by Nicky James
“So, you’ve been using your shrinker sock twenty-four seven?” Aurora asked as she worked at unknotting my joggers.
“Yeah. I followed all Christian’s advice the best I could. Worked through all my exercises a few times a day.”
“Excellent.” She removed the sock covering my residual limb and examined it. “Here are our goals for today. We’re going to go through a few different sock materials and choose one that feels the most comfortable to try first. These are different than a shrinker sock. These ones protect your limb while wearing your prosthesis. We’ll talk about how to make sure you get a snug fit so you don’t get irritation with your limb. The idea is to stabilize the soft tissue so the socket fits comfortably. There is no one-size fits all in the world of prosthetics.”
Aurora stood and approached a table nearby where she picked up a few things before returning to my side.
“Comfort with a socket is achieved by ensuring we have good pressure distribution and that we are eliminating as much friction as possible. So we’ll be messing around a bit today to ensure everything is as it should be.”
Aurora talked me through the process of fitting a socket and a sock and the cautions I should look out for like bunching or worn material that could cause problems.
“Socks need to be washed daily and changed often. You want to avoid moisture, so if you’re sweating, change it. The materials are good to help reduce these problems, but they can and will occur. It’s up to you to be mindful. Otherwise, you can cause problems for yourself. You’re a gym guy, right? Christian wrote that in your file.”
“I was.”
“And you will be again.”
She talked while I did my best to pay attention. While she attached my first prosthesis, my vision blurred with unstopped tears. Part of me was thrilled that I was one step closer to having an aid to help me walk properly again, but a much larger part of me mourned the loss of that limb. It was confusing, and I blinked hard to eradicate the tears lest they be seen.
“I’m gonna have you walk using the bars over there. Across the room and back. I need to monitor your gait and make adjustments accordingly, but I also need you to communicate with me about how it feels and if there is any major discomfort.”
She helped me upright, and the sensation was initially bizarre. I wasn’t as unstable as I’d expected and managed to walk assisted to the bars with minimal trouble. I crossed the room as she’d asked and turned back to retrace my steps.
Over the course of an hour, Aurora made multiple adjustments and had me crossing the room a dozen times until I was exhausted. She explained how poor balance, instability, or excessive aches and pains were signs of a poorly fitting prosthesis, and I should ensure I am continually aware of how I feel so they can be addressed before problems arise.
When she had me sit yet again, I slumped back and let out a groan.
“That’s enough for today. How do you feel about putting it on and taking it off on your own? Think that’s something you’ll be able to manage? Any questions?”
I examined the temporary limb and shook my head. “You’ve made it all really straight forward. I think I get it.”
“Good. So no more than thirty minutes a day for the first week. It’s extremely important you use your shrinker sock at all times when you aren’t wearing your prosthesis to keep swelling down because now that we are putting pressure on that residual limb, there will be swelling.
“I’ll see you every other day for the first while, and we will slowly bump your wear-time in intervals. We’ll try some variations of prostheses and see which one works best for your needs. In about six months, once you are certain of which feels best for you, and your healing is at a good stage, we can fit you for a permanent.”
She beamed a smile like it was the most exciting news ever, and all I heard was, this is forever, Gray. You will never have that leg again. Ever.
When I returned her smile, she had no clue it was less than genuine. I booked my next appointment and texted Beck to see where he was at.
Beck: I’m in the parking lot. Do you need a hand?
Since I’d already exhausted my daily allotment of time wearing my new limb, I texted him back with a yes, asking if he’d come in and help me carry stuff out while I hobbled once again on crutches.
When he entered, I shoved a gym bag of items at him with a grin. “Here, carry my leg, would ya?”
Beck had been worrying about me. I saw it every day in his eyes, so I hoped a bit of joking around would help him see I was okay. It was hard to hide how down I’d been since I lived with him. My anxieties were on the surface every time I blinked, and I wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t noticed.
Settled in the car, Beck shoved a package onto my lap. It was a brown envelope from the post office that had been torn open along the side.
“Check that out. I ordered them a month ago from my collector friend in Virginia. They finally came.”
I upended the envelope, dumping its contents while Beck merged into traffic. Inside was another thickly padded envelope whose seal had been broken. Carefully taking out the baggie of items from within, knowing whatever Beck had bought was likely extremely valuable and rare, I found small gray objects that appeared to be made of stone. Two were cube-shaped while the other three were six-sided. All were various sizes with carved, uneven circles on their surfaces.
Examining them closely, they appeared to be dice. Old dice.
“First, possibly third, century, ancient Roman bronzed gambling dice. Fucking cool as shit, aren’t they?” Beck confirmed.
“Wow.” I turned them in my hand, examining them through the plastic, noting how the markings and edges were rough and uneven. The smallest one was slightly damaged, carrying a chip on the one side, but otherwise, they were in respectable shape for their age. “That’s really amazing.”
“I have this idea to make an ancient gaming section in the shop. Vic is looking at getting me this early nineteenth-century Chinese ivory Napoleon chess set. There are also a few Olympic coins from 150 BC Greece I’m trying to get my hands on. I thought it would be a hit with kids, you know? Show them how gaming used to be before Xbox.”
