CHAPTER 14
Harvey
Fucking Gemma.
I’m fuming right now. How could she break her promise to me?
How could she get back on a motorcycle after what we went through, on a work trip no less, with her boss no doubt, which is increasing my growing suspicion?
I trusted her when she promised me that. I never expected her to go back on her word.
It was good. I had fun.
That’s what Gemma told her brother-in-law at our family dinner earlier on Wednesday evening. James asked her about getting back on a motorcycle during her trip because he knew .
There was no shame, no guilt in Gemma’s voice when she answered him.
None whatsoever.
It killed me to hear that she broke her promise, but it hurt even more to hear her nonchalance about it.
I know she knows what this does to me, yet she doesn’t even care.
I can’t not tell her; I’m going to explode if I keep this inside of me.
I wheel myself to the kitchen once her family is gone, my teeth destroying my bottom lip from the fury. I watch Gemma clean up the kitchen, and for a split second, I picture Claire doing the same in this kitchen, her hair pinned up, a few strands falling on either side of her face.
I shake away the thought, bringing myself back to the moment.
“You promised,” I tell Gemma.
She destroyed me with her actions, so I’m hoping to destroy her with two words.
I can’t believe her… If someone else would’ve told me that she’d ride again without me, I wouldn’t have believed them.
Her eyes soften, and she looks like she’s about to cry. It makes me regret being an ass to her, at least for a split second.
She doesn’t say a word. She looks sad, but not sorry.
So fuck it.
I wheel back to my room, and I slam the door.
My anger is at an all-time high, and it’s consuming every cell in my body. I try to breathe it out, to calm the nerves in my stomach, yet it’s not having a promising effect.
The next thing I know, Gemma barges into my room, looking as angry as I am.
“You broke promises too.”
Her comment makes me want to laugh. That’s her excuse?
At the very least, if she would’ve come to me and told me she missed riding…I wouldn’t have understood her need, but I couldn’t have stopped her either.
“Okay. If that justification makes you feel better, by all means.” I make a hand gesture, dismissing her and her stupid accusations as I turn on my PlayStation.
“So that’s it? You’ll go back to playing your video games again?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. She’s accusing me of gaming when she rode a motorcycle?
The fucking audacity of this chick.
At least gaming is predictable, trustworthy , even.
“You’re not going to ask which promises you broke?”
I sigh, not knowing where this is heading and not wanting to jump headfirst into the fire she sends blazing my way.
I rub my hand over the lower half of my face before facing her. I’m waiting for her to go on, since she seems to have a lot to get off her chest tonight. Besides, I’m curious to know which promises she thinks I broke.
“You promised to love me. And to be there for me. You promised to never shut me out.” Her voice cracks as she names each thing. I’m too much of a coward to continue looking at her and staring at the pain I’ve caused. I can hear it in her voice, yet I look behind her, avoiding her stare.
But her words make me laugh. And it isn’t a happy one.
It’s a laugh full of viciousness and maybe even regret.
She shut me out too. For God’s sake, her entire personality shuts people out! She barely talks, never expresses herself.
Still, her words echo in my mind over and over. One by one, I play my broken promises to her like a broken record, and my guilt triples for hurting her.
The guilt takes over the anger, and completely cancels it out.
I grab the game console with shaky hands, needing to process every word of hers later tonight. I can’t do it with her around.
When she leaves, another wound forms around my heart, and I game all night until a headache takes over the mental pain.
I wake up the next morning after another night full of dreams and nightmares. Except sometimes even the nightmares feel like dreams, since I can walk in them. It seems so easy. I wish I could get up and just walk .
Just fucking get out of my wheelchair and run without needing the support of a hot nurse behind me, helping me.
I don’t feel good today.
I’m comfortable in my misery, which is the lowest place to be.
The emotional turmoil is taking a toll on my physical body though. I feel some numbness, and I’m extremely achy. Some areas I’ve been working out are tight and itchy as well.
Gemma doesn’t notice me as I wheel to the bathroom. I can see her getting ready for work in her room. She looks great—black skirt, black stockings, and a cream blouse. For some reason, though, it makes me angrier than I was last night because I know that this isn’t for me—her clothes are for him . Even Claire seems to have noticed, since she complimented Gemma on her outfit recently.
I envy her for being able to dress nice and go to work.
I envy her for choosing to live her life again at the expense of pushing me away, after what I’ve had to endure.
I know she has to. The rational part of my brain is telling me why she has to, and that I should support her and be happy for her.
Yet I also know she’s been spending time with her boss, she got back on a motorcycle, she doesn’t care about breaking her promises, she dresses nice at work.
