Page 99 of Frozen Flames

He chuckles. “Fucking Hen, I swear to God.” He shakes his head. “Let’s go train.”

Harvey

Two Years Ago . . .

You know who I envy the most?

The fuckers who wake up at the crack of dawn to jog or walk their dogs.

I watch them from my room—living vicariously in a moment of their day, while I sit in my wheelchair, surrounded by darkness.

If I could go back, I’d get a dog, take the longest walks known to man, spend time in nature and breathe it in. Now if I don’t pee on myself, I call that a win.

I sigh, watching this dog throw himself onto the snow, rubbing its back.

I snicker.

Cute.

The nurse will be here soon. The second nurse I’ve had since I’ve been home.

They come and go.

This one tells me I’m doing very well by myself. And I don’t see anything wrong with that, neither does McKleen. I’m using my upper body as much as I possibly can, and she watches just in case.

In case I fall.

In case I fail.

On some days, I get so sick of all the back and forth, progress and failures, struggles, tests, bladder infections, peeing on myself, side effects from medications, grogginess, brainfog, hoping I never shit myself, paperwork, fucking medical insurance, still not being able to walk the way I used to, hating my life.

On some days, the only peace I feel within is knowing that I could end it all.

Just like that.

Just close my eyes and fall asleep and feel peace.

A peace I haven’t felt since July.

Sadly, today is another day.

Another day in this series of nothing but days.

Another day I wish I weren’t me.

“You took your pills already?” Gemma asks me when she gets home. I wish she would leave the questions for the nurse. I wish she would simply come home and have a conversation withme.

Not about my physical state.

“Yeah,” I say, pausing my video game. It’s the only thing that distracts me from my thoughts. I haven’t been able to draw since the accident eight months ago.

“Did Stefan say anything last Saturday?” she inquires, pushing her hair behind her ear.

I shake my head. “Not really, no.”

“Nothing about your progress?” she insists further, curiously.

I sigh. “No, Gemma. He’s not going to give me a report at every appointment. These things take time…”

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