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Jackson
“Jackson?” I turn my head away from the window and towards the doctor. He’s standing in the doorway with a happy expression on his face. I’m not sure what he could be happy about. No day is a good day.
It’s always the same.
“How’s it going? Today’s the big day, you get to break free of these four walls.”
I sigh, sinking into the mattress that’s almost become a part of me. The smell and the colors of this place have almost become comfortable, and it makes me want to burn it to the ground. Who gets comfortable in a hospital room? The smell is normal to me now.
The smell of death and disease is normal to me now.
“How are you feeling today?” The doctor keeps going, as is usual now. He knows that I will talk on my own time, and I usually do. At some point, I’ll respond. Some days I’m more talkative than other. Today, I’m not feeling very talkative.
“Has Easton gotten things set up for you at home so it will be assessable to you? Where is he, by the way? I figured he’d be here by now, ready to get you out of here.”
I shrug at him, but it’s only really a head nod since not much else works on my body. I don’t know where Easton is. He gets here when he gets here.
“Well, let’s get you checked out before we start your discharge, okay? We’ll go over everything for what to expect when you get out, what to look for. We’ll also go over your physical therapy schedule. Unless you have to, try not to miss any appointments. It’s very important that you go to your physical therapy to help your recovery.”
“Recovery? Seems to me I’ll be like this forever.”
“Hey, now. You can’t think like that.” He comes and sits on the edge of my bed, the closest that he’s ever gotten to me and it makes my numb body seize up. “You were stabbed in the spine, but three surgeries and we were about as successful as successful can be. We repaired what we could, and all we can do now is hope that the rest of you heals up and gets back to where it should be. Yes, you could have permanent damage, but the fact that we saw your nerves stimulated in any part of your body is a good sign, Jackson. It's a really good sign. You’re lucky you can even breathe on your own without medical assistance.”
I swallow, not wanting to hang on to his words even though my soul is reaching out to them. I’ve been feeling pretty lifeless for the last two weeks. Ever since Cara and the baby left, it’s just been me and Easton. He comes when he can, but he’s dealing with work shit with Rich and I know he’s been trying to keep training for his fights.
I’m just a fucking burden.
The thought of killing myself has crossed my mind more times than I can count. But every time I’m about to wrap the discarded IV cord around my neck, I chicken out like a little shit.
“Hey.” I lift my gaze and see Easton standing in the doorway, sweaty in a pair of sweats. Just like I thought, I’m sure he came right from the gym.
“Easton, glad you’re here. I’m just about to go over everything with Jackson and I think you should be around to hear it. Is he going to be staying with you?”
“No.” I murmur.
“Yes.” Easton says, shifting his eyes away from me.
“What?” I bark.
No one’s told me what I’m doing or where I’m going, and honestly, I haven’t really given a shit about it. Throw me in my old house with all the nightmares and demons and let me rot, for all I care. It’s what I most likely deserve.
For how I’ve treated Cara? Yeah, I don’t deserve much better than four cold, empty walls.
“He’ll be with me.” Easton says, completely ignoring me. I grind my teeth until I can feel them cracking as I listen to Easton and the doctor talk like I’m not even there, going over everything that I should be listening to. I just don’t give a shit, unfortunately.
Honestly, I should probably have a full-time caretaker. Easton isn’t going to want to deal with my shit. Literally.
“We’ll follow up next week at your first appointment. Sound good, Jackson?” The doctor, who—I shit you not—I still haven’t learned the name of.
“What’s your name?” I mumble.
The doctor’s face turns slightly red, probably embarrassed and a little angry. He’s been working day and night on me for almost a month, and I haven’t even bothered to learn the guy’s name.
“It’s Dr. Peterson.”
“We’ll see you next week, Dr. Peterson.” Easton says, thankfully cutting our conversation off. What else was I supposed to say to him, sorry for being a pain in the ass patient?
I don’t do emotions.
