“Mr. Casey, it’s important for you to understand that I’m not going to push you into making any decisions today. Please consider the options available to you and know that it’s entirely up to you as to how, and when, to proceed. I’d rather you weren’t living with crippling pain for the rest of your life and my job is to help you make careful, informed decisions, not hasty, careless ones.”
Tanner gave her a jerky, awkward nod. His throat was so tight he couldn’t speak. But he felt a brief glimmer of hope.
It was silent in the car on the drive home. Cameron glanced at him frequently but waited until she’d parked in front of his condo building before speaking. In the process of lifting the door handle, he stopped and turned towards her.
“You know I love you and want only the best for you.”
“We don’t have to do this.” He replied quickly, hoping to kill the conversation before it got started.
“I know I was wrong that day for trying to intercede on your behalf about—I know it’s your decision. It’s your leg and I shouldn’t have—I’ll never forgive myself for—”
“Stop.”
“I need to say it. I never apologized. It wasn’t right of me to—”
“Cameron, please—”
She persisted in talking over top of him. “I mean it, Tanner. I was only trying to—”
“Stop!” he finally yelled in stark fear and desperation. He sounded so—harsh and ugly—totally unlike himself.
Cameron jerked backwards in shock, raising both hands defensively.
Taking a deep breath, Tanner regained control and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. You were only trying to help. It’s not your fault I’m—struggling. I appreciate everything. Really. I do.”
Cameron didn’t look remotely convinced but gave him a quick nod. “You’re seeing your shrink later today, right?”
Was this what his life would be like from now on? He’d lose his temper—if not his fucking mind—and the only relief in sight was his weekly shrink appointment? Where he could cry, bitch, whine, moan, and complain as much as he wanted to because Dr. Jones was getting paid to put up with him?
“Like every other fucking Tuesday,” he said, aware of his petulance, but not really caring. Cameron smiled at him encouragingly. Before she could say anything else that would only make things worse, he made his escape. He was insanely relieved that she didn’t linger, driving away before he reached his front door.
Once inside, he switched on every light in the condo, refusing to give in to depression and darkness, literally or figuratively. The sun shone brightly, but there wasn’t enough light inside. Never enough light. Not when he felt like this—like the darkness might come and swallow him whole.
He remembered what Dr. Jones had said that first time—when his sister had pushed too hard, and he’d spiralled—when—when he’d found himself back in that hellhole—this time one of his own making.
Three years is a long time, Tanner. But it isn’t worth throwing away the next thirty.
Something about those words—that reminder—that challenge. It had grounded him. Light. He had to hold onto light. To the world.
He almost made it to his bedroom when his leg suddenly buckled under him when he put too much weight on it. He had to lean against the wall of the hallway to keep his balance. Pain overrode his panic temporarily, as he slid down the wall and ended up sitting on the floor. He gazed at the ceiling through a blur of tears, trying to breathe through the pain. Reflexively, he clutched his bad leg and smoothed his hands from his heel to his hip, calming down as he focused on the fact that it was still intact—painful, but intact.
His leg was intact.
He took another deep breath, enjoying the pleasant aroma of vanilla in the air. Vanilla, not mold, not rot. Vanilla. His home smelled of vanilla. It had plenty of light. He repeated these details like a mantra.
His cell had smelled of rot, sweat, mold, and—death. This, he reminded himself, was not that cell. The cool hardwood floor beneath his hands was nothing like the dirt and rocks he’d slept on for three miserable years. His condo was filled with light. There wasn’t a shadow in sight. Not one.
His cell had been dark. Always so very dark.
“Not the same,” he said out loud, trying to steady his hammering pulse.
He was close to regaining control when his phone rang. No. It didn’t ring. It blared, and it was so loud, that Tanner fucking jumped.
He pressed answer before he’d even bothered to read the caller ID.
“Hello?”
Then nothing.
