When we pull up to the house, I see that a handicap ramp has been installed. It is quite elaborate too, it almost looks like a maze as it zig-zags up and I smile thinking it might be a little fun going down at a rapid rate of speed, maybe with a few cocktails under my belt. I need some type of fun since it appears I’ll be semi imprisoned in my parent’s house.
My dad tries to push me up the ramp, and I protest, I tell him I need to be able to do this myself. He walks behind me giving me words of encouragement and actually tells me how proud he is of me for what I have accomplished since the accident. My mother is leading the way up the ramp, and she is silent. Probably trying to figure out how having a handicapped daughter is going to fit into her schedule. Maybe wondering if she will have to bathe me. I’ll have to set her mind at ease, I can do everything I used to do except for walk.
When she reaches for the door, it opens before she has a chance to grab the knob. It is my brothers, they’re home between semesters. They rush out and push my chair into the house while they’re popping wheelies and spinning me around. I’m actually laughing for the first time since I woke up in the hospital.
“Hey, you boys…knock it off.” I hear my mom yell. But they continue to drive me around the house like I’m a toy truck.
I’m smiling, it all seems so light, and I’m actually happy to be home. I hadn’t seen my brothers for five years except for when I was in the hospital. They’re both twenty-one now, and I already have a task for them…go get booze for me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a young woman, and I yell over to Seth to stop for a second so I can get a better look. She has dark hair pulled up into a ponytail and looks to be somewhat Asian. She smiles at me, which shows off her dimples. It had been a while since I’ve seen a woman that attractive and I wonder why my parents would hire a hottie to be my daily therapist.
She comes up to me with an extended hand, “Hi my name is Cameron, but I prefer Cammie.”
I shake her hand and maintain eye contact as I return her smile. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “So I hear we are starting my therapy today.”
“Yes, I hope you don’t mind getting at it. It’s best not to let any time pass between sessions.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.” And I don’t, I’m anxious to get at it and to get to know Cammie better.
But as she was beginning her explanation of the therapeutic process, a different voice captures my attention. A voice which is familiar…one that I hadn’t heard outside of my head or my nightmares in almost a decade and one that slammed into me like a freight train.
As I slowly turned my head to the source of it, I saw her. I blink thinking this was my brain playing tricks on me or maybe a dream that I need to desperately awake from. But no matter how many times I blink or shake my head trying to get my eyes to clear. It was true…there she was.
“What the fuck,” I whisper as I watch the woman who destroyed me, destroyed my dreams…my life. The woman I hate more than the man who put four bullets into me. That bitch standing in my house talking to my mom like nothing. Like they were besties. “Sam,” I say in a hateful tone through gritted teeth.
Chapter Five
I was tight-lipped over the breakup, so my parents really didn’t know the extent of the damage that fucking bitch caused me. However, I’m amazed she is standing in my house on the day I come home like she’s part of the welcoming committee.
I see her look over at me with a smile and I want so bad to slap it off her face, but I’m in this fucking chair. I would have to get her to bend down so I can reach her stupid, smug face. But instead, I narrow my eyes at her and then look away. Did she really think I would smile back? Did she really think I would be okay with her being here? There will never be enough water under the bridge to forgive or forget what she did. And there is no way I want to continue to be in the same room as her.
I look back up at Cammie, “So where do you want to begin?”
She smiles and says, “Right this way.”
I follow her into a large square room and am taken aback. It looked like a state of the art gym. Every type of weight training and muscle building equipment lined against the back wall. When I see the practice staircase and parallel bars I look up at her with a questioning gaze.
“Well, it seems like you have very lofty expectations of a girl who can’t move a toe let alone take a step.”
She pats me on the shoulder without responding to my remark. “You’ll have therapy three times a day, every day but Sunday. Sessions will be about sixty to ninety minutes. We will start at 9:00 a.m. on the dot. You’ll begin with weight training. Arms, shoulders, abs, and back. You’ll also have a cardio session with the bike.”
I look at this ‘bike’ as she put it. It’s basically a set of bike pedals, but there is no way I can move them. I look at her and say, “you’ve got to be kidding.”
She smiles showing her dimples again as she steps over to the contraption. She clicks a button to turn on the machine, and I watch as the petals move around.
“This is used to keep your muscles from complete atrophy. Once you get the feeling back in your legs, you’ll be moving these petals on your own.”
I let out a cocky snort because even though I want to regain all feeling and function, I’m just not convinced it will happen.
I watch her walk about the place pointing to different things, explaining what each machine does and what part of the body it concentrates on. She shows me how the attached bench of the machine pulls off so I can back my chair in its place. I think about the chair I’m in and wonder how I’m going to manage to pull and push the arms of the weight machines. Seems like these armrests on my chair would interfere, but I was told this was the Silver Sport so maybe they fold down. She begins to raise her voice, and it startles me out of the train of thought I had about my stupid chair. She must have noticed the zoned-out look on my face.
