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I can wade through life like anybody else. I can handle hisfriendshipwith Claire. I’m patient with him, and I wait for him to achieve his goals all on his own.
His physical therapist, Stefan McKleen, believed that if pushed harder, Harvey could end up walking longer distances with or without braces.
The majority of people who started rehab at the same level and time as Harvey ended up with an amount of walking within the first year, whereas Harvey’s recovery has been quite different.
I’ve tried to encourage him to push past his mental block, but it hasn’t worked. All that my pushing him has done is to put more distance between us. And the truth is, I’m no expert.
So after his previous nurse quit to continue her education, I spoke to his parents, and they hired Claire. Harv gets along with Claire, and on top of being a recent graduate and passing her nurse licensing exam, she has a degree in physical therapy and is registered as a physical therapy assistant, which makes her able to keep up with Harvey’s daily PT treatments.
Harvey’s independent.
On paper, Claire helps with bladder and pill management, though he can handle both on his own. She’s merely there to ensure he gets some fresh air and to encourage him to move his body using the exercises McKleen prescribes.
I stop daydreaming, knowing my comment about my platewould’ve warranted a wink in the past, as he’d often finish my food for me.
No winks this time. No more holding hands.
Nothing but a cold silence that spreads through me like foggy windows. Draining me of good memories, of big laughter and happy thoughts. Instead, the haze occupies my brain, drowning out more happiness as the months pass by, and I don’t like this.
I don’t want to live like this. Alive, surviving, yet not truly living.
What happened to the old me? The one that sought adventure. I’m not convinced I’ll ever get her back.
I clean up, then we make our way to the couch. Some nights, such as tonight, he stays in his wheelchair instead of transferring to the couch.
It makes me wonder if he sometimes does it to keep me away.
Or perhaps he’s feeling numb, as he has some sensation in different areas of both legs, and I’m being selfish making this about me.
“I’ll be back. You pick,” I throw him the remote, though I have no intention of watching TV tonight.
I hurry up to my bedroom, remove my clothes, and put on a simple black bra and thong. The material of the bra cups is transparent, revealing my pierced nipple.
I keep my hair down and spray a bit of perfume on my wrists in the hopes of enticing him. I need all the help I can get.
When I head back to the living room couch and dim the lights, I notice his blue eyes raking the entirety of my body. He’s tightly holding the arm rests of his chair as I swallow, hoping for a miracle.
I need one. I need this. I know he does too.
I walk slowly to him, hoping I don’t look too skinny. At least my breasts are still a semi-decent size.
He’s never complained before. He still doesn’t, but it’s the rejection that stings.
I finally reach him and kneel in front of him, my hands reaching for his. His cold stare turns warmer, mushier by the second.
“Harvey . . .”
He shakes his head and looks away. Pain, so much pain. Pain he never shares with me.
“Harv, please. I miss you.Please,let me make you feel good.” He stares back at me, a fire scorching through his eyes.
He wants this. He’s just too proud, his ego the size of the universe.
I crawl over him, carefully, reaching for his chest under his white shirt. A pale stomach greets me where he used to be tanned. My fingers roam over his chest, diligent enough not to spook the frightened wolf out of him.
I want so badly to kiss him.
I so badly want him to kiss me it hurts.
