CHAPTER 25
Harvey
Less Than Two and a Half Years Ago ...
I dreaded this day.
I’ve been living in my own bubble for months now, and leaving rehab is like getting slapped by another dose of reality.
I’m nervous as hell to see Gemma.
We were living in an apartment together before the accident.
Then I learned, while I was in rehab, that they moved our stuff into one of my dad’s properties—a bungalow—and made many changes to the home for me. My mom, my dad, Hen, Gemma, they did so much for me while I’ve been stuck in here, suffering in solitude.
I bet they’re glad to finally see me back home.
I bet they expect some fucking smiles and a million thank-yous.
As they should.
That is who I used to be.
Today, I still feel nothing.
I’m mentally preparing myself, trying to hype myself up so that I can live up to their expectations, so that my previous self can come out again and be fucking present .
Yet I can’t seem to get there.
I should be happy.
I’ll finally be home. Well, a new home, but still.
And I’ve made a little bit of progress since I started rehab.
Yet, yet .
I’ve never felt more miserable.
Both Gemma’s and my families are over for dinner.
Gemma’s twin sister, Gia, lured me to my new room to see Gemma before my mom grabbed me for a house tour.
It gave me a moment to hold Gemma in my arms before making her promise not to treat me like glass. I held her tightly and buried my nose in her hair, which smelled like her apple cider shampoo.
I had missed her face and her quietly muttered words.
I had missed her aura so badly, it was probably the only thing that could make me bawl my eyes out right now.
Not seeing her, it was as if I was slowly forgetting every curve of her body, every line of her face.
When we finally started the tour, my mom explained every change they had made for me, and it broke my heart a little further. Some things I knew were needed. Some things I didn’t expect, or maybe it was because I tuned out most of the rehab courses they gave us about life in a wheelchair.
I still try for my mom, who put in so much work and effort and money. I try and force a smile on my face as I thank my parents for their support.
I even make a few jokes at dinner, which surprises Hen, since he saw me in rehab.
Gemma’s beaming at times when she looks at me.
And I can’t even imagine how she must feel.
This is as much of a change for her as it is for me.
Once everybody leaves, it’s just Gemma and me in my new room, staring at the dark, starry night. I’m in my wheelchair, and Gemma’s sitting, arms around her bent knees, on my lowered bed.
There’s a comfortable silence in here, and for some reason, it fills me with a sense of belonging. Something I haven’t felt in a while.
Being near her again has calmed my heartbeat.
With her, I don’t have to force a smile. With her, I can be myself.
“It feels weird, doesn’t it? Sleeping here tonight… It doesn’t feel like home,” she whispers.
I stare at the moonlight’s reflection on her face, reaching down to the top of her narrow nose.
“I know,” I say simply, ignoring the elephant in the room—the fact that I had asked my mom for my own room when we discussed our move. I guess I kept Gemma in the dark about that part—though I know that my mom communicates with her often.
There are so many struggles in my new routine, some come and go, and I don’t want her to witness them if I can help it.
“I guess it’s like anything else… It’ll take some time to get used to,” she says quietly.
I nod, knowing what she’s truly implying. She wants my reassurance that we’ll be okay, that we’ll get through this together. But deep down, I know that this isn’t the life I would’ve chosen for myself, and I can’t bring myself to put that burden on her as well.
I gaze at her, and unexpectedly she stares back at me, and I know then that I won’t have the guts to walk away from this woman.
Even though I should. I should really, truly let her go.
The Harvey Stark she met is long gone.
And he’s not coming back. That’s a fact.