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Jackson
Istare my arm, watching for movement.
It seems that’s all I’ve been doing the last week since it first twitched. I watch and I wait, holding my breath until I see another jolt. Hoping for any kind of feeling.
Just give me anything.
This last week has been short of terrible. My nurse is actually someone that works for Rich and lives close by. She stops by twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening. She helps me change, do my embarrassingly horrible bathroom duties, and gets me bathed. Cara also has to call her or Easton when I need to move, whether it be from the couch to the bed, the bed to the wheelchair, or the wheelchair to the couch. Cara’s five feet isn’t strong enough to lift my well over six-foot frame, and even if she were, she’s not allowed to lift more than the baby for a while.
So, why she was so adamant about me living with her is beyond me.
We’ve been in some weird limbo between friends and something unknown. We still haven’t spoken about us or anything even close to those waters. She’s tried, she’s tried really fucking hard. We ended our last conversation saying we would be friends, but the looks she gives me… the feelings I feel for her… we’re anything but friends.
But I’m not going there. Not when there’s no way out of the room or the house and I have no ability to rage—fuck no. I need to wait until I can get a better hold over my emotions before we walk into those unchartered territories.
The one thing that she has been doing is feeding me. It’s been one of the most embarrassing things in the world to have someone literally feed you like a child. It’s not sexual or sensual at all when it has to be cut up and she has to wipe my mouth afterwards.
No, that shit is so embarrassing. I’d almost rather not eat at all.
She left about an hour ago. Rose brought her and Wesley to Wesley’s doctor appointment. Cara wanted me to go, but the thought of getting me into a car and out when Cara already has to handle Wesley is too much. I think even Cara agreed with this one.
It’s starting to feel like I’m too much. This quadriplegia… it’s too much
My soul is withering away into dust, ready to settle into the soil and never to be seen again. It feels like the world is about to pass me by and I can’t even take a step to keep up with it.
I’m afraid with one breath, I’ll have been forgotten and nothing but a memory.
And a part of me wonders why I’m waiting around for that to happen.
“Yo, Jackson!” Easton yells, pounding on the door a couple times before opening it up. Hugo stands behind him, his massive frame covering the entire doorway.
“Yeah.” I nod at Hugo, trying to remain detached to my emotions as Hugo’s eyes rove over me like I’m an undetected species. I haven’t seen him since I got out of the hospital, and with the pity in his eyes, he feels guilty about it.
“Jackson, how are you, man?” Hugo comes over and pats my shoulder. I lift an eyebrow and he pulls his hand away. We’re not a touchy-feely bunch, so why the hell everyone suddenly thinks they can touch me now that I can’t feel anything, I have no fucking idea.
I hate it.
“So, you fuckers finally going to tell me what’s going on in the south?” I ask. I’d rather deflect any information about me and jump right into work. I’m exhausted talking about me, my condition, and how I’m feeling. Never in my life have I discussed myself so much, and I honestly can’t take another second of it.
Easton and Hugo exchange a look, and I immediately know something’s up.
“Well, fucking get on with it.” I raise my eyebrows.
Easton sighs, sitting down on the couch and looking over at me. “Santiago’s raising hell down there. Says if the Seven don’t give in let them expand into San Diego and Imperial County, he’s going to cut off our supply.”
“Ok, so? The Mexican’s aren’t the only ones we get a supply of guns from.” I shake my head. That’s the best they got?
Easton grabs a joint from is pocket and holds it up. “Do you think Cara will mind?”
My mouth waters at the sight of the plump joint. I haven’t been able to smoke much besides when Easton comes over for a quick visit. But even then, it’s just a hit or two. “I don’t know, probably, but I don’t give a fuck. Light that shit up.”
Easton smirks at me as he lights it up. “They aren’t just threatening to cut off our supply. They’re talking to others.”
“Who?” I sneer.
“The ones who want us out. New York, Ohio, New Mexico. The one’s who don’t get along with anyone. The fucking outcasts, Jackson, and if the Mexican’s put together one huge riot against us, we’re fucked.”
“But we’ve got Chicago, California. We can handle our own shit.”
