by JC Wallace
I had to think. When was the last dose? Maybe last night or early yesterday morning. Since he was there it had to be one o’clock.
Not waiting for my response again, he said, “That’s what I thought.”
And then he was gone. His glare off of me, I tried to relax so I could get up from the floor before he came back— if he came back— and meet him at his level. No such luck. When he returned, he held a syringe in one hand. I moved my upper body away from the needle.
“Relax. It’s just a muscle relaxer.”
His stare was intense on me as he waited, no doubt for my agreement. The muscles in my back took that moment to fist into a tighter knot. I nodded. He was quick and efficient and the shot was done. I blew out a breath, waiting for the aching to lessen.
When I could take in a solid, deep breath, I asked, “What happened to leaving me alone?”
“I lied. I was going to wait for you to come to me, but then my sadistic side jumped the gun. I haven’t really gotten to inflict any pain lately, so here I am.” He shrugged, and I wondered where the cold, unfeeling, hard man before me had come from. Although, a true sadist wouldn’t have given me a muscle relaxer, which was definitely doing its job. My head was swimmy, and my back was slowly unknotting. I never really knew how bad the pain was until it started to fade.
“Who pissed in your coffee?” I mumbled, but he ignored me. He didn’t have to answer. I knew it was me who’d done the pissing. So fucking what if I rained on his pity party for me. I didn’t need it.
“Feeling better already, I see. Let’s see about getting you off that floor.
He reached for my arm, but I pulled it away. “I don’t—”
“Let me guess. You don’t need my help. Well, too bad.” He scowled deeply and held out his hand. Damn, I wanted to keep him waiting, but soon I was going to embarrass myself and piss my pants.
I huffed and then grabbed his arm. Straining my arm muscles, I tried to do most of the work, which probably ended up being about 20 percent to his eighty. He was strong for a small guy.
And fucking hot.
My stupid brain kept going back to our mutual frotting session. My cock wanted more. Not that I could get it up with the muscle relaxer and the throbbing ache in my back radiating down my legs. When Jacob was gone and the meds had worn off, I would pay someone to get me off, someone who wouldn’t make demands on me and interrupt my life.
Yeah, right.
I wobbled until I got my bearings, then headed for the bathroom. Jacob sprinted past me and blocked the door. “No way. You’re not avoiding me this time.”
Sneering, I leaned close to him. Well, as close as I could without crying out in pain. “Gotta take a piss. Want to hold it for me?”
My eyes followed the red flush that rose up his neck and into his cheeks. I could smell his cologne and practically feel his skin on mine. And those eyes… He was going to ruin me.
He stepped aside. I escaped behind the door, breathing deep. I couldn’t seem to go knowing he was out there. Several minutes of hovering over the toilet bowl, and I finally squirted out an unsteady stream of piss. Even peeing was becoming an ordeal. Maybe it was the new meds. I washed my hands and exited the bathroom to find him once again reading something in a folder.
“Your MRI results,” he stated, without looking up.
Great.
****
Chapter 8
I was silent and waited. Was I supposed to beg him for the information? That would be a cold day in hell. I crossed my arms, swaying a little from the relaxer. I hated the drugged feeling, but I had to say the agony was lessening by the minute.
“The muscle atrophy in your back has worsened since your last MRI, which explains your increased spasms. Without regular therapy, the spasms are causing additional muscle damage and weakness.” He looked up at me with a stern expression. “Within a year or so, you might be in a wheelchair.”
I blinked, the words not quite settling anywhere, just kind of spinning around my head. Wheelchair? After the accident, my doctors had thought I might never regain full use of my legs and I’d need a wheelchair. But I had shown them and walked. He had to be wrong. “I can walk just fine.”
Jacob closed the folder in what appeared to be disgust. “Yes, you can walk now, but it’s not anywhere close to ‘fine.’ Just watching you, I can see that it takes a significant effort and that every step hurts. Tell me if I’m wrong, but your muscle spasms are increasing in frequency. The most that you walk each day is around the lower level of this house. You can’t climb stairs. You can’t walk more than twenty feet without experiencing tingling and burning in your legs.”