And the worst part is that I’m not even sure she loves me anymore.
The thought hurts, it stings, it wounds—it destroys me.
I feel like I’m in rehab all over again, hearing the same bullshit lines regarding my prognosis: “Go with the flow” and “We won’t know till we get there.”
All of it was and is frustrating.
I’m sick of waiting… I don’t know what I’m fucking waiting for, yet I’m waiting for something, anything, to change, to turn my life around, and I don’t know what the missing piece is that will fit into the puzzle nicely and alter the course of my life.
So for now I wait, back in my bed, lying down, staring at the white ceiling, knowing I won’t be able to train today.
Gemma pushes for my progress, yet she’s the one who halts it half the time.
Claire greets me a little later while I’m still in bed.
Then she comes and sits on the edge of it.
Even the way she sits on my bed is different than Gemma. Claire sits with graceful confidence, while Gemma sits with her arms around her legs in a timid way.
Why I’m wasting time pondering the way my girlfriend and nurse sit on my bed is beyond me and utterly pathetic.
“Bad night?” she mutters, her voice soft, full of wonder.
I must look horrible if it’s that obvious. “Yeah…I had a dream.”
“What about?”
I clear my throat. “I don’t remember all of it, but I was walking in it, and I was truly happy again.”
“Oh, Harvey…” I see her swallow before she continues. “Perhaps one day you’ll feel that way again.”
I feel horrible for opening up to her, especially after Gemma’s words last night. Those were part of my nightmares, but I won’t tell Claire that.
“It’s been years, I seriously doubt it. Nothing has changed.”
“Perhaps your life as it is now won’t change, or your circumstances, but maybe the way you see your life will.”
She has way too much hope for me. That’s brutally dangerous when I have none for myself, when most days I don’t even want to be on this goddamn earth.
I snort. “I watched a video recently of this disabled guy going off about how he didn’t lose anything essential despite his paralysis.” I shake my head. “Good for him, but who gets to choose what was essential to me, to my life and my identity?”
She swallows again. “You know, I’ve been trying to help you move forward instead of listening to what’s actually bothering you and how painful this loss has been for you.”
“There’s a lot bothering me, Claire.”
“Tell me. Like what?” she asks, curiosity in her eyes.
“Everything. Literally everything and nothing,” I reply, trying to keep all my emotions at bay. “Anyway, how’s your sister doing?” I ask, changing the subject.
“She’s good, doing much better.”
“That’s good. Listen, I can’t train today.”
“Alright. Why don’t we do something fun?” I’m relieved at her suggestion. I was sure she’d fight me on this.
“Like what?”
“Anything you want. We can keep reading Little Women . Or watch a movie?” she suggests, looking away.
“We can read if you want, then maybe we can game?” I say, assuming that she’ll reject it, since she already told me she’s not into video games.
“Sure. Though I must admit, I’m an amateur.”
“It’s fine,” I reassure her. “I’ll teach you.”
We have a quick breakfast before we settle on the couch to read.
“Every time you read this book, you’re beaming,” I tell her, her blush greeting me in return. “I can see the appeal for women, especially back then.”
She nods. “I think what I love the most about it is how flawed yet strong each of them are.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I admit.
“Sometimes I can’t help wondering what it’d be like to live during those times. I think I would’ve fit in well.”
“I think so too.” I snicker. “You’re nice, feminine, and ladylike—whatever that means.” I roll my eyes, then continue. “Not to mention a little submissive.”
“Harvey!” She taps my arm gently with her foot. “I am not submissive.”
“Oh, but you are.” I chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t make you any less strong, Claire.”
She smiles at my declaration then continues on pensively. “I wish I could go back in time for one night and dance at a ball in a nice gown and be flirty but not too flirty with Prince Charming. Don’t you wish you could do that?”
I ponder her question for a second before shrugging. “Maybe, just to have that one flirty dance with you.”
She’s beet red now, and I look away, sure she’s about to tell me off when she says, “You would look handsome in a suit and with your hair done nicely and proper manners .”
I keep quiet, knowing if I say more, things might get out of hand. But as I clear my throat, I can’t help replaying her compliment over and over in my head.
She doesn’t press, and instead she continues on with the story, and I listen to her intently, her voice filtering out each and every dark thought I’ve carried with me since this morning.
Later in the afternoon, we head to my room to game.
“Harvey, I’m serious, go easy on me,” she pleads.
I nod and proceed to show her the game console and explain quickly how the game works. I pick a racing game, thinking it’ll be easier for her.
“You really do suck, Claire,” I tell her once we start playing.