I laughed as I tucked the dice back in their envelope. Beck bubbled with excitement, and it was a nice change talking about his love for antiques rather than focusing on my growing issues.
“I think that’s really neat. I’m sure you’ll find all the most unusual things out there.”
“Yeah, I will.” There was a long pause. Beck turned onto a side street and tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel along with the song on the radio before eyeing me. “So how’d it go?”
“Good.” I blew out a breath. “It’s not as hard as I thought it would be. I’m restricted to thirty minutes a day for now, but that’s to give my body time to adjust.”
“When is your next appointment?”
“Two days. I can always get a cab. I know you’re busy at work and—”
“Fuck that. I’m helping.”
I bit back arguing, knowing there was no point.
Chapter Eight
Grayson
Beck returned to work that afternoon, and I returned to the suffocating confines of the apartment. Sitting still and letting my mind take over wasn’t an option. I felt pretty good after my appointment, and remembering the strange panic from that morning was enough to encourage me to stay busy. It was not a circumstance I wanted to repeat.
My initial goal was to clean up some of Beck’s mess so his apartment wasn’t so cluttered. Observing the daunting assortment of overfilled boxes all around me and the growing piles of trinkets on the tables and kitchen counters, I abandoned the task before I even started. Instead, I cranked the radio and searched through the endless stacks of magazines he had sitting around, looking for something to read.
George squawked along with familiar songs and chatted my ear off with the nonsense sentences he’d learned over the years. If I didn’t think Ringo would eat him, I’d hav
e let him out of his cage for a while to wander, but I knew Beck only did that if Ringo was locked away. As it stood, I didn’t know where Ringo was, although I sensed his looming presence all the time.
Fucking creepy cat.
Abandoning the assortment of books and magazines in the living room, I hobbled to the bedroom and scanned. Beck had to have something to read that wasn’t antique oriented. The weight in my mind followed me, and I knew if I gave in to its pull I would be sucked under. I needed something to do.
Not giving a shit that I was invading his personal space, I dropped onto the bed and sifted through the over-packed contents in his bedside table. There were much more interesting discoveries there.
Picking out a few dirty magazines, I smiled. “See, now we're talking.”
It’d been ages since I’d hooked up with anyone and well over a month since I’d even had a personal date with my right hand. Being locked up in a hospital was one thing, but now I shared a small apartment and tiny bed with my straight best friend—the same guy I’d been in love with since high school.
Shower time would have been an ideal time to alleviate some built-up pressure, except, I was always more concerned about not landing on my ass than I was about getting off. The last thing I needed was for Beck to come to my rescue while I lay naked on the shower floor sporting a raging hard-on.
Underneath the magazines was a box of condoms, lube, and a dildo—which did not help my overactive imagination. A dildo? Had Beck experimented with anal play? The idea in itself was enough to wake up my dick. I clutched the swelling member through my joggers and closed the drawer, trying to dispel the images before they got out of hand. I’d spent fifteen years not allowing myself to go there. Now was the worst time to let those fantasies free.
I focused on the reading material instead.
However, the magazines were filled with naked women, which deflated my growing erection almost immediately. I shoved them aside and lay back on Beck’s bed, staring at the ceiling, trying hard to ignore the scent of him on the pillows.
Fuck my life. The one man I wanted, I couldn’t have. Everyone else didn’t measure up. Besides, I was crippled now, and who wanted to date that?
I scrubbed my face with both hands as the self-deprecating thoughts closed in.
When the clock chimed the hour, I tensed. My attention was pulled to its presence, and the once silent ticking invaded my mind, screaming each second as they passed.
Shaking away the crawling anxiety creeping over my skin, I sank a hand under the waistband of my pants to distract myself. Anything to avoid falling back into that pit. Closing my eyes, the only thing I saw was Beck. Beck working himself with a goddamn dildo. Lips parted. Breaths staggered. Deep guttural moans filling the air.
“Fuck.”
Not that. Don’t picture that!
Too late. I was instantly hard and gripped my length, stroking once while calling up memories of my best friend from the past instead. All the times we’d gone swimming in the lake, when his wet swim trunks hugged his body and showed the definition of his dick underneath. His smooth chest that barely grew chest hair, never defined by muscles, but trim and fleshy. The way the rivulets of water slid down his body. The tight wet curls hanging in his face, and his beaming smile—the one that made his eyes squint behind his glasses and showed his perfect white teeth.
I remembered the nights we’d gone out for drinks and the way he’d lean in close to talk in my ear over the music. His hot breath ghosting my skin. His invigorating scent. The raspy, rich tone of his voice when he had too much to drink. His laugh.
I groaned and tucked my joggers under my balls to expose my length then stroked myself freely. Panting, and calling to life all those forbidden images, I took myself closer to release.
Betraying me, my mind summoned up the vision of Beck pleasuring himself with that dildo again. It shifted to me holding him down and taking his ass like I’d always dreamed. A trembling took root in my limbs. My muscles tightened, and a tingling in my spine announced I was closing in on the finish line.
