Page 24 of Proof Of Life

“For real?”

“Nurse says my infection cleared up, and I need a hearing aid.”

“What’s that? I didn’t hear you?”

“I said, the nurse said my–” I catch his smile growing wider by the second and realize he’s fucking with me. “You’re an ass. You need me to repeat that louder?” God, his smile is beautiful. Feels like forever since I’ve seen it.

“I’m gonna start calling you old man Aguilar.”

“The hell you are. I don’t need a damn hearing aid. I’ve still got one good ear.”

“Hey, what do you know? I’ve still got one good leg!” I can’t help but laugh at his sarcasm.

“Are you ready for PT?”

“About that. I ran into Riggs in the hall. He said to meet him at the pool today.”

“At Tolson?”

“Yeah, they’ve got that full ramp that leads into the pool. He said I can wheel my chair right in.”

“Well, hell, I’ll grab my speedo and we’ll head over there,” I tease.

Instead of calling me an idiot, or brushing me off, West plays along. “You might have to show me that. I’m imagining it’s red, no, purple. Is it purple?”

“Yeah West, it’s purple,” I deadpan. His grin is bigger than mine, and it warms my gut. “You want me to get you one?”

“Fuck, yeah.” He cups his junk and his face lights up. “My shit would look great in a speedo.”

It would. And then I immediately kick myself mentally for thinking that.

I haven’t thought about him like that in weeks, with all his negativity and pain. But when he smiles like this, when he laughs, it’s easy to see how attractive he is.

His black sweatpants are a far cry from a purple speedo. West still isn’t comfortable showing his leg, and he keeps it covered 24/7. I throw on a pair of navy blue basketball shorts from my ruck and wheel his chair down the long ramp that leads into the shallow end of the pool. Riggs is already in the water. He’s holding a blue noodle float, and he’s got a bucket of workout equipment sitting on the side of the pool.

“Park his chair on that ramp and float him over here, Aguilar.”

It took some convincing for him to drop our ranks and just use our names. Just like with the stairs, West holds onto my neck, and I carry him on my back. West floats the noodle under his arms, reclining with his leg out in front of him, and I spot him from behind.

“Now, I want you to do some leg lifts and bicycle kicks. The reclining position will help strengthen your core at the same time.”

I watch helplessly as West struggles through his workout, and I grow more anxious by the second. Sometimes it feels as if I’m walking on eggshells, constantly overcompensating to placate him and avoid setting off his temper. When he struggles and fails at new challenges, he becomes frustrated easily. That frustration feeds his self-hatred, and I worry about another suicide attempt.

I’ll never forget that day in the hospital in Germany. I went down to the cafeteria to grab lunch, and when I came back up to his floor, I knew right away something was wrong. The nurses were tense, giving me sideways glances, anticipating my reaction. When I walked into his room, three nurses were working frantically to pump his stomach. He’d OD’d on his morphine drip and had fallen unresponsive during the nurses’ rounds.

Terror and fear like I’ve only known one other time in my life, weeks before in the blast, gripped my heart so tightly I couldn’t breathe. Not until he did. And when he opened his eyes, he looked at me and said, “You’re still here?” The disappointment in his voice made me want to choke him out. There I was trying not to fall apart because the only thing in my life that mattered was trying to leave me, and he was disappointed he was still stuck with me.

I felt so alone, like I’d been orphaned, although my parents still lived. I was losing him, slowly, or maybe he was already gone. His soul had died despite the fact he was still alive. West was slipping away from me, and without him, I had nothing left.

The other day on the balcony, I felt that same paralyzing fear. The only thing scarier was the realization it probably wouldn’t be the last time I’d have to save him.

“Aguilar, hold his hips. Wardell, I want you to do the same leg exercises, but now use the natural resistance of the water to build your muscles.”

West has lost weight since the accident. Spending the last few weeks laid up in bed with no appetite will do that to you. My hands easily span his hips, and I can feel the sharp edges of his hip bones beneath my fingers. It feels so good to touch him again, if for no other reason than to just feel his warm, solid body beneath my hands and reassure myself he's still alive and well.

Drops of water trickle down his inked skin as he splashes, and his already dark hair becomes jet-black when wet.

“Good. Let’s try something more advanced. I want you to swim to me. Use your upper body and kick with your leg.”

---