“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Just look at me.”
It doesn’t shake the physical sensations that lock all themuscles in my body, but the sounds that felt so real to me for an instantdisappear into the background and are replaced with the sound of his voice.
“I’m right here, Reese. Right here. Just breathe. Deep breaths.”
I follow his advice, though really, as he continues talking medown, it’s the sound of his voice that guides me back, starts to relieve thetension that grips my body.
It takes some time before I finally take what feels like thefirst good breath of air that I’ve had since I heard the sound. Jay helps me tomy feet, his arm around me. I start to take a step, but my prosthesis doesn’twork right. “Fuck.” My anxiety intensifies.
“What’s wrong?”
“I fucked up the joint on the foot. God-fucking-dammit.”
“I got you.”
I pull away. “No. I can do this.” I limp toward the door. “Ihave shit in my office. I just need to…”
But the stress my body’s under combined with my leg throwing meoff sends me back to the floor.
Fuck.
I haven’t felt so weak…so helpless…so embarrassed in a longtime.
I can feel Jay’s gaze on me. “I can do this,” I insist. I crawlto the wall and climb it. I’m about to take another step, but the intensity ofmy episode and the utter defeat of this moment—being reminded of what a mess Ireally am—seizes my attention. I burst into tears as I rest my face against thewall, leaning against it for support.
“Reese,” Jay says. I keep my eyes closed. I can’t face him rightnow.
“Go away,” I say through gritted teeth. “Please.”
“I’m not leaving you like this. Just tell me what you need me todo to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I can do this. I’ve been doing thislong enough by myself.”
“Reese, please.”
I force my eyes open, so he can see how serious I am, but itjust releases the tears, which stream down my face.
God, I’m a mess.
“I…can…do this…on my own,” I say, fighting to get the words out.
“But you don’t have to anymore.”
He approaches me and ducks. I don’t realize what he’s doinguntil he lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder, and I surrender, becauseit’s never felt so good to have an ally. To not be totally alone in a momentwhere I feel so helpless.
“God, you’re fucking heavy,” he teases, and I laugh through thetears.
“I fucking hate you,” I say, really meaning the opposite.
“You can let my ass know just how much you hate me later.” Butthen he becomes serious again, saying, “I got you. I got you.”
And I feel safe in his arms.
He carries me to my office and helps me into the chair behind mydesk. He squats beside me before stroking his hand back and forth on my thigh.
“I’m good,” I say as my sense of control over my body returns.He glances around uneasily, like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now.“Thank you,” I say quickly to diffuse any uneasiness he’s feeling.
“No problem.”
