Page 108 of Revive Me

“You know what I mean. I’d just rather you have a few less clients. You’re working yourself too hard, Lily. You’re going to burn out.”

My throat tightens. I know I’m working too hard, but I also know it’s the only thing keeping me sane these days.

She sighs, her hands dropping to her sides. “Well, it was worth a try. I’m leaving now but don’t stay too late, okay? You need to get some sleep.”

I force a smile onto my face as I wave her off. “I won’t. I’ll see you next week, Fran.”

She starts toward her office, but before she can get very far, she snaps her fingers and turns back around.

“I almost forgot. I had a feeling you’d say no to a smaller workload, so I left a little something in your locker. Do me a favor and at leasttryto use it.”

My brow furrows. “What did you leave me?”

She’s already walking toward her office again as she calls out, “Just use it, Lily!”

I’m too curious not to go immediately into the breakroom to check my locker.

She left me a ticket to the movies tonight.

My chest tightens, partly because I’m affected by her thoughtfulness, but mostly because of the person who comes to mind when I think of anything movie related.

It’s been four months, and yet there isn’t a day that passes when I don’t think about Roman. On good days, the thought is a fleeting one, something along the lines of wondering how he’s doing and hoping he’s okay. But on bad ones, I end up in a downward spiral of overthinking.

Despite how firmly I ended things, I never stopped second-guessing my decisions. Not just my decision to leave him, but every single other one, as well. I questioned the unconventional way I handled his therapy, my decision to get involved with him, my reasoning for leaving him. I also debated if not calling himnowwas the right idea. No matter how I painted the months with Roman, I could never go more than a day or two convinced of my decisions being the right ones.

The worst part of all my second-guessing is feeling like I gave up on him. When I think about how I promised Roman to help him every step of the way, and then about howIwas the one to end things, I want to vomit. I’ve lost more nights of sleep over it than I ever thought possible. I wish I could know that he’s at least doing well, but I refuse to butcher my medical oath any more than I already have just to find out how his therapy is going. The only thing keeping me sane is knowing that he had asked my boss for a referral. The fact that the recommended PT is a really good therapist who has a lot of experience with SCIs is a bonus weight off my shoulders I probably don’t deserve.

Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I slide the movie tickets into my purse. And since I’m already torturing myself with guilt, I give myself a second to think about what it would have been like to go to the movies with Roman. He probably would have mocked me for the giant tub of popcorn I’d order, but he’d also insist on paying for it and then steal a few kernels when he thinks I’m not looking. He would probably pair it with a dinner dateafterthe movie, so we could take our time talking about and analyzing the movie. I bet he would know an annoying amount of behind-the-scenes movie facts.

My heart aches at the thought of it. Because the hardest part of the hard days is simply that…I misshim.

I let out a bone-weary sigh as I pull my jacket out of my locker. I had been planning on distracting myself with a deep clean in the gym, but since the ticket is for tonight, I guess my plans are changing.

I’ve reached some new state of unfeeling by the time I park at the movie theater. It’s probably a good thing that Fran bought tickets for a showing only an hour after she presented them, because even that twenty-minute drive gave me too much time to get lost in my own head. Specifically, to get lost in memories of when Roman and I won tickets to the movies.

I’m too busy thinking about how this probably would have been the movie we would have picked to pay much attention as I walk toward the movie theater entrance. It isn’t until a tingle runs over my skin that I think to look around.

It’s…Roman.

I think my heart stops beating at first glance—my breathing definitely stops when I see him. Because he’s here, yes, but also because…he’swalking. He’s standing on his own two feet, using two forearm crutches to brace himself, and he’s moving slowly but steadily toward me.

My eyes go wide at the sight of him, desperate to take in every new detail. And there are alot. It’s not just the lack of his wheelchair, it’s differences in his appearance, and in his vibe. He looks like an entirely different person.

His hair has grown out, no longer the lazy buzzcut he had a few months ago. There are no bags under his eyes, no sallow tint to his skin. And he looksbig. His chest and arms have filled out with even more muscle than he had before, and his legs look strong now, too. Physically, he looks more like the Roman I met that very first night.

But as far as his aura…he doesn’t feel like the firstorsecond Roman I got to know.

There’s a calmness in his eyes now, a confidence that feels more like self-realization than the arrogance it used to be. He seems sure of himself. There’s no anger, no self-hatred, nothing in his expression that makes him look like a lost little boy. He looks like…aman. A self-assured man who knows who he is and what he wants.

And he’s looking atme.

“Hey, Doc,” he says in a deep voice that sends sparks scattering beneath my skin. He keeps his eyes trained on me, a soft smile just barely visible on his lips.

“Roman,” I say on an exhale. I clear my throat and try again. “Oh my God…you’rewalking.”

He looks down at his crutches, his smile growing. “I am. I had a bunch of great therapists, so I guess it’s about time.”

My heart starts to beat so powerfully at that, I lift my hand to my chest and subconsciously rub the space where I can feel it hammering. My eyes are also burning, and it takes me two tries to get any words out.

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