CHAPTER 28
Harvey
Two Years Ago . . .
You know who I envy the most?
The fuckers who wake up at the crack of dawn to jog or walk their dogs.
I watch them from my room—living vicariously in a moment of their day, while I sit in my wheelchair, surrounded by darkness.
If I could go back, I’d get a dog, take the longest walks known to man, spend time in nature and breathe it in. Now if I don’t pee on myself, I call that a win.
I sigh, watching this dog throw himself onto the snow, rubbing its back.
I snicker.
Cute.
The nurse will be here soon. The second nurse I’ve had since I’ve been home.
They come and go.
This one tells me I’m doing very well by myself. And I don’t see anything wrong with that, neither does McKleen. I’m using my upper body as much as I possibly can, and she watches just in case.
In case I fall.
In case I fail.
On some days, I get so sick of all the back and forth, progress and failures, struggles, tests, bladder infections, peeing on myself, side effects from medications, grogginess, brain fog, hoping I never shit myself, paperwork, fucking medical insurance, still not being able to walk the way I used to, hating my life.
On some days, the only peace I feel within is knowing that I could end it all.
Just like that.
Just close my eyes and fall asleep and feel peace.
A peace I haven’t felt since July.
Sadly, today is another day.
Another day in this series of nothing but days.
Another day I wish I weren’t me.
“You took your pills already?” Gemma asks me when she gets home. I wish she would leave the questions for the nurse. I wish she would simply come home and have a conversation with me .
Not about my physical state.
“Yeah,” I say, pausing my video game. It’s the only thing that distracts me from my thoughts. I haven’t been able to draw since the accident eight months ago.
“Did Stefan say anything last Saturday?” she inquires, pushing her hair behind her ear.
I shake my head. “Not really, no.”
“Nothing about your progress?” she insists further, curiously.
I sigh. “No, Gemma. He’s not going to give me a report at every appointment. These things take time…”
“I know they do, Harvey,” she replies defensively. “I was just wondering.”
And what if I don’t progress? What then, Gemma?
Will you leave me then?
Lately, I’ve been able to transfer from my wheelchair to the dining table and my lowered bed, and now to the shower bench. Those are some huge accomplishments for me, but I’d rather shut up about it until they’re permanent, since progress isn’t linear.
“Your day was good?” I try and steer our conversation away from an argument.
She gives me a half-hearted shrug. “Things were slow today. What do you want for dinner? Pizza?”
“Yeah, sure,” I reply, though I don’t have much appetite.
I blow out a breath when she nods and leaves me alone to game. Things have been a little awkward between us lately. She’s tried to seduce me sexually sometimes, and I can’t go through with it.
I’ve had too many close calls and bladder incidents to risk it with her. I won’t have a repeat of the last time we tried and I peed my pants—I was mortified. To make matters worse, I can’t get hard when I want or stay hard to save my life.
Gemma’s young. She has her whole life ahead of her. And as her boyfriend, I should be able to please her. Yet I can’t have her on her knees for me only for her to see me pee myself, or watch me jerk off only to end up like a limp noodle when she needs it most.
Mentally, physically, I’m all tapped out.
I’m drained.
I’m like a fucking ghost.
And it would be insane to have expectations from a ghost.
I’m sure by now Gemma expected me to be back to my usual chipper twenty-two-year-old self. And I won’t lie, a part of me expected that people’s positive words would ring true, that at some point, I would accept my new life. I knew they were wrong, but I wanted to believe them. Because if we don’t have hope, what the fuck do we truly have?
I did make peace with something though—I made peace with the fact that on most days, I still don’t feel better.
Numbness still greets me with familiarity.
And despite new progress here and there, failure keeps me on my toes.
Figuratively, of course.