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Stopthinking about anything past today,warned his inner voice.Justenjoy this.
Assomeone who spent most of his time reliving the past, he found this easier said than done.Inthe six years he spent in therapy, his psychiatrist, a calm-voicedArméedeTerreveteran, had spent most of his time trying to dragGabrielout of the past,to convince him to think more about the now and worry less about the future.He’dstopped going two years ago when his therapist suggestedGabrielshould start dating again.
Hepushed the memory away.
Reachingdown, he scratched an itch on his stump.Atsome point he had kicked off his prosthesis, his sock, and the gel sleeve.Funny…when he was wearing it, his prosthesis felt as much a part of him as any other part of his body, but when it was sitting next to him, like it was now, it mutated into just an object.Atool.
Jessshifted her head onto his shoulder.Herfingers brushed down his stomach, towards his groin.Heknew where she was headed.
‘Doyou mind ifI…’
Heraised his eyebrow.
‘…ifItouch your stump?’
Oh.Well, maybe he didn’t know. ‘Bemy guest.’Hewasn’t ashamed of it; however, he’d never encouraged a sexual partner to lay hands on it before.Itseemed too intimate for a one-night stand.ButwithJess—well, she could touch any part of him she wanted.
Sheflipped herself around so that her head lay near his calf.Itgave him a beautiful view, right up the plane of her flat stomach to her perfect, round breasts.Theyreminded him of his oldX-Mencomics; the female characters like thePhoenix,StormandRoguealways had amazing boobs, very titillating for his young pre-pubescent brain.Henever thought real women looked like that.Butthe sight ofJess’sbody could cause traffic accidents.
Notonly that, but she was also smart, kind, and funny.Aquadruple threat.
Tentativelyshe ran her fingers over his scar and he shivered.
‘Isthat okay?’ she asked, drawing her hand away.
‘It’sfine.’Hecould barely feel it.Inthe period when he lived with his parents—another hell he never wanted to repeat with his father’s amateur therapy attempts and his mother’s constant weeping—he had worked hard to desensitise the skin on his stump to ready himself for the prosthetic limb.Nexthe’d tested a series of different sockets to find one that didn’t chafe or cause blisters.Eightyears on and it was numb most of the time.Butvisualisation was powerful, especially for amputees, and just the fact that he saw her touching him made him react.
‘It’sso much softer thanIexpected it to be,’ she said.
‘Well,Imoisturise.’Itwas important to keep the skin in good condition to prevent folliculitis.
‘Doesit still hurt?’
‘Sometimes.’Heput his hands behind his head. ‘Itgets sore.Imassage it at the end of every day, usually whenI’mcleaning it.Oncein a whileIget phantom pain out of the blue.Likemy brain gets amnesia and suddenly thinks to itself, “Hey,Ihaven’t spoken withRightFootin a while.Bettercheck in”—and fires off some messages.Afterfive or six hours it usually stops, but fuck me if it doesn’t hurt in the meantime.Likelightening under my skin.’
‘Didit take you a long time to get used to the prosthesis?’
Hismind zipped back to the hours of physical therapy with aThor-likeAustriannamedWolfgang.Theman had been like a drill sergeant. ‘Ittook me a while to learn to trust it, to gain confidence that this flimsy bit of metal and plastic would hold my weight.ButImanaged it in the end.’He’dbeen a model student, his goal to live on his own again as quickly as possible.
Shekissed the puckered line where the doctors had sewn it closed. ‘Doyou…do you miss your foot?’
Thiswas a question he pondered many times while lying alone in his bed at night, staring at the ceiling and playing sliding doors in his head.Ifhe closed his eyes, he could stillidentify exactly where his foot should be.Butin a way, the missing foot served as a reminder ofFatima, keeping her alive for him. ‘Ina perfect life,I’drather have my foot, butIdon’t let it hold me back.Thereare very few things thatIcan’t do now thatIcould do then.Istill run.Hike.Cycle.I’vebought the best prosthesesIcan afford and they’re making advances all the time.Reallyamazing advances, actually.’
Blueeyes shining with awe, she said, ‘Gosh, you’re such an insp?—’
‘DoNOTsay inspiration!’Helaughed and swatted her on the leg. ‘Wecall itinspiration bombing.Amputeesget it all the time.I’llbe out on a run and some stranger will come up to me whileI’mhaving a water break and say, “Man, you’re such an inspiration” likeIjust solved world hunger.Itmakes me want to explode.I’mnot an inspiration;I’mjust a guy trying to get through life, same as anyone else.’
‘I’mso sorry!’Shespun around again and laid next to him. ‘You’llhave to punish me later.’Bitingher lip, she flashed his new favourite, flirtatious look—the one where she dropped her chin towards her chest and her eyes devoured him from under her lashes.Heloved how far they’d come since the first night when they met.Inhis opinion, her science fair project wonBestinShow.
Shelaid her head on his chest and they lapsed into a companionable silence.Ashe stroked her silky hair, feeling the early morning sunshine on his skin and listening to the birds sing and the insects buzz, an alien feeling overcame him.Itmade him want to smile and dance and buy sweets for children and adopt stray cats.Theworld seemed a little brighter, the air a little sweeter.Witha start,Gabrielrealised that, for the first time in a long time, he was happy.
Hefrowned.
Boltingupright and startlingJessin the process, he reached for his sleeve and slid it onto his stump, followed by the sock.
‘Iseverything okay?’Concernlaced her voice as she pushed herself up.
‘Yeah.Uh—do you mind ifIgo for a quick run?’Heneeded to move.Heneeded to sort out his head, to put some distance between himself and this siren for a few minutes so he could regain perspective.Rememberthat this was a short-term deal.
