Page 64 of Rock Me

Brian picks up the ball and pushes it into my palm.

“Again.”

“Fuck you, Brian.”

“Do it again, Jez.”

Our eyes lock, and I’m wishing him bloody murder in my head, but he doesn’t waver.

I take a breath, and shake my wrist. It does more harm than good. I lay my forearm back down onto the table.

Squeeze, you useless things, I curse at my pale, clammy fingers, squeeze the motherfucking ball!

They twitch, but barely move. Like they’re locked in place from months of being caged in a cast.

My index finger folds forward, and the others follow, awkward and gnarled. They almost envelope around the ball, but my thumb refuses to follow and the balls slips out through the gap across the table and onto the floor again.

“FUCK!” I yell, slamming my other hand against the table. “ARGHHH!” White hot heat sears up the inside of my hand and all the way up my arm to my shoulder.

But I barely notice it. My vision fogs up with anger, with frustration and I push away from the table and stand in the middle of the room and let out a scream.

This is not supposed to be happening.

The cast was supposed to come off and I was supposed to get to go back to my life.

This. This not being able to do the absolute simplest of tasks, and yet essential to everything that I am, was not supposed to feel like medieval torture.

“Jez.” In the fog, I hear her voice.

Dammit, I forgot she was here.

Why did I ask her here? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Jez,” she says again and I just want her to be gone. I don’t want her to see this.

“Go away, Noémie,” I say, my voice hard and harsh.

“No.”

“Just go,” I say again. “GO!”

“I’m not-…”

I spin around and she’s right there, and I lean in, my face pulled tight, my eyes wide. “I SAID GO! GO! I don’t want you here. Fucking GET OUT OF HERE!”

She flinches, her eyes blinking and I see her shoulders tense as she jumps. She steadies herself and her eyes flood with something… fear? Pity? God, no, please not pity.

God. What is happening to me?

I turn my back to her. “Just fucking go,” I say, tired. Resigned to this broken shell. “Can’t you see I don’t want you here?”

I close my eyes, my own breath, ragged in my ears. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even move.

Finally, I hear her sigh and her feet moving away from me against the vinyl floor.

I know I should apologize, but I can’t feel anything but the disappointment in myself crushing against my chest, leaving no room for air. I cradle my left hand against my sternum, like a wounded bird and wonder how to just disappear from here.

She’s gone. And there’s no longer a reason to be here.