She walks over to the pool, and I follow behind, “The second session will be water therapy, this will be without your chair.”
“But…” I start to say, and she cuts me off.
“You’ll be strapped into a body sling to support your legs in the water. Swimming is one of the best full body exercises with no impact.”
I stare into the water, “Will there be any time I can just relax and float around?”
Again she doesn’t answer me, “The last session will be massage therapy around 4:00 p.m.”
I follow her over to a large table. I think this is the massage table, but it isn’t a standard size…you know like a single bed size. This looks more like a double, I guess that is for my sake so I can roll my gimpy ass around on it without falling off. However, it is about four feet high, and I’m wondering how I’m going to get up there.
I look at up Cammy who is yacking away about what muscle groups she is going to work in an effort to get the muscles in my back to strengthen the injured area of my spine.
“Um, excuse me,” I say. “How the hell am I suppose to get up on that table? And please don’t tell me someone will be lifting me on and off of it, because that won’t happen. I’m not helpless ya know.”
She can see by the look on my face that I’m completely serious and this is not up for debate what so ever. She has an annoyed look on her face like she wants to tell me how stupid I’m being right now, but she doesn’t say anything…just walks over and steps on some type of pedal which causes the table to lower to my chair height. Well, now I’m feeling a little stupid. I should have remembered from the many times I’ve gotten massages that these types of tables move up and down. But instead of letting my insecurity show I just roll my eyes and say, “Of course.”
She shakes her head and begins to speak again, “Here is where you’ll receive your massage therapy. I also require you to adhere to a special diet. One that is free from any foods which cause inflammation and that includes alcohol.”
“No booze, huh?” I say as I wheel around inspecting everything. The thought of what was
to come and how intense this therapy was going to be, both excited and terrified me.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Well that was one,” I say as I push my chair around the room.
“I answered that question before it was asked, I don’t feel it needed to be answered again.”
“Fair enough.” I may have sounded like I was complying, but still planning to have a drink before the day was out. After seeing that bitch’s face, I feel as if I deserve one.
I push my chair up the ramp across the footbridge of the parallel bars. “Oh, and what about these armrests?” I spin my chair to face her and regard her authoritative attitude suspiciously. “ I think these would impede my ability to work those machines.” I point over to the Nautilus equipment.
Cammie walks over to a door, opens it, and then steps inside. I’m assuming it is a storage room of some sort. When she steps out of the room, she is pushing a wheelchair which looks similar to what I’ve seen at the rehab center.
“This is a Top End All Sport, this will be less inhibiting.”
I roll my chair over to her and try to transfer myself into it when she stops me, and I look up at her with a mistrusting gaze.
“Let me help you, I don’t want you to fall.”
She stands in front of me and bends down just enough for me to put my arms around her neck. Then like I’m as light as a feather, she stands up holding me steady before placing me gently down into the new chair.
“Strap in, there is nothing really holding you down.”
I do as she says because the last thing I want to do is injure my back any more than it already is. I take the chair for a spin around the room. It is moving very smoothly, and I feel a little more free in it.
When I stop and regard her, I notice the intensity of her stare. It is apparent that she has a mission. The last two therapists I worked with seemed so nonchalant like they could have cared less. This chick is staring me down, ready to break me. I swallow and chuckle nervously, “Um, so you’re gonna be here all day…every day, right?”
“That’s the plan.”
“So basically you’re going to control my every waking moment.”
“Seems so.”
“Are living here too?” I ask because I can’t possibly be expected to live like a nun every day of the week.
“Yes,” she says.
I sigh out loud and cross my arms over my chest. Figures my mother would do this to me. “Well, I’m not comfortable with having someone watch my every move.”
“I won’t be watching your every move, but I won’t be easy on you. Your progress will depend on you, how hard you work for it. If you’re content with spending the rest of your life in that chair, just say the word. I’ll let Eleanor know that my services won’t be required and I’ll move on to a client that gives a shit.”
My eyes begin to glisten with tears. I’m so pissed off right now, and I hate everything and everybody. But I know I need to put in the work, and if this is what I need to do, then I guess I’ll go along. If she thinks she’s going to control my every waking minute, she’s got another thing coming.
“Fine…whatever. Can you show me where my room is so I can get changed for our first session?”
She leads me to the end of the training area where French doors stand closed. She opens the doors for me, and I push my chair inside in front of her. I know it was rude, but I don’t care at the moment, and I don’t care how cute she is either.
There was a big bed which was chair height bringing a tiny smile to my face. It was always a struggle to climb in and out of bed in the other facilities. I always had to ask for help, and it made me feel like an invalid to have someone pick me up and put me to bed. I can see Cammie watching me, and I wondered if she was integral with this little slice of Heaven.
I continued to peruse the room, to my left there was a large walk-in closet where everything was within my reach, and to my right was a bathroom. The shower was huge, no curtain…no doors; just a slant in the floor with a showerhead on the ceiling and on each wall.