Jacob stepped closer until he was about a foot away. Too close, and I focused unerringly on his eyes as he continued.
“You sleep like crap because your back spasms and, when you close your eyes, you see yourself back in that Maserati, trapped and alone. You already said you don’t drive. You don’t go out in public unless it’s to the doctors. You won’t look at yourself in the mirror, probably don’t even have them anymore, thinking you’re some kind of monster when you’re not. Instead, you’ve locked yourself in this massive house, feeling sorry for yourself, and hiding to avoid the stares of others. How close am I to hitting a homer, Paul?”
“Fuck you!” was the only response I could get out.
My anger rolled like thunder through me, and I was looking for something to strike. I swung a fist at his face and, yeah, missed by a mile because I couldn’t control the motion of the swing. That and the stupid bastard moved. I spun and went down like a rock. My breaths heaved, and my fists clenched, and I was so fucking pathetic.
Jacob squatted over me but didn’t move to help me up. “You’re a coward. The mighty Paul Breaux, ruthless lawyer, alpha male jock who won state championships and climbed some of the world’s tallest mountains, is nothing but a scared weakling who couldn’t handle it when his perfectly built world came tumbling down. Winner’s roll with the punches, take what’s thrown at them, and find a way to win. Look at you on the floor like some worthless piece of crap. Why even bother to get up?”
“No!” I didn’t want to hear how wretched I was. I lived it every day, and this asshole was pushing me down further.
“You look pissed, Paul. Why don’t you get up and do something about it? Or are you just going to lay there like the useless waste of skin that you are?”
I shook my head, my eyes clamped shut. I didn’t need my failures thrown into my face, didn’t need anyone to tell me I was disgusting, a waste of air… a fucking coward. The rage flowing through me heated my skin, and I ground my teeth, huffing out breath after breath. I was tired of being the one who lost everything, who’d woken up broken and nowhere close to the man that I used to be.
“Fuck you!” I roared, pulling myself up.
Jacob stood and moved away. I was on my feet and looking for a target.
“Who the fuck do you think you are coming into my house acting like you know anything about what I’ve been through? My entire fucking life was stolen… ripped away from me! I’m the one who has to live every day in a broken body that won’t do what it used to! I’ve pushed myself to the edges of human endurance. I was strong. I could do anything I put my mind to, and more! And a fucking truck took it all away! Everything I was or could be is gone! And I don’t have anything left. There isn’t any future. My mind, these fucking drugs, I can’t think. I can’t be the lawyer I was. And, yeah, when I close my eyes, sometimes I’m back in that fucking crumpled car with my face torn open, knowing I’m going to die.”
My voice faltered as Jacob looked on stony-faced, while grief rained over me. A part of me begged my mouth to stop, but once that door I’d stuffed all of my emotions behind opened, there was no stopping it.
“God, I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore!”
I turned and punched the wall, over and over until the drywall dented and then crumbled under my fist. I was grateful that Jacob didn’t try to stop me. I wante
d to punch the wall until the entire house came down in a rumble of despair and misery and pain that had leached into its walls over the past year. The house was contaminated, just like I was, with a year’s worth of unexpressed emotions and unshed tears. Right then, those tears stung my eyes, but I refused to give into their incessant attempts to spill.
“I don’t know what the hell to do, and some days I just wish I had died in that accident. I don’t need anyone’s fucking pity, because I have enough to spare. I’m scarred and sickening!” Why couldn’t anyone see that? “No one will ever look at me and not see my weakness. It’s carved into my face and my body and no one will ever want me. Who the hell would ever want me looking like this?”
I heaved a breath, humiliated, defeated, exhausted and… Done, was all that I could think.
Done.
