Page 74 of The Last Love Story
I’m getting usedto this.
For the last nine days, Justin has slept in my bed each night. And each morning, I’ve woken up with his body curled around mine.
Maybe it’s all a mistake. Maybe I’m going to end up with a broken heart.
Or maybe this is all leading us exactly where we’re supposed to be.
That’s what my romantic heart believes.
And that’s what the feelings that are rapidly growing for Justin want to be the truth.
We need to talk about it. I know we do.
Today I get my bandage off. A little over two weeks, and I’ll finally be able to do a bit more on my own. And after my first physical therapy session on Friday, hopefully I’ll be cleared to start typing again.
And now that Justin and I are getting past the caregiver-patient dynamic, maybe we can figure out what’s happening between us.
Get it all out in the open.
Because miscommunication never got anyone anywhere.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not stressing and overthinking it and living in fear of this cozy little bubble bursting.
I look over at Justin’s sweet, sleepy face, and all I want is this. For him to be mine. For this to be real.
I hope it is.
“This is it. Are you ready?”the orthopedic physician assistant asks me.
“After two weeks of being wrapped up? Yes, I’m ready for my arm to be free.”
Finally!
“Good. Let’s get to it.”
I’ve been feeling pretty good for the past week. I haven’t had any pain and the swelling has been under control. I’m ready to get this bandage off and work toward getting back to my life. Though recording audio with Justin has kept my mind focused, it’s also sparked my creative side, and I’m ready to start typing again.
“I need you to hold still for me,” the physician assistant says.
Beside me, Justin stifles a laugh.
“Sorry. I’m a little excited.”
“That’s fair, but I’d rather not cut you. That’ll make the whole process take longer.”
“Take a breath, darlin’. You’ll be free in no time.”
My eyes drift to him and my heart ignites.
That’s the usual reaction these days.
It’s going to kill me if he doesn’t want this too. So I’m tryingnot to overthink things and believe in what I’ve seen. The type of love story I’ve written for years. Maybe not quite that dramatic. Angst is a lot more fun to read about than it is to live.
The PA cuts through the outer layers of the bandage, then unwraps the inner layers, and when my arm is finally free, I sigh in relief. He also snips the stitches on my palm.
“You’ll want to moisturize and massage there daily to help keep it from cramping and to minimize scarring.”
I nod, then he asks me to move my fingers, and… it’s not easy. My range of mobility is very limited, and I can’t even make a fist.
