Page 15 of Tethered Hearts

Matt

Matt’s head flung to the left as the brakes screeched. The acrid smell of burnt rubber filled the car. Metal crunched and glass shattered everywhere, glittering like diamonds in the sun. Pain. Excruciating pain seared through his legs. His heart thundered against his ribs as panic squeezed his throat. He needed to get out. He needed to get help. But he couldn’t move. His legs were stuck. Crushed beneath a heavy weight. He opened his mouth to call for help, but a gut-wrenching moan was all he could manage. Flashing lights filled the car and murmuring voices swirled around him as darkness crept in and swallowed him whole.

Something cool dabbedacross Matt’s forehead. He leaned toward it, instantly feeling relief and less agitated, but it didn’t ease the inferno in his legs.

“Matt, sweetheart.” Another cool dab.

His eyes flicked open. He glanced around the familiar room where shadows blended with the grey light of morning, and a tap-tap of rain pelted against the windows. A dream. It had only been a dream. A nightmare, to be exact. His hand smoothed across the covers, and he pushed himself up to lean against the headboard, tugging the sheet around his torso as his heart resumed its normal tempo.

“You had another dream.” Aunt Helen sat on the edge of the bed, a damp flannel in her hands. Winston sat at her feet, his head resting on his paws, peering up at Matt.

The nightmares had been coming a lot more lately. They’d been a permanent fixture in the early days after his accident when the concoction of pain medications meant he couldn’t tell reality from the warped images of his dreams. But they’d improved for a while, and sleep had been a welcome companion, but now they’d returned in full force. He turned toward the window, not wanting to see the sympathy on Aunt Helen’s face. Even though it was raining, he ought to go for a run along the beach to clear his mind. No sooner than he had the urge to pound the sand, the permanent reality of his situation slammed into him. He twisted the sheets in his hands so he wouldn’t lash out and hit something. Why did his mind torment him so? Would there ever be a day when he would wake and realise that running on the beach, or anywhere, wasn’t a possibility anymore? He blinked away the sting of tears blurring his vision. He was sick of this rollercoaster. Finally, he was showing improvement and looking forward to his treatment, and then, bam - another setback. Another disappointment.

He’d been gutted when he found out Brie wouldn’t be treating him anymore. He hadn’t even seen her at the clinic to ask why. Just turned up two days ago to find out some guy called Tom would be his new therapist. What was the point of going when he kept getting shuffled around? Why couldn’t they just stick to one therapist? Wasn’t consistency and continuity of care best for the client?

He rubbed a hand over his face and apologised to Aunt Helen. He hated this. Hated the fact that he’d interrupted her sleep. Hated that she’d had to comfort him like a child. Hated that he was still so miserable.

“There’s no need to apologise, Matt. I was already awake.” She patted his hand, letting it linger for a moment as though she wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words. But her eyes said everything.You need help.

Aunt Helen’s gaze drifted around the room, pausing briefly on the pill bottles next to his bed, then shifting to the empty bottles of liquor in the bin. He hadn’t wanted her to see those, but it was too late now. Although she didn’t say a word, he still felt like an admonished child. He should know better. He wasn’t a rebellious teenager, hiding out in his room to get drunk. He’d just needed something to numb the physical pain in his legs, and the emotional pain of dealing with the sudden change of therapists. He’d probably read too much into Brie’s friendliness, but helikedher. She was the brightest spark in his life, and now she was gone. Another good thing, snatched away.

“I’m going to put the kettle on. Can I get you anything?” Aunt Helen stood and adjusted the covers over his feet. She was always so selfless, putting others first. And then he’d gone and thrown it back in her face by knocking himself out to numb the pain.

“No, thanks.” He returned his gaze to the window and watched rivulets of water stream down the glass. The grey skies did little to improve his mood. And given that another thing had been taken from him, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was how his life would be from now on. Bleak. Miserable. And devoid of colour.

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