Page 15 of The Way We Fell

“I see how it is. Replacing us for a new, beer-drinking bestie.” Ruth pokes her tongue out at me, and I poke her in the ribs.

“Never,” I say resolutely. I could never replace my best girls. Not for anything, or anyone.

Chapter six

Jay

Thenextweekpassesby in all its mundane glory: I go to work, I go to my physio appointments, I dutifully visit my parents, even when I’m not in the mood to see anyone or anything. The biggest upside to all of this—to being hurt, recovering, finding my way again—is that my parents never let me leave my childhood home without a bag packed full of Tupperware containers to fill my fridge. I’m not incapable of cooking for myself, and I’m not even averse to doing it, truth be told. But it’s nice to come home after a long day at work, with a leg that feels like it’s still on fire, and not have to worry about standing in the kitchen preparing food.

On Sunday, I wake from a nightmare in the wee hours with a yell, and limp to the bathroom, taking slow, deliberate breaths and trying not to empty my stomach contents. My entire body is alight, and not in a good way. I can feel everything I felt that day: the smoke in my lungs, the flames on my skin. The loss, the fear, the pain. I sit with my resentment until it’s time to leave to meet Katy, and I take the bus instead of trying to walk or drive.

I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed our first brunch last week. With how much I enjoyed just being around Katy, her calming presence, her lightness like a halo around her gentle smile. So when she suggested a second trip, I agreed before my stupid brain had a to talk me out of it. Except, now I wish ithadtalked me out of it, because although I showed up out of some sense of duty, I’d rather be anywhere but here right now.

“You’re crabby today.”Am I?Katy’s voice is soft, but her expression is slightly pained. I feel like the world’s biggest prick, but at the same time, I can’t seem to turn it off. I can’t make myself respond in any other way; I can’t turn off the anger and aggravation, the resentment that has plagued me since I woke up from another nightmare with the all-consuming phantom sensation that my legs were on fire. I do all I can to avoid looking at Katy. I can’t take the hurt in her eyes. It only serves to make me feel like an even bigger dickhead.

“I know it must be tough, Jay,” she continues. “There’s a lot to adjust to, right? Coming home, the routine—the culture—”

“You think you know how hard it is, Katy?” Fuck, I reallyaman arsehole, aren’t I? I just need to get out—out ofeverything. Out of this room, out of these clothes, out of my skin. Out of this fucking depressinglife.

“No, I don’t know.” Katy’s voice shakes, and now I feel even worse than before. Because as angry as I am about this situation I’ve found myself in, Katy is already one of the few bright spots I’ve found, and to dim that light makes my stomach twist.

“I don’t have a clue,” she continues. I drag my eyes to her face and force myself to focus on her as she presses her lips into a tight smile. “But I can imagine it’s a lot. I can imagine it’s not easy. And I can imagine there are so many things in your head right now. So many emotions.”

She’s not fucking wrong.I grumble under my breath, a vague agreement that says everything and nothing all at once, and then her fingertips make contact with mine across the table. I flinch at the burn of her touch. Will I ever feel normal? Will human contact ever feel normal again?

Or will it always feel clinical? Will it always just make me wish they’d cut the damn leg off, or maybe just left me to burn?

“It’s okay, you know? To feel things. It’s okay.” She looks up through long lashes, and I feel myself calming. I feel the walls begin to crumble, the tension begin to ease. I suck in a deep, shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry, Katy.” A long exhale follows my words. “I’m a fucking prick.”

“No, you’re not.” Her smile just barely reaches her eyes. “I mean, you’ve been a dick to me today, but that’s not who you are.”

I close my eyes for a moment and swallow hard against the nausea bubbling up through my chest. I could get whiplash from the about-face of my own emotions.God, after all of this—after everything—am I really going to push someone else away, when all they’ve done is try to care? Am I really going to lose another friend? When I open my eyes again, they lock with Katy’s, and I use them to convey all the things I can’t find the words for.

I don’t mean to be a grumpy prick. I don’t mean to shut people out, to hide myself from people who want to care. But it’s hard to let myself be cared for when the number of people who once cared for me has dwindled almost to zero. When they’ve all either left or died. When I’m just so fuckingangryall the time. Angry at the loss. Angry at the injustice in the world. At the way innocent people are victims of political wars. At the way my own life has been turned upside down by all of it. It’s hard, and some days, I’m just so tired of it all.

“I’m sorry for being a dick. Can we start again?”

“Sure,” she says with a smile—a real one, this time. She nudges my hand with hers. “Your turn to pick a flight?”

I stand slowly, testing my weight on my right leg before taking my first step. There’s an ache that rattles my entire lower body with each step, and it takes longer than it should to make it to the counter. But I do, and since we’ve been working through the menu in order, I request the next beer and cookie flights, as well as the lunch sