First, I need to cool off before I spiral too far out of control. I can’t breathe, and I fear if I keep myself worked up, I’m gonna pass the fuck out. Feeling out of options, I storm over and out the back door. Stripping my shirt over the top of my head with one hand, I dive into the pool the second my feet hit the ledge. The coolness of the water envelops my body and instantly soothes the fire burning on the outside, but on the inside, I’m still a goddamned inferno. At least with the shock of coldness, it forces me to take a breath. Then another. And another.
Once my breathing calms, I continue to float face-up in the pool and try to force my mind to settle by focusing on the positives. Guilt gnaws at me, and I know that I’ll need to return to our room to apologize, but also to explain myself and my limits while I’m still so fucking useless with my hands.
Positives, Riley.
Right.
First positive: my feelings for Creed continue to grow just as rapidly as they had for Collins. While he is an impossibly attractive man, it’s his kindness, his patience with me, and his shockingly nurturing side that have me falling a little harder every day. He connected with me emotionally years ago, and I think that’s when the wheels of our inevitable relationship were set into motion. I feared that what happened to us in those twoweeks would have changed our who we are to one another for the worse. It seems, though, that it’s only served to amplify and double his efforts to get me to open up to him more. To lean further into seeing him as my boyfriend and life partner, not just as my best friend.
I move my arms, letting gravity and my own buoyancy carry my body through the water as my eyes open and flit over the glittering stars above me. My breathing slows, and with it, my body cools a little more, inside and out.
Second positive: Collins still wants me. I’m still in awe of how she begged me to kiss her. To touch her— andGoddid I want to. I crave it. I’ve missed the sweet sound of her soft moans filling the air as I touch her. The feel of her pussy squeezing the life out of my cock as she rides me. I want to lay her out beneath me and taste every inch of her skin while telling her just how much I fucking love her. How she and Creed are it for me. My endgame. My fuckingeverything.
My thoughts and mental exercises take a plummet when shame slams back into me like a rubberband snapping back after being pulled taut. The pain of not being able to touch them with gentle hands the way I long to settles over me like a heavy weight right on top of my chest, directly over my heart. I can’t give them all of me when I don’t even have all of myself.
Tonight just proves that I’m still very much broken—in my head and within my body. My chest aches with the realization that I can’t be what they need me to be. They want me, but at what cost? What could I give them in return? A bruised heart? A broken and battered soul?
Dipping down beneath the water, I try to clear my negative thoughts, but it feels impossible with the weight of my burdens pressing in on me. The moment I resurface, I suck in deep lungfuls of air and swim over to the stairs. I hate how my mind is constantly at war with itself. I make my way to the cabinet whereextra towels are stored just as my eyes snag on my phone where it lies haphazardly on the ground.
Drying myself quickly, I snatch it up and sit on the lounge. I have three missed calls, all from a number I haven’t saved in my phone, but the area code has the blood draining from my face. Considering she’s my only family, the only person I know from this area, I know that it could only be my mother. I don’t know what she wants, or why she’s calling me all of a sudden, but speaking to her will only serve to worsen my mood.
Instead, I scroll through my contacts and press dial for someone who will actually be able to help me right now.
It rings four times on speaker before he answers, his voice filling the silence of the night.
“You do know what time it is, right?” Wilder grumbles in my ear. I feel horrible for calling him in the middle of the night like this, but right now I need him and his medical sense and rationality.
“I know, I’m sorry.” I sigh. “I just…”
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice clearer now but still soft and calm.
“Why am I not getting better, Wilder?” I spit out after a moment. I scrub a shaky hand down my face and stare at the illuminated phone next to me. “I’ve been working consistently for almost two months now, and I feel like I’m in the same boat with a paddle I can’t even use because my hands don’t work properly.”
“I understand your worry, big man, but why in the hell couldn’t this wait until the sun was up?”
My face flames when the feel of Collins’ perfect body beneath my hands flashes through my mind. When I’m quiet from stewing in my own bashfulness for too long, I’m greeted with Wilder’s soft laughter, followed by a sarcastic “Ohhh.”
The moment he sobers up, he slips right back into therapist mode.
“Truthfully, Riley, you’re not in the same boat that you were in the beginning. You’re stronger, and the fine motor skills in your hand truly are improving every time I work with you.”
“Then I don’t understand why my hands tremble so horribly when it matters the most.” I admit, defeat coursing its way through my body. “Everytime I think I’m getting better, this shit happens, and suddenly, I’m right back at the beginning. It gets to my head and it…it weighs me down. I feel fucking useless.”
“That’s the problem, right there, big man,” Wilder says, the timber of his words cutting though my thoughts. “You have to remember that your tremors aren’t just from your physical injuries. It’s also neurological. It can vary from day to day, but your mood and your outlook can have a big impact on your tremors. If you get in your head and sour your mood by overthinking your ability to touch or to hold something, the shaking could increase.”
Shit, I’ve been so busy focusing on the physical injuries that I hadn’t taken the aftereffects of my infection into account. I nod at Wilder’s words, even though he can’t see me.
“Listen,” he starts, “the road to recovery isn’t linear, and sometimes there’s no definitive finish line. It isn’t always going to be pretty; there will be bad days. But you can’t let those bad days win. Youaremaking progress, Riley. Give yourself some grace, and when it comes to using your hands for…things that matter?” He chuckles before continuing. “Focus on what—or who—you’re using them on. You might surprise yourself.”
I think I may just remain in this permanent state of being flushed at this rate. But the way in which he spoke that last part, sounds more solid wisdom coming from a friend than a therapist to a patient. I bark out a short laugh, caught off guard.
“Thanks for that,” I huff, but I mean it. “And thank you for answering at three in the morning.”
“Do you feel better?” Wilder asks.
I think about it for a second, then answer, “I do, yeah.”
He hums. “Then it was worth answering in the middle of the night. I’ve got you, Ri. And so do they. Just take it easy tonight and start fresh tomorrow, yeah?”
