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Nope. Not fucking happening.
I closed my eyes as the wind began to whip around outside. I tried to imagine what it would feel like on my face. My mother and sister were still going at it behind me, trying to make a fucking decision.
And not once asking me to weigh in on it. Which was fine. It wasn’t like my opinion mattered any longer. It didn’t matter anywhere. I had to fight twice as hard to get bullshit stuff done at work. I had to yell twice as hard to be heard in the video conferences my investors wanted. I had to wave my one good arm twice as hard to get my mother’s attention.
It wasn’t worth the effort.
Not with them, anyway.
The doorbell rang out and neither one of them moved. They continued to debate over whether or not to hire a new nurse, and I was getting sick of their voices. The daydream of walking through the garden with my father was no longer providing me the comfort it used to, so I wheeled away from the window and headed through the kitchen.
Down the hallway.
Away from their voices.
I wheeled towards the door and reached for the handle. I pulled it open and was met with the familiar scent of orchids and lilies. The same arrangement six times a week that kept me company at the kitchen table. The same arrangement I had carried to my room whenever it was time to go to bed.
Delivered by the same beautiful girl every fucking time.
She really was an attractive woman. Long, brown curly hair I would enjoy wrapping my fingers within. A full lower lip that begged to be nibbled. A soft smile that accented the peaks of her flushed cheeks. Tits that spilled over her confining bra and hips that filled out her tight ass jeans. Delicate hands that wrapped around the thick vase the flowers always came in.
And beautiful brown eyes, strewn with yellow that peeked through the flowers to see where she was going.
“Delivery,” she said.
“Over on the table’s fine,” I said.
She looked from beyond the flowers, acting like she was startled to see me. Her eyebrows rose to her hairline as I wheeled myself out of the way. There was no use in paying her any mind. It wasn’t like women were attracted to wheelchairs. To men who couldn’t stand and escort them anywhere. Or pick them up for dates. Or fucking get in a damn restaurant by himself.
Or pick them up and fuck them senseless against a window.
“You’re looking better today,” the woman said.
“Yep,” I said.
“How’s the new nurse working out?”
“She’s not,” I said.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I grunted and kept my back to her as she settled the vase on the small table against the wall.
“How’s the garden doing?” she asked.
“It’s fine.”
“Do you have it professionally tended to?”
“Do you care?”
I turned my head towards her and eyed her carefully, watching as she drew in a deep breath. She did this every fucking time. Came in and tried to make pathetic small talk. Tried to converse about the backyard like she knew what the hell she was talking about. She arranged flowers for a living. She wasn’t a horticulturist. And she didn’t need to hand me some sort of pity conversation.
People were dealing without me just fine.
So I could deal without them.
“If you want to have thriving carnations, I suggest you line them by the hot tub instead,” the woman said.