Running my hands over my face and then through my hair. I averted my eyes from Jacob, who was no doubt enjoying my mental break. I tried to convince myself that the hatred strumming over my nerves was for Jacob. In reality, the person I hated most was myself. Hated me for being everything that Jacob said I was and more. Before my accident, nothing could beat me, absolutely nothing. When it came down to it, that really wasn’t the truth. The only thing that could beat me, was me.
Jacob stepped closer, and I tried to move back, but I hit the wall. He followed, and I thought he was going to hit me or tell me off or something just as bad. Instead, he slowly raised his hands, and cupped my cheeks, forcing me to face him straight on. In his eyes there wasn’t anger or pity or sorrow, but something faintly resembling hope.
“I want you.” Three simple words, followed by a press of his lips to mine. His eyes closed and then I followed, ready to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away. He left a ghost of a tingle on my lips. Did he really want me? No one could— I cut that thought off as he picked up his messenger bag and started to walk out of the room. Half the way there, he stopped and turned to me. “Call me when you’re ready to win.”
With that, he left, the front door closing behind him. This time the metallic click of the lock didn’t sound so much like the clank of a prison cell door being closed.
****
For hours after Jacob left, I sat on the patio staring across my backyard. Time to call the gardener, I thought, as I surveyed the weeds encroaching on the mulched shrubs. Maybe trim them up. There was a crack in the stone of the patio. The furniture was looking ratty. Yeah, I kept trying to find things to focus on. My mind had dumped all of the detritus from my accident and the last year into my brain at once. I was numb. Lost. Jacob and his steel spine. He hadn’t backed down, hadn’t hit the road, and was still pushing me. He’d stood up to me and gave as good as I had given. I didn’t know if I liked it. I had a suspicious feeling that I did.
“Call me when you’re ready to win.”
I snorted. No one had ever accused me of not wanting to win. Before my accident, most people I knew asked me if I really had to win all of the time. Wasn’t that the definition of success? Winning? My father had made certain that I understood winning was success. Failure wasn’t an option— wouldn’t earn me his love. But no matter how much I won, I never came closer to getting that unconditional love parents are supposed to give their kids, despite their success. So maybe the game was skewed. A game I couldn’t ever win.
Shit.
Every relationship I’d ever been in had been based on winning that love. Trevor had continually told me his love wasn’t a contest or a game. I hadn’t gotten it, even when I realized he wasn’t happy with me. I ended it before I could be the loser. How many relationships had I ended before they could end on me? Not just romantic ones but every single one. My friends had fled, and I thought it was because they couldn’t handle what had happened to me. I believed that they couldn’t stand seeing my weakness because they were successful people. I’d surrounded myself with winners. Maybe I’d pushed them away first. That included Wendy as well. I’d pushed her hardest and now she was MIA. When major realizations hit, they hit hard and hurt like hell. Blame, apparently, is a two-way street, and I’d never taken on any of it.
Because I had to win.
By the time the sun set and the chill of the evening set in, I knew I had a decision to make. I still had to win, but I had to redefine my definition of what that meant. The thought roiled my stomach, but I couldn’t keep going on as I had been. Even during my five hours on the kitchen floor, some part of me had been screaming that I was an idiot, couldn’t keep isolating myself, that I needed help. I would rather bite my tongue off than ask for help. It was such an ingrained and reinforced behavior. It wasn’t going to wane anytime soon, but maybe I could at least connect with the last person on earth who still cared about me.
Tomorrow. I’d call Wendy tomorrow. Right then, I was exhausted and there was still too much flotsam floating around in my head. Sleep would be a welcome state.
If only that had been true. The entire night I tossed and turned, drifting in and out of sleep, terrified to let go of the anger that had kept me moving the past year. Afraid that, without it, I wouldn’t be anywhere close to the person I had been, despite the fact that it was destroying not only my body but my life.
