She hates that I took this job.” With a wink, she takes the chair and leaves me to my thoughts, whichare a jumbled mess of both exhaustion and the gentle painkillers keeping the worst of it at bay.
My eyes start to drift closed, and I’m not sure how long I hover on the edge of sleep when something jolts me awake. The smell of food. Good food. Definitely not what the hospital has been preparing the last couple of days.
I peel one eye open and realize my brother’s pulling my rolling tray closer to the bed. The little pink pitcher on the tray has condensation from fresh ice water, and there’s a plate beside it that did not come from here.
