Page 29 of Frozen Flames

Because anger is addictive, and every time you reach that high, you take a hit. Even though I’m left with both self-hatred and pride.

My wound inside grows in length and width. It seems to be growing at an alarming rate these days, and there’s no stopping it.

I put my face in my hands, trying to slow my breathing, slow my heartbeat, calm my anxiety-ridden nerves.

People drive me crazy sometimes. They judge with their perfect lives and their non-disabled bodies. I mean, Gemma isn’t paralyzed, and she’s already depressed. Imagine if she couldn’t walk. If she couldn’t follow her twin sister around all the time.

I’m so sick of the pressure these people put on me.

If they can’t tame their anxiety or push through their depression,whyshould I?

Why should it be easier for me?

It shouldn’t. That’s the answer, so they can all gladly fuck right off.

“Your nurse wants you to train,” Henrik says as he brings a chair over next to mine in my room.

“Nah, I’m good.”

While I love hanging out with him, today’s one of those days where I could’ve done without. I don’t know why I feel worse than I did this weekend. Maybe it’s the fact that Gemma’s back at work today, meaning she’s back at the office withhim.

“Alright, alright. She’s pretty hot.” I feel my jaw tick, but I say nothing in return. “Gemma’s a chill girlfriend. Many girls would not be down with that shit.”

“She’s my PTA. Not everything is like porn, Hen, for fuck’s sake,” I say, exasperated.

“Debatable. Perhaps if you were as hot as me, you’d understand.”

I snort and shake my head. “You’re something, you know that?”

“Thanks.” He smirks, finally joining the game.

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

We play in silence for what feels like a long time.

Henrik’s the only one who’s never coerced me to “do better” physically. In fact, I’m certain he couldn’t care less.

It’s refreshing.

Henrik doesn’t know it, but he’s my safe place in this crazy world.

I feel slightly better once Gemma gets home tonight.

I showered while Gemma made soup and prepared cheese and bread with our plates. Something about having her home, as we eat dinner together, tapers my anger about Friday. Or maybe it’s spending time with Hen, who knows.

“I’m going to LA this week for work,” Gemma tells me when she’s done eating. She takes her dishes to the sink while I process this information.

“Okay.”

She nods, putting everything in the dishwasher. “I leave Thursday after work. I’ll be back Saturday evening.”

I say nothing, absolutely nothing, knowing that if I open my mouth, my insecurities will rush out.

“I know you’re leaving Friday with your dad and Henrik, but…”

I sigh, remembering my own trip coming up. I know I’m not being fair and that this is simply part of her job as she builds her career.

“Don’t worry, Claire will be here.”

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