“Shut up! This isn’t fair. You play all the time.”
She’s right, yet it doesn’t stop me from teasing her about it.
I don’t know how I’ve gone from waking up wondering about my life to enjoying my time with Claire, but here we are. As always, she surprises me.
It makes me happy that she’d take the time to do something she doesn’t like for my sake.
Gemma and I used to always game together. It was one of our things, until it wasn’t. Maybe when I asked her not to ride a motorcycle again, she decided to stop gaming with me in return.
An eye for an eye and all that shit.
Or maybe she doesn’t want to be around me anymore.
It’s hard to tell.
“I can understand the appeal… It’s definitely distracting,” Claire assures me as we play.
“Yeah, it’s a great escape.” From the corner of my eye, I catch her staring at me, but luckily, she says nothing.
I’ve always loved gaming, even more so since the accident. It’s much easier to be a fictional character, where nobody cares if you’re disabled, than to face reality.
“Oh no, I crashed my car. It won’t reverse, Harv!”
I’m laughing as I see her on the screen, desperately trying to finish the first lap of the race. I grab her console, and when our hands touch, my eyes dart to hers. She blushes and looks away immediately, and once again in Claire’s company, my dick decides to rise. And it’s not that easy to hide, since I can’t just walk away and readjust myself.
I learn forward in my chair, reversing the car for her. “There you go.” I hand her the console back, making sure not to touch her again.
But I don’t forget the look in her eyes.
Her eyes—they’re so brown, so dark, I don’t even know how to describe them. And her soul, her spirit? It’s…
She’s the most beautiful person deep within that I’ve ever met.
She has a good heart, and she seems to care and want to help. I don’t know many people who would do that without expecting something in return.
Except Gemma, of course, and my family. They’ve given me their everything, including their time and support and money.
What’s wrong with me, seriously?
I shouldn’t be focusing on Claire and how she is when I have Gemma, who loves me, takes care of me, and would do anything for me.
I’m mad because she broke her promise and rode again—with her boss. That’s what enrages me. But I’m sure with time, I’ll let it go.
Claire made us dinner tonight—spaghetti and meatballs.
The music is on as she washes the dishes afterward, handing me a dish towel to help.
There’s something about this woman. Even in scrubs, with her hair pinned up, she’s the epitome of grace.
No matter how much I want to focus on Gemma and Gemma only, Claire keeps occupying a fuck ton of my thoughts.
I feel guilty about it, horrible, yet my mind keeps playing these tricks on me, and I’m useless against their tactics.
She twirls around the kitchen, putting glasses away, until she comes back and throws the dish towel around my neck, her mouth a little closer to mine as she sings in front of me.
Her eyes are twinkling with a joy I can’t fathom.
I would do anything to get a taste of what she’s on.
Somehow as I watch her enjoy herself, all I can think of is that Claire doesn’t seem like the type that would break her promises. Or do all the things that Gemma’s probably been doing with her boss.
But who am I to judge, seriously, when I’m in the kitchen entertaining my nurse?
Henrik would shake his head and bust my balls for hurting Gemma. I know he’s not keen on Claire, but that’s only because he sees it from Gem’s perspective.
She leans forward, closer to me. Her voice sounds lovely, and her tits are right in my face.
Fuck.
I’m dying.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard since the accident. Maybe it’s the progress I’m making or maybe it’s Claire.
“Harv…sing with me.” It’s hard to decipher if she’s teasing me or just being her lively self.
I think of Gemma…of her words, of my own broken promises, and most of all, of the melancholy on her face last night when she told me how much I’ve hurt her.
I think of my quiet, mysterious, hot Gemma.
“Claire, you should go.”
She stops singing, her cheeks red with embarrassment. “Oh…of course, it’s late.”
“I’m not trying to be a dick…” I look away, unable to stare at her, knowing I wiped the smile off of her face as easily as I do with Gemma.
Maybe I really am the problem.
“No, you’re right. I don’t know what I’m even doing. You have a girlfriend.”
“Claire…Gemma and I… It’s complicated.”
She laughs. “I’m sure it is.”
I wheel forward, grabbing her hand in mine, while my other one pushes through my hair. “I like hanging out with you.”
I stop my chair right in front of her, my legs touching hers. I’m so hard right now, I will combust in my pants if she doesn’t leave in the next five minutes.
“I like spending time with you too. Perhaps a little too much. Maybe your brother’s right, and I’m—”
“My brother? What the hell did he say to you?”
“Nothing. He warned me, to protect you.” She looks like a deer in the headlights, as if she didn’t plan to share that with me. Fucking Hen, butting into my life, as if he doesn’t have his own issues.
