Page 95 of Revive Me

So, I try to keep myself busy. I push myself way too hard with PT at home, but I revel in the soreness. Knowing that Icanwalk makes every physical exercise I complete feel that much more valuable. I’m more eager than I’ve ever been to get back to the clinic.

When I’m not working out, I’m either cooking, cleaning, or hanging out with Mom. I want tomove. I want to do something. When I move my video game controller as I’m cleaning, I realize it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve had the urge to waste time with it.

Even still, that only covers a few hours out of my day. And that restlessness only grows.

I find myself thinking about work again, the same way it’s been constantly in the back of my mind since the conversation with Lily during Trivia Night. Especially with walking finally being a possibility on the horizon, I need to get my ass back to reality and find a job.

But…I can’t quite bring myself to take that question in the direction of Lily’s suggestion of school. It’s too big of an ask, too big of a change. Despite all my progress lately, I still needsomethings to remain in my comfort zone.

And that’s how I end up emailing my old manager to ask if there are any coaching opportunities open anywhere in the organization. Before my injury, I’d heard whispers that they were planning to do more seasons of their reality TV show, and that they were adding more assistant coaches to the roster this time. I might not be able to fight, but I still have more sport knowledge than most of the fighters in the organization. A coaching job, or even a mentorship, could be perfect.

After I’ve mentally crossed my fingers and hitSend, I release a heavy exhale and once again look around my house for something to do. Now I’m restlessandmotivated.

And thinking about Lily more than ever.

Honestly, I’m surprised I make it to Saturday night before texting her. I’ve been fighting the urge since Thursday, wantingsomesort of connection with her after a moment like sending my first job application since the injury.

In the end, I keep it simple.Can’t wait to see you on Monday. Hope you’re having a fun weekend.I can wait until then to share the exciting news with her. I don’t need to vomit it all through text. I just wanted to let her know I’m thinking of her.

At first, it doesn’t bother me that she doesn’t respond right away. I mean, she’s hiking a canyon. I don’t even know if she has cell service.

But by the time Sunday rolls around, and I still haven’t heard from her, my gut starts to churn. Because I know she came home today.

I tell myself maybe she took a late flight home, or maybe she’s just busy unpacking. And I shove the worry to the back of my mind. Because I can’t imagine that she’s notexcited to see me tomorrow. There’s no conceivable way that what we shared didn’t mean anything to her. I saw the look in her eyes, and I felt the way we connected. Iknowhow Lily feels about me.

I’m so convinced of it that by the time I enter the clinic fifteen minutes early on Monday, my chest is bursting with just as much happiness as it was when I left last Wednesday.

But when I set eyes on Lily, where she’s working with another client, that happiness…dims.

And doubt starts to take its place.

She’s working with a little girl. They’re doing some kind of wrist exercise, making me wonder if the girl is coming off a broken arm. She’ll occasionally wince in discomfort, but once Lily soothes her with soft words and a gentle hand, she looks up at Lily with trust in her eyes.

The sight makes me wonder what kind of mother Lily would be. No doubt an incredible one, with her patience and ability to comfort. In a way, I feel like I’m seeing that future in front of me right now.

And that doubt becomes full-blown dread.

Because even though I’m entirely aware of the fact that I’m putting the cartwaybefore the horse, I’m too lost in the growing fear to stop the direction of my thoughts. That I might not be able to give her that family. Or, at the very least, it would likely require the help of a fertility clinic. I may have gotten a hard-on with Lily last week, but that doesn’t mean it will be a consistent thing with me,orthat there’s nothing wrong with my semen quality. I wasn’t exactly focused on getting that checked when I first became injured.

And when the man who I assume is the little girl’s father steps forward and into my view, that dread becomes a mental breakdown.

It’s not just that the three of them together complete the picture my mind had already created, of Lily with the family she wants and that I might not be able to give her.

It’s also that he’sflirtingwith her. And she’s smiling back at him.

As my heart starts to race, I take in more details about the guy. He’s young and attractive, wearing a tailored suit, his smile bright and his hair perfectly styled.

And he’sstanding.

When Lily laughs at something he says, it hits me that even if I learn to walk on my own again, I’ll never be as whole as that guy right there. I’ll always be missing something, never again the Roman of before who may have deserved her, once.

In an instant, I’mangry. At the unfairness of it all. At the humiliation this injury comes with. At the inferiority I’m constantly battling with. I fuckinghateit.

I stare at the guy, visualizing taking my anger out on him. Thinking about how good it would feel to hit him, to use him as a relief valve for all these feelings. To just let itout?—

But then Lily turns, and we lock eyes.

And that anger becomes a sinking black hole of despair.

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