“Awesome,” I whisper.
I can feel Cammie behind me, she doesn’t say anything just watches me.
“Do you have any questions about your room?”
“Yeah…where is yours?”
She smiles, “Right next door.”
“Seriously? Why not just put a bed in here?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s for your safety.”
“You mean for my imprisonment,” I say as I begin wheeling myself from the room toward the main living room. “Mom…Mom,” I call out.
I need to discuss this living situation. After all, I wasn’t consulted and really think I should have been considering this is my life…my legs, my therapy. I really didn’t want this Gestapo-type chick here day and night.
“Really?” she lets out a cocky grunt, “I knew you were going to be a big pain in the ass, a real prima donna. Look, that door right there opens into the main living room. So go ahead and run to your mommy. Tell her how unfair everything is because that will certainly fix things.”
“I’m not running to my ‘mommy.’ I just think the room arrangements could be less intrusive.”
She rolls her eyes at me and mumbles something about this being a favor to someone, I couldn’t make out the name…but apparently, she owed that person big.
“Beyond our therapy sessions, I can assure you…I won’t be in your way.”
We are in a face-off, she standing and I’m, of course, sitting. She is not backing down, not giving in to what worked for me in the rehab place in New York. This chick is standing her ground. And even though I hate her right now, my respect for her as tripled. I know I can just bail, but if I were back in LA, the therapists I hire wouldn’t probably ever challenge me…would do whatever I tell them. I have a feeling this chick is going to work me hard, and I’m good with that because I want to walk again.
“Fine,” I relent. “Can you leave so I can change for our workout?”
It’s after 5:00 p.m. my scheduled dinner time according to Cammie’s little chart. My mother holds it for me because we ran late with therapy and now I’m trying to change into something not sweaty. The workout was intense, much harder than what I had at the Hospital’s rehab. Even though it was shortened version of what I will be expected to go through six days a week, I am completely exhausted and starved. Afterward, Cammie gave me instructions for the morning then disappeared, and I’m wondering if she is also having dinner with us since she’ll be living here.
“I could eat a horse,” I say as I enter the living room through my secret cut-through door.
My brother Brian is there, and his face lights up when he sees me, “Hey cool wheels,” he says and stands from the couch. He kneels on the floor and pulls me into an embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
I let out a grunt and want to say ‘define okay.’ I may be alive, but I’m certainly not okay.
He sits back on his feet and pushes a tear from his eye, “I didn’t see the video until I was back at school. It was horrible, then you were in that coma…I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
My brother, Brian was always the sweet and sensitive one. “Hey,” I say as I rubbed the top of his head and tussle his hair. “Come here, bud.” I hug him tight to me.
“I know you’re gonna walk again Laurel…I can feel it.”
“Me too,” I say, I just wish I believed it.
Seth pokes his head out of the threshold to the dining room, “Hey…let’s go. We are all waiting for you.”
I smile as I wheel myself into the dining room, I’m really so happy to be having dinner with my family again. And selfishly, I’m hoping that Cammie went to have dinner somewhere else. I’m not in the mood to discuss my therapy, my progress, or prognosis. I want just to revel in my family’s company with some relaxed conversation. But as I push up to the table my eyes not only find Cammie but Sam as well, and it takes every ounce of control I have not t
o say, ‘What the fuck is she doing here?’
I knew this wouldn’t be easy. Trying to conversate with the bitch who destroyed my life is a nightmare. It is absolutely making me crazy listening to everyone chat with her as she tosses in a witty retort here and there. It is everything I can do to be polite while trying not to chew my tongue off. I hate the fact Samantha Harrison is sitting at my dinner table looking too damn good, and it pisses me off to know she is affecting me this way. But I play it well and not let her see she is getting under my skin. That her smile isn’t twisting my stomach into knots and her laugh isn’t melting my core. It is easier to hate her when I don’t see her, I still hate her…but now I’m finding it difficult not letting her presence weaken my resolve.
I have to know why she is here, it is eating me alive not knowing. So I pull up my napkin to wipe my mouth after taking a long drink from my water glass, “So Sam…” I pause to clear my throat and try to maintain my composure since the entire table is now looking my way especially those piercing blue eyes which belong to Sam.
“What brings you to Camden? I mean, last we spoke you were on another path with that chick you dumped me for…um, what was her name? Gwen…right?”
I see Sam’s eyes grow wide as my mother’s brow nearly disappears under her hair while she regards me, then glances at Sam. The rest of the table goes silent and begin to stare intently at their plates.
“Yes, Gwen,” she says as she nervously clears her throat while turning a whiter shade of pale.
“Right…Gwen. So what happened while I was away for eight years? How did you end up in my hometown?” I say this with such a calm demeanor that I actually surprise myself, but I’m sure this is due to the fact we aren’t alone.
It's All Coming Back To Me Page 4