“Maybe I should quit, Harv…”
“No—” I interrupt her, feeling my panic rise.
“I really should. I know that you know it. I’m starting to feel things for you, and you’re my patient. We have a code of ethics—”
“Claire…you can’t leave me.”
I wheel even closer and hug her around the waist. Her smell will drive me mad. It’ll drive me to the brink of sexual collapse, I swear to God.
Don’t leave.
She smells of apricot and vanilla and just so…fruity.
Pre-accident, we’d have gotten along so well together. But now? Now she’s twice the woman for a man I’ll never be again.
I let go of her, seeing the conflict in her eyes.
“I’m not leaving now, but we need to think about this, think about Gemma.”
Right…Gemma.
Where is she, even? It’s seven o’clock in the evening, and she’s still not home! Not many assistants work this much overtime.
She’s lying to me.
But Claire’s a fresh breath of truth.
She’s real with me and honest, and she makes me smile, and she woke me up from my own sexual coma.
“Claire?”
“Hmm?” She’s pondering her next move, her next job. I can see it in her eyes.
“Kneel.”
Her eyes pop at my order, like she’s not sure she heard me correctly. “Excuse me?”
“I said kneel.”
Submission is written all over her face as she swallows before she kneels in front of me in the kitchen. It doesn’t take much for me to picture her without any clothes on, to imagine how soft her porcelain skin would feel everywhere.
I trace my thumb over her lip before using it to tilt her chin upward. “Promise me you won’t leave this job,” I say as her lips part.
“I can’t promise that. You have another woman in your life.”
“It’s not going well, not at all. Fuck, Claire, I don’t know what we’re doing, but we’re barely together.”
She shrugs, her eyes pleading with me to get my shit together. “Then now might be the right time to figure it out.” And just like that, she stands, shooting me a look filled with appreciation and annoyance before she grabs her stuff and goes.
The second she leaves, my dick goes limp.
And then I feel like crap.
For toying with both. Neither of them deserve my indecisiveness.
With Gemma…what’s left there is complicated, it’s messy, but perhaps it could be resolved.
I’m not sure.
Then there’s Claire. She brightens my days like fucking sunshine.
She makes me happy.
And that’s a dangerous burden to put on someone.
That’s when I realize that Gemma did text me that she’d be working late—I missed it, too busy stabbing her in the back with Claire.
I notice that it’s almost nine o’clock, and the thought of what she could be doing working this late with a boss she went riding with triggers me.
I call her, and her phone fucking rings and rings. I expect her not to pick up until she does at the last second.
“Hey…” she says, though she sounds different. Something’s off.
My fingers are tapping repeatedly on my leg. “What time will you be back?”
She clears her throat. “I’m heading out soon. Why? Do you need anything—”
“I’m fine…” She has the audacity to act like she cares about me. Or perhaps she wants to make sure my disabled self is okay and free from harm.
“Are you sure?”
Oh, she’s good. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
I squeeze my phone in my hand when we hang up.
I know she’s lying.
How could she do this to me, to us?
After everything we’ve been through, all the promises we swore to each other.
I wheel down the hallway back and forth, back and forth. I need something to keep my mind from the edge.
Because my mind is at the edge, I feel it.
One little tip over and I might not have much time left.
That night I blow shit up and stab people online. Essentially anything to grant myself a release from this rage.
Gemma gets home before eleven.
Eleven o’clock on a weeknight.
Does. She. Think. I’m. A. Fucking. Idiot?
I know she’s messing with me. I sense it in every cell in my body. I might not be able to prove it, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
I’m so angry while she showers.
I resent her.
For leaving me, for not caring about me.
I’m sure she’s cheating on me—at least emotionally. It’s so obvious that she must take me for a dumbass. And so I push all thoughts away that remind me I’m not being faithful either.
Because with all this anger, I’m desperate to stick it to her.
So I watch porn—loudly—not giving a damn.
I stroke my cock hard and fast, then I slow down, teasing myself, trying to control the grunts coming out of me. I jerk off the way she hasn’t seen me touch myself in years.
I go at it like my life depends on it.
It feels so good.
God, I still remember the days where I couldn’t even get hard.
It can still be hit or miss.
But I’ve slowly retaught myself the art of self-fuck.
The entire time, I’m picturing Claire dancing and singing in the kitchen, and for the love of all that is holy, I picture her kneeling in front of my wheelchair as I begged her to stay.
I leave my door open on purpose.
I go at it over and over until I come, and I hear the creaks in the wooden floor as Gemma no doubt retreats to her room.
Fuck you, Gemma.