Page 65 of Drifting

The door opens, and a nurse steps in. “Ms. Winters, please follow me.” To Patty, she says, “She’ll meet you in the lobby. It shouldn’t be too long.”

The nurse takes me back to another room where they use the same saw that they used to cut off my leg cast.

This time, I get a front-row seat, and when she cracks the cast open… Ew, the stench that comes out of it is gross. When I see my arm, worry spears through me worse than when I saw my leg. I lost a lot of muscle tone, and it’s going to take a lot of work to get it back.

A three-inch scar on top of my arm remains from where the bone came through. I give my arm a good scratch, being careful of the scar.

Awh, is this what a dog feels like when we scratch them?

“You’re all good to go.” The nurse smiles as she cleans up the remains of my cast. “Wash your arm to get rid of the smell, and a good moisturizer will help with the dry skin. Call us if your skin gets red, swollen, or painful. Other than that, you’re free to go.”

“Thank you.” I hop off the table and head out to the waiting area.

Patty lifts my arm, looks it over, then hands me some hand cream. “Here, so you don’t feel so scaley. Do you want to grab something to eat?

“I wouldn’t mind,” I tell her as I slather lotion onto my arm.

When we get into the car, I take a picture of my arm with the caption of, “I’m Free.”

Cam: Yeah! Time to celebrate!

Dom: Congrats.

Nick: I bet you’re glad

Luke: Way to go, babe.

Mav: What is it, an alien? LOL

Me: Jerk, see you all tomorrow.

Patty takes me to a small, dine-in restaurant.

Craving a good, fish sandwich, I glance over the menu.

The waitress comes and takes our orders, and once she leaves, Patty fiddles with everything on the table. It’s a nervous habit for her.

I sit back, expecting the worse. “Spit it out, Patty.”

If she tells me Peter’s divorcing her, I won’t be surprised. But, no, that can’t be. She just said he wants to buy me a car. What could she need to tell me?

“Umm… This is part of my ongoing treatment. I need to hear what happened to you when I was in jail.”

My breath wooshes out of me with the same force as if she hit me. She expects me to tell her about the home and what happened? The idea sends a tremor through me.

I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s what you need to hear.”

How would it help her to find out how many times I got the shit beaten out of me? Or how a psycho thought he loved me?

She fiddles with the silverware. “I think I do. I need to know how it affected you, so I don’t want to do it again. I know it’s not pretty. You’re the main reason I wanted to get clean and stay clean.”

“I have to say, I’m surprised you’ve stayed clean this long. Almost two years.” I never thought she could do it.

She tried so many times but failed every time. I guess I wasn’t enough for her to stay clean. She needed love.

“It’s not easy,” she admits. “It’s a daily fight, but I’m making it.”

“I’m proud of you.” I take a sip of water. “How about I tell you what happened when I ran away while we eat? Then, I’ll tell you about the group home when we get home. I don’t want to ruin our lunch.”

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