They say it takes two weeks to form a new habit. That means only three more days until the extra workout I’ve added after my morning routine with Remy will stop kicking my ass. Putting my leftovers away in the fridge, I spot a lone beer in the back when I move some things around to make room.
Glancing out the kitchen window at the way the wind is picking up, I don’t have to watch the weather to know it’s going to rain. The familiar pins and needles splintering themselves down my hips and legs tell me a downpour is coming. The twelve ounces of beer sitting in my fridge are tempting, but I’ve managed to stay away from Mahoney’s every evening since seeing Remy there. Grabbing it, I pull it out and toss it into my trash can. What’s the point of eating broiled fish and steamed vegetables if you pack the love back on your handles with hops?
Gale comes in, the clip of her nails on the tile floor announcing her entrance. “We don’t need that,” I inform her, although I know she’s probably more interested in the leftovers.
Moving to the sink, I wash and dry the pan I used to cook my dinner. Gale follows, still looking hopeful. Such a beggar.
Ambling across the kitchen, I open the top cabinet to grab a treat for when she does her business later, covertly trying to slip it into my pocket. There is nothing covert when a dog knowswhere the good stuff is, though. I can practically feel her ears perk to attention behind me.
Surveying the cabinet contents, I look longingly at a peanut butter cracker sandwich snack packet. I guess I’ve made enough progress that I can indulge a little. When I grab it, the familiar foil blue wrapper of a more enticing treat behind it comes into view. Damn. I thought I’d thrown all of those out.
Grabbing the Rice Krispies Treat, I head back to the trash can, where Gale skitters over, tongue hanging out. “No. We don’t need these either.”
I toss it in. She gives an annoyed huff, looking at me like her human has been replaced by an alien. I wonder how long it takes dogs to adapt to new habits. I feel her pain because I kind of want to dumpster dive for that little marshmallow snack.
Smoothing my hand over my midsection, I’m pleased by the decrease in the squish there. It’s not a vast difference, but hopefully it means I’m working toward better spine stability like Remy talks about. My trips down to the basement to reunite with my old exercise equipment have taken motivation that I didn’t know I had left. I’ve certainly not hit my crunch bar the way I used to, but it’s enough that I’ve made a dent in my Rice Krispies band. My back, while still completely fucked, actually feels a bit stronger. At the games, whether I’m sitting in the press box or the bleachers, I’m also mindful about catching myself hunching over. Baby steps.
We can’t fix me, like Remy says, but once I’m over this hurdle, hopefully I’ll have reclaimed a fragment of my former posture.
Heading into my living room, I sit down at my computer, muscles stiff and tight from overdoing it earlier. I should probably stretch some more, but I know Old Man Weather is playing into the discomfort. For now, a distraction will do me better than thinking about how fun it’s going to be trying to fall asleep later without liquid medication.
Overall, I feel…good. Lighter, but not necessarily because of my weight. It’s the first time since my accident that I feel like I have at least as equal an amount of control over my body as it does over me.
I don’t need to hit the two-week mark to know that Remy is the cause of that. He’s a welcome habit. He’s… changed in new and surprising ways from the guy I thought I knew, and yet, he’s somehow still the same in the best ways. I can’t believe I scoffed at him for suggesting we get to know each other better, when it’s been the best thing that’s happened to me in forever.
Blurting out random questions while we work out is still taking me some getting used to, but he never seems to bat an eye, always open and honest. He’s so easy to talk to, I don’t know why it’s so difficult for me. And…he does this thing when he thinks he’s rambling…
His cheeks go pink, and he’ll laugh softly at himself, while all I can think is that I don’t want him to stop. I could listen to a twenty-four-hour marathon of the Jeremy Tanner documentary and not get bored. It’s becoming difficult to remember that I go over there for physical therapy and not just for a chance to listen to and sneak glances at him.
When he first suggested physical therapy, I thought I was in for some brutal physical torture that would leave me frustrated from day one, with no hope of having the stomach to show up for day two. Except Idofeel better. My muscles are more limber, and I swear my gait is a little smoother. We started walking around the block a few days ago, and the soles of my feet haven’t even cramped up once. It’s invigorating. My body is less of a prison already.
Digging my fingers into the tight muscles at the base of my neck, I groan. At least, it was invigorating until I started doubling down on my abs at home last week. Doing suspendedcrunches in my early twenties never felt like I was pulling an anchor up from the bottom of the ocean.
God, I really let myself go. I know, to some extent, I had no choice, but I can see now how I gave up and let my injuries win. They don’t need to win every day.
Reviewing my last article, I pop a peanut butter cracker into my mouth. I wonder what Remy’s having for dinner. This morning, he was talking about a baked squash and roasted red pepper soup he made last night, his eyes lighting up over his culinary victory. I’ve never seen someone so exuberant about conquering their kitchen. Did he just bow down and let all his exes decide on dinner?
I’m kind of kicking myself for taking him up on mornings for our workouts. If we switched them to the afternoons, he wouldn’t have to rush off to work, and we’d have more time.I’dhave more time…to spend withhim.
And that’s not even me thinking with my dick, although I’ve caught myself thinking about the state of my dick more than ever lately. Scrubbing my face won’t alleviate the burning sensation over the memory of taking my doctor up on his offer of a little blue pill when I brought up my issue again the other day. God knows I probably won’t even have the chance to use them with Remy after the way I came on that night at the bar. I couldn’t care less, honestly. It’s not even a priority. I just want to be prepared. If Remy ever…wantedme again, I don’t want to let him down.
He’s…something. Really something. So full of life and optimism that any traces of self-pity I haven’t kicked to the curb yet die a quick death whenever I’m around him. He’s a new drug that I don’t mind being addicted to. I think I actually have a friend.
A friend that you still think about kissing sometimes, I remind myself.
Blowing out a breath, I dust the crumbs off my fingers onto my jeans. My article looks up to snuff, so I call out to Gale. We could both use some cool fresh air, her for her bladder and me for the warmth in my skin.
Thatwassome kiss, though. I can’t help playing it on repeat. In my defense, when I’m trying to get comfortable enough to go to sleep at night, I only have two choices to distract me from my pain—TV or fantasies. I honestly don’t think you could call them fantasies anymore. My stomach flab isn’t the only thing that’s looking different.
Last night, I dreamt we were back in Remy’s old room at college. He was still twenty-something Remy, but I wasn’t. I was me now.
I knocked on his front door and told him to ignore the noise at his bedroom window, to not letthatguy in. He said okay, trusting and compliant as always, and invited me in to sit on the couch. And then… we just talked. Just like we do now.
I asked him about all his hopes and dreams. He told me he was scared of the future and that he liked this guy who didn’t know he existed. I told him not to be afraid, that he’d be great at whatever he did. And on the other matter, I said it was because the guy didn’t deserve him yet, but to be patient, that maybe he would someday.
I held him, and he fell asleep in my arms, at peace, his innocence protected from the darkness. And I felt no pain. None in my body nor in my heart.
I woke up sobbing. For a while, I didn’t think I’d be able to get it together enough to go over to his house, but seeing him, honestly, felt like the only remedy.
