In for the count of ten.
Out for the count of ten.
Repeat a million times.
It doesn’t help my back pain, but it does help my head focus on something else. Once I’m in that floaty stage where my brain feels like it’s over-oxygenated, I lift my head up and focus on what my plans are for the rest of the day.
I look at my watch and see just over an hour has passed, which is mildly ridiculous. This just means Audrey was right. I was useless at work today.
Leaning forward, I prop my hands on my knees and prepare for the inevitable slice of pain that will shoot down my back and legs when I stand up. This is the only place I can let the pain show. Everywhere else, I just ignore it and act like everything is perfectly normal. I think that’s why I freaked out so much when Rina saw my damn scar on my hip. No one knows why I came back here after I was dead set on being a career Marine, and I prefer to keep it that way.
I put all my effort into standing up, swaying on my feet once I’m finally there before stabilizing myself on the back of the couch. I fucking hate this shit. It makes me feel like half of a man, even though I know I’m fully capable of normal activities.
Walking the ten steps to my small kitchen feels like a chore, but once I’m finally there, I’m able to pre-heat the oven and toss in a pizza.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m still standing in my kitchen, pulling out the now cooked cardboard pizza. I realize I only have so much strength left in my back and hip today, so I quickly cut up the pizza and plate it, taking it to the bathroom with me.
The only thing that helps when the pain gets to be too much is an Epsom bath, so it looks like dinner is in the bathtub tonight. Placing my scalding hot dinner on the vanity, I turn on the water as hot as I can stand it and dump in an obscene amount of Epsom salt. I eat two slices of pizza while I wait for the tub to fill up before stripping out of my work clothes. Dipping a toe in, I hiss at the depths of hell that is the hot water, but I know it’ll be good for my body. I slowly lower myself into the water, gritting my teeth the entire time. Once my body adjusts to the temperature, I relax against the tub wall. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths as the worst of the pain finallyeases.
Stretching my hand out, I grab a slice of pizza. Everything is small in this house, so the vanity is within reach of the tub, making it easy to reach without opening my eyes. The water finally hits my chest, and I slowly lean forward to shut it off before collapsing back.
While the pain in my hip and back seems to be mellowing, my head is bombarded with everything that’s happened in the last week. What a clusterfuck things are. I don’t even know how to make things better for Lennox, for Oakley, and mostly for Rina. Hell, I’ll be lucky if she even acknowledges my presence after what happened Friday night. I fully expect her hatred for me to grow, not diminish.
I rub the spot on my ribcage, just small enough to not be noticed in the dim light that was Rina’s entryway. Thank God, too, because if I didn’t want to explain my scar, I sure as hell don’t want to explain my tattoo.
Not to the person it was for.
Being with Rina again makes me remember why we went through hell to be together in the first place. Makes me remember why I got a tattoo for her. Makes me realize I’d still do anything for that woman.
I pick up my phone sitting next to my plate of mostly eaten pizza and scroll through to her name. I pull up our text thread and foolishly start typing.
Me:
I miss you.
Me:
I know I fucked up.
I erase everything I’m tempted to write because it doesn’t matter. I did fuck up, and now I get to deal with the consequences of those actions.The actions of a scared young man who didn’t know what else to do. One who thought he was doing the right thing.
My phone dings in my hand, scaring the shit out of me, so much so that I almost drop it in the tub.
Rina:
What are you doing currently?
.
Chapter 7
Rina
Stupid. This is such a stupid idea.
I can blame it on being overtired, overworked, and completely running on empty. That’s the only thing I can think of that would lead to me texting Arlo.
This week has been hell. I have a huge delivery tomorrow, so I had no choice but to work around the clock to get three pieces of furniture done. I think I’ve slept a grand total of six hours all week, and I’m officially losing my damn mind. It’s the only logical explanation.
