“For what?” he asks with a furrowed brow.
“For helping me. For being patient. For…caring.”
He smiles kindly. His long strides close the distance between us and then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “You don’t have to keep thanking me. I’ll always care.”
Without making eye contact again, he leaves and this time I hear my front door open and close.
I glance around the bedroom and then toward the bathroom. I’d love to soak in the tub, but I don’t want anyone’s help to do it. I’m supposed to have my first outpatient physical therapy appointment today. I’ve done some while I was still a patient in the hospital, but they were very slow-moving. Baby steps basically. I’m hoping I can start doing a few more things for myself soon.
My legs seem to be okay. It’s the pain in my pelvis that has me unsteady, keeping me in this wheelchair. They did reconstructive surgery while I was still in the hospital, leaving me with lots of metal pins and a metal plate. It’s not a joint replacement per se, but there’s a lot of metal in there holding everything in its place, leaving me feeling stiff and hurting.
My ribs are better even if they’re still sore. But when I try to take a deep breath, it’s more than sore, it’s downright brutal. The pain from the ribs combined with recovering from a collapsed lung is the least fun thing I’ve ever done… I think. As far as I can remember anyway, which isn’t all that far.
I pull my phone from beside me in the chair. I’ve got two hours before my parents will be back to take me to my appointment.
I roll closer to the bathroom and gaze longingly at the tub. It’s time to try to live again. I can figure this out. Making sure the brake on my chair is engaged before trying anything is easy. I remove the sling from my left shoulder.
I can’t really use my left arm for much of anything right now. Hendrix wasn’t kidding when he said this recovery wouldbe long and hard. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror from across the room.
I tug my shirt over my head and suck in a breath when I move my left arm. Once my shirt is gone, I can see what’s left of the bruises from my face to my rib cage. They’ve turned that greenish-gray and yellow color which means they’re healing.
I run the water and slide onto the edge of the tub. Thank goodness for stretchy leggings. I’m able to slide them down and kick them away. Once the tub is full enough, I glance down at myself. I’m still in my bra and panties. They’ll have to stay on in case I need help. I need this, but I’m not naïve. I know this could be a mistake to do alone.
Casting a glance back to my chair to ensure my phone is within reach is the last thing I do before I turn my body and gently slide into the waiting warm water. And it’s glorious.
I could lie here all day. This is the most human I think I’ve felt in…well, since I can remember. Certainly, since I woke up in the hospital.
I don’t even care that I’m in my underwear. Once I soak for a few minutes, I squeeze some bodywash onto a washcloth I found beside the tub. I wash myself the best I can. Then I slide down further to rinse off. I lean my head back and wet my hair.
I find a bottle of shampoo and pour some straight on top of my head with my good arm. Once I’ve washed it the best I can, mostly one-handed, I slide down into the water again.
This time I slide all the way under the water. I keep my eyes closed as the warm water soothes me from head to toe. I’m just about to surface again when a set of hands pull me up.
“Lennon!”
I cough and spit as I surface. I rub my eyes so I can see what’s going on and find Dash kneeling beside the tub looking like he’s seen a ghost.
“What the hell, Dash?” I ask rubbing my hand down my face.
“I thought you were…” He trails off but doesn’t finish.
“I’m fine. I was just trying to take a bath.”
He blinks a few times as realization hits. He swallows hard when his gaze falls to my bruised and broken body.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
“No. I’m not sorry I pulled you up from under the water. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. For what you’re going through,” he says.
“Well, don’t be sorry. Just help me up since you’re here,” I deadpan.
He doesn’t avert his eyes, but he’s not looking at me in a sexual way as he helps me stand. More like he’s categorizing each injury in his mind.
“Can you step over the edge if you lean on me?” he asks.
“Maybe. I’d like to try.”