Jacob was also in my head. Despite the years that had passed since our first encounters in school, there had been something that had connected me to him. That had been reignited as I’d been convinced I was going to die. Vulnerable and open and trusting that he was going to save me even though I hadn’t known it was him doing so. To keep him in my life, I was going to have to be vulnerable and open again. Unless I was dying, I didn’t know how to do that. How did you change something that had been practiced and entrenched for over twenty-eight years?
****
Chapter 9
Near dawn I grabbed my phone, and before I could change my mind, I pulled up Wendy’s number and called. Each ring I prayed that she wouldn’t pick up, prayed that—
“Paul? What’s wrong?” Even after everything I’d put her through and how awful I had been, she still sounded scared, afraid for me.
“Hey, I’m fine.” Now that she was on the phone I didn’t know what to say. Why hadn’t I thought this out more?
Because you wouldn’t have called.
“Sorry if I woke you.”
She sighed heavily. “No. It’s no problem. I told you to call anytime.”
Patiently, she waited for me.
“I have a new goal.”
“Umm, okay?” The tentativeness in her voice shouldn’t have been there, but it was. How many cues from others had I ignored in the past, set on my own agenda? I guess with self-realization came the ability to see how I’d affected others. Wasn’t that a bitch?
“I… well… I’m thinking… Jacob said…” I ran my hands through my hair. “I’m thinking I have to stop pushing people away. I need to let people help me.” Those were the toughest words I’d ever said.
I waited for the chastising, for the “well, duh stupid,” but Wendy said, “I want to help you. You’re my little brother, and I love you.”
Well, fuck. That telltale lump pushed up into my throat, and my eyes burned, and if I cried, I’m not sure I wouldn’t hate myself.
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I know, Paul. Dad made sure you didn’t need anyone. Bastard.” She’d whispered the curse.
Here I was, lost and needing direction, and I was actually asking for help. Oh, hell. I was sure I couldn’t do this but didn’t have a choice. Jacob had said that he wanted me. And I was pretty sure I wanted to see if anything could happen between us. Would he still be interested once the newness wore off? Once he saw the real me? I laughed silently to myself. I think I was the one having the trouble seeing the real me, not Jacob. If I didn’t take the chance, I’d never know.
“Start by taking better care of yourself and seeing your doctor regularly. Eat right, sleep when you should, and forget that civil case you’re building. We both know why you’re doing it.”
To get my father’s attention.
I didn’t think I could stop working on my case, but the other stuff? I’d trained for half a year to climb Lhotse. As long as I had a goal, succeeding should be easy.
“I can work on some of those things.”
“It’s a start,” she said with resignation, knowing it was the case I wouldn’t be giving up. “Do you need help with any of the other stuff?”
“No, but…” How did I get Jacob to see me as anything but an ass? “Jacob. I’m not sure how to… you know.”
There was silence, and I swore I could hear her smiling through the phone. “Jacob? What about him? Do you need another appointment?” Her teasing tone had me blushing. “Or do you need a booty call?”
Now I was flaming. “Jesus, Wendy.”
She cackled. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. When he called me yesterday, his anger about your fight seemed a little off, more personal, less professional. So I’m guessing you need a different rehabilitation person?”
“Wait, what?” Why would she even suggest that?
“Hey, doofus, you want to date him, right? He can’t do that while he’s treating you. Even if he did kiss you.”
Oh…
“Oh, right.” I had threatened to sue him for just that reason. He was never going to want anything to do with me.
“Yeah, he does want something to do with you. Believe me, Paul.”
I didn’t realize I’d spoken that thought out loud. “But my limp and scars.”
“Paul, I’m going to tell you this because I love you, and because I think you’re in the place to hear this now. And, God knows, I’ve wanted to say this many, many times in your life, but I knew you wouldn’t listen. Ready?”
I rolled my eyes. “Just say it.”
“You push people away…”
“I know this already.”
“Shut up and listen for a change without thinking of ways you can tell me I’m wrong.”
Did I do that? I could ask, but I shut up instead. She was trying to help me after all.
