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Suddenly, I’m bursting into sobs.

They’re ugly and pitiful. I wish I could drag my hands up over my face and conceal it, but I don’t have the strength to move my arms yet. “It hurts,” I cry, because it does, it really fucking hurts. “I hate my life. It’s not fair…”

I don’t mean that. My life is perfectly fine and privileged and secure. I have a roof over my head, a bright future, a loving family, and a mostly functional body.

But I’m so tired of pain.

“Everything hurts all the time, no matter what I do,” I bawl, completely limp, pathetic, and useless. “My body hates me…even when I do everything I’m supposed to, something always hurts…The accident was a whole week ago, so why am I still so weak? I hate…” I choke on my breath, wishing I could dissolve into my mattress. “I hate that I can’t remember the past year of my life. I hate that I have to pretend like everything is normal. I hate everything…all of it…”

I’m barely conscious of the words tumbling out of my mouth. Aaron is still nudging the tears off my face, not minding my soggy and splotchy appearance. I hate feeling like this. I’m not supposed to let my negative emotions escape in such a grotesque way, so why can Aaron draw them out of me with a few simple words?

He doesn’t say anything. His thumbs find my eyelids, and he drags them closed, pushing me into darkness. His fingers shift to my neck, and he kneads the skin, his touch becoming a familiar warmth. He lingers there as I lie motionless, aside from my shuddery breaths. He journeys to my collarbone, never applying enough pressure to hurt, and then to my shoulders. His light, circular movements are soothing and ease my incessant soreness.

“You should get back to work,” I breathe.

Aaron’s lips find the space between my brows. “I won’t leave you,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry about anything but your breathing.”

He pulls my leg out from beneath the covers and folds my knee so he can massage my foot, which I welcome despite the ticklishness, because I’m freezing. He kneads the bones of my ankle next, then smooths his thumbs toward my shin. The pain is receding as he loosens my body’s stiffness and carefully rubs away the aches. He’s being so kind and patient. I don’t know how to respond to it.

“Want a bath? Warm water will help,” he says, fingertips gliding over my hairline.

It sounds nice. I did just clean the bathroom, so the sparkling tub is itching to be used. “Don’t want to move,” I say.

“I’ll help.”

I open my eyes to glare at him. He’s playing it straight, not a hint of flirtatious mischief fracturing his concerned expression. When he notices my suspicion, he smiles, but even that isn’t playful.

“I won’t touch you,” he says, pinching the curve of my ear and causing a surge of heat to spill through my face. “But I’m happy to get you into the tub. Want me to bring you your swimsuit?”

I consider the offer. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to wriggle it on—my limbs feel like al dente fettucine. But I decide to try. “Okay,” I say, and Aaron’s expression brightens.

He goes to retrieve the swimsuit draped over my hamper and drops it off with me, then heads to the bathroom to fill the tub. Slowly, I muscle myself up and shove my sweatpants off, then drag the swimsuit up my waist. Every movement increases the severity of my achiness, and by the time I’m finished tugging my shirt off, I’m depleted of energy.

Aaron returns to my bedside and nestles a hand under my neck. “Can I carry you?”

The thought of making him do that again makes me squirm. Despite my overwhelming exhaustion, I manage to sneak my legs over the edge of the bed and push upright. My knees threaten to fold, and Aaron lurches out, snatching my elbows and supporting my weight.

“I’ll carry you,” he says pleadingly, but I shake my head.

“It’s fine. I’ll get over this.”

“Pain isn’t something you can just shove through. All you’re going to do is make it a worse problem for tomorrow. Please let me help.”

I hate that he’s making sense but hate the thought of being schlepped around like a toddler even more. But if I do force through it, I’ll worsen the pain like Aaron said, and it’ll take longer to recover. I can’t risk getting further behind schedule.

I don’t protest, so Aaron gathers my legs out from under me and carries me into the bathroom. He settles me in the beige tub, and though my tailbone aches when I reach the bottom, the water’s heat is relieving enough that I barely notice. I exhale, my head falling back against a fluffy towel. He must’ve put it there.

Aaron sits with his back pressed to the tub, his lanky knees tucked into his chest. He’s quiet. Maybe he can sense I don’t have the energy to tolerate his cheeky banter.

“Are you feeling better today?” I ask.

“Hmm?” Aaron angles his head back to offer me an amused stare over his shoulder. He’s still wearing the paint-stained bandanna that contains his curls. Paired with his overalls and the dried sweat on his hairline…well, “handyman” is a better look on him than it should be. “Am I feeling better?”

“You were crying last night,” I say.

“That was nothing.”

My lips slant downward. “Your emotions aren’t nothing,” I whisper. “If you tell me not to downplay my pain, you shouldn’t downplay yours, either.”