The door flung open. A male nurse towered, two hands out, beseeching, surrendering. “Real slow, Mr. Walker, just put that down.”
His mom was planted behind the nurse, open-mouthed. The nurse bent over his half-body, uncurled the claw formed around his weapon, and removed it. He righted the wheelchair and placed his arms around Phoenix’s torso. “Let’s get you out of all this broken glass,” he said, helping him pull into the chair. And then Phoenix shattered, his life fractured into more pieces than the ruined tumbler.
He was broken.
His body.
His will.
Irreparably so.
Themale nurse helped Phoenix dress. He was consigned to bed. Much later that day, his assigned psychotherapist arrived, tall and slender, in a midnight blue suit as if she’d come from an insurance commercial. She motioned to the chair by his side. He shrugged his bruised shoulder and turned away from her kindly smile. As if she needed his permission to sit.
“Hi. I was hoping we could talk.”
He closed his eyes. The physical pain battled with his emotional pain. He stayed silent.
“Talk to me about how you’re feeling.”
What was the point? He had no energy for this. She waited, and he said nothing.
“Don’t tell me you just wanted to see me twice this week.”
“Humor? You came to make me laugh?” He turned to throw her a sour look.
“That’d be a start.”
“And when’s the finish?” He watched her keep her face even. Damned professional.
“I don’t think it’s your time yet, my friend. Haven’t you always been a fighter?”
She crossed her knees and bent a hand to cup her chin. Her long arms and legs mocked him.
“Phoenix, how long have you been thinking about this?”
“Thinking?” He choked out derision. “I’m not thinking about anything. I’m just trying to make it through each day.”
She frowned. “Do you want to talk with the doctor about increasing your meds?”
“No. I can’t think straight on that stuff.”
Her rigid back eased. “And how about now? Are you thinking about hurting yourself?”
“If you keep asking me questions, I might think about hurting you,” he mocked. The thought of how little half a man could do to this wiry woman made him chuckle instead.
She tilted her head. “Okay, no more questions.” She smiled. “Just a promise.”
He groaned.What does she know with her able hands and feet?
She leaned towards him. “Will you call me or tell someone if you feel like hurting yourself?”
“That’s another question.”
“Nope, that’s a request for a commitment.”
“Smoke signals or carrier pigeons, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Cell phone works, too. You know a lot of people care about you?” She paused. He didn’t answer, so she kept going. “I’m going to send your mom back in. She’s going to be here with you over the next few days, and let’s not discharge you to outpatient status just yet.”