I could practically see the look of bliss on Beck’s face as I thrust deep inside him. For a fraction of a second, I imagined him crying my name as he came on my dick.
Then a door banged open, and a clattering of what sounded like keys hitting the table rang through the air. I jerked from my fantasy just as Beck called into the apartment.
“Gray? Gray, I brought food.”
A whoosh of air fled my lungs, and I whipped my joggers over my pulsing erection as fast as I could while squirming upright.
“Shit,” I muttered, grabbing the scattered magazines and shoving them carelessly back into the drawer before he walked in and saw what I was doing.
My entire body tingled with the need to come, and it wasn’t coming down as fast as I would have liked. By the time Beck poked his head in the door, I’d managed to get myself sitting on the edge of the bed. I hunched over, feigning an inspection of my leg to cover the erection that wouldn’t go away.
“Hey. Did you hear me? I brought food. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah. I was just… resting. Give me a sec.” My voice was hoarse and strained. Did he notice?
He paused for a little too long, examined me a little too closely, and I knew my face was flushed and probably shining my guilt for all to see.
He cleared his throat and rapped knuckles on the door frame before retreating. “Thought we could watch a movie,” he said as he disappeared down the hall again. “You know… If you’re not busy.”
What did that mean?
“Um… sure.”
My heart skipped and raced, unable to calm. I squeezed my dick through my joggers, willing it back into hibernation. This was so wrong. So, so wrong. Beck would kill me if he knew what I’d been doing in his bed. If he knew what I’d been thinking.
Maybe I’d need to squeeze my tall-ass frame into the tub later and take care of a few things before I burst and did something stupid like hit on Beck and chance ruining a perfectly good friendship.
When I made it to the kitchen, Beck was laying out a spread of Chinese on the counter. His back was turned as he opened the assortment of Styrofoam containers. It was probably my anxious mind seeing things, but he appeared tense. His movements were exaggerated and abrupt.
“Smells amazing.”
Shrugging, he licked spilled sauce from a finger before jamming a serving spoon into the box. “Just got a bunch of our favorites. Dive in.”
He pulled two plates from the cupboard and slammed them on the counter before moving out of the way so I could help myself. As I began scooping stuff onto my plate, Beck searched through the fridge for an extended period of time, still not looking at me. Still rigid.
“You want a beer?” he asked, head still deep in the refrigerator.
“Sure. How was work?”
“Fine.”
He placed two beers on the counter and met my gaze briefly, his lips in a firm line before he dashed a glance at my plate. “Need a hand getting that to the living room?”
We rarely ate at the kitchen table. Mostly because it was always filled with junk, but also because we liked to watch TV while we ate. I was thankful for the distraction today.
“Please. If you don’t mind.”
When he went to grab the plate, I refused to release it until he was forced to meet my gaze again.
“Are you okay?” I asked, sensing something was off, fearing my suspicions were right and that he’d somehow guessed or knew what I’d been up to.
“Yeah,” he said a little too abruptly. He forced a laugh and threaded fingers through his unruly curls before fixing his glasses. “My mind is elsewhere is all. Sorry.”
He was lying.
We’d been friends too long for that shit. Normally Beck was pretty blunt with me, so if he wanted to pretend that was fine. It wasn’t like I was prepared to admit to my little fantasy earlier. So, I played along and brushed it off, giving him an out.
“What
did Maria think of the dice?”
Relief bloomed across his face as he took my plate and headed into the living room. “She was fascinated. Liked the idea of a game section. Of course, she’s been trying to tell me to theme it up for a while. She wants to change up the Red Room. Advertise monthly themes or something like that.”
“That’s smart. Are you gonna go with it?”
I lowered myself carefully onto his ridiculous settee that functioned as his everyday couch, and Beck handed me my plate before returning to the kitchen for his own. The shift in conversation had released the tension in his shoulders, and I was grateful.
“I think so. The woman had some insanely cool ideas for themes. I need to organize a few and start adding to collections though if I want to go through with this plan. One or two items does not a collection make.”
“Okay, Yoda.”
Beck returned with a full plate of food and our beers. He had to shove a mound of junk aside before setting mine on the side table. Then he joined me on the settee with his food and when he tried to kick his feet up on the coffee table, he couldn’t. It was filled to capacity.
“You’ll need a bigger place soon. Or maybe a different apartment so you can just use this place to store shit.”
Beck shoveled a mouthful of food past his smiling lips before pointing his fork at me. “Do not start up with that hoarder bullshit again.”
“Have you looked around?”
Beck scanned the room and shrugged. “It’s cozy.”
“It’s suffocating.”
“They’re collectibles. It’s my job.”
“You have four pets, and I can’t see any of them from here, and three of them live in cages. What does that tell you?”
Beck raised a brow and scanned the disaster he liked to call a living room. “Maybe Ringo has been up to no good again.” He made a noise, calling his cat as he squinted into the dark shadowed corners. “Where are you, you psycho serial killing cat?”
All I could do was smile. For as long as I’d known Beck, he’d been defensive over his possessions and his pets. And I knew the root cause, so I never pushed him too hard. A little teasing here and there, then I’d drop it. There was a reason my parents had taken Beck under their protective wing.
