Page 36 of Born of Ice

Thankfully, Exton is too engrossed in his own meal to see that I’ve barely touched mine and I shove the plate in the sink as fast as I can.

An hour later my physical therapist arrives and from the moment he comes inside, I count the seconds until he leaves. I hate his presence here. I hate the sound of his voice as he recalls my glory days from before the injury, but I grit my teeth and go through it every time. Because if I don’t, Stella will come here and sit through the session with me.

Been there, done that, and have zero desire for a repeat.

I turn my head toward the big window, trying to escape my current reality in the peacefulness of the frozen Iris Lake. But instead, when my head turns, my eyes fall on the hulking hockey player sitting on the chair right in front of that window, watching my therapist with hawkish eyes and undeniable sneer.

I thought the poor guy would piss his pants when Exton opened the door and greeted him with his usual charming self and the sight of my therapist’s face paling almost made me laugh.

Somehow, having him here makes this pointless torture a bit more bearable. Maybe because he doesn’t really give a shit about me and that takes the pressure off me, or maybe it’s his non-judgmental eyes when he sees me fail at one exercise or the other.

Finally, the session is almost over but that also means that the therapist is about to bring out the most dreaded part of this. The stupid walker.

“You can put it away,” I tell him as I see him approaching me with it. “I’m not using it.”

“Miss Monroe, we need to start practicing getting you up on your feet. Your muscles are already atrophying and that can only mean that you are not doing the exercises that I left for you.”

“I’m not using that thing.” My voice leaves no room for negotiation, and I see him purse his lips into a fine line.

“Let’s try it just for a little bit.”

“No. Haven’t you heard, I didn’t even feel it when a flying puck hit my legs.”

“Miss Monroe, if you want to be back on that ice, you need to start taking this seriously.”

The laugh that escapes me is not a kind one. It’s not funny or light. It’s downright chilling as if it’s coming from the depth of that frozen lake in front of us. And all too soon it borders unhealthy levels of unhinged.

If you want to be back on that ice, you need to start taking this seriously…he said that. He really did.

And he either doesn’t notice the tremble in my fingers or he doesn’t care because he keeps going.

“I mean, seriously, how can you be so uninterested? Erik won’t wait for you forever you know? You need to start putting in an actual effort here too!” He sighs as if he’s dealing with a child.

Putting in an actual effort? What the hell does he know about putting in an actual effort!

I must be too lost in my own anger to hear the wood of the chair Exton was sitting in splintering as he sends it flying behind him, and it’s only when my eyes catch him gripping the physician’s scrub top that I take a deep, full breath.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Here,” he hisses out slowly, punctuating every single word.

“But…but we have therapy to do. She needs to stay on course.”

“She will. But you’ll have nothing to do with it. Now, get out of my sight before I make a nice punching bag out of you.” Exton’s tone is low and threatening and causes my body to hum.

The incompetent therapist casts one look my way and erases and trace of the warmth Exton put into my chest with four damning words. “You will never walk.”

I don’t stay to hear Exton’s growl or the crunch of the nose he evidently punched. No, I wheel myself into my room, shutting the door behind me with a little too much force.

Only once I’m inside the safety of my own room do I take notice of how badly my hands are shaking. My heart, once again, pounding out of my chest as it heaves, not catching enough of the suffocating air around me. My vision is becoming spotty, and I start clawing at my shirt, my throat, anywhere I can reach.

I know it’s a panic attack. I know I need to try and calm down but once I get into this stage, there is no way out. I’m trapped under that ice and no matter how hard I beat against the thick, cold wall, no one can hear me on the outside.

I don’t want to be reminded of my glory days or what I'll never be again. I’ve put those memories under a lock with no key after every dream I had was shattered beyond repair. I don’t need it anymore. I can’t stand the simple thought of being on the ice and that alone makes me feel like death already took over me.

Because I lived on that ice. I thrived and bloomed on it and now it’s all gone, and this is yet another reminder of all I’ve lost. Of the love that was never there. Of my mother’s sacrifices that could have saved her life, and I wasted with one single moment.

And yesterday was proof enough that it’s all truly dead.

I…I can’t…my hands are clutching my throat…that’s it. Th-that’s all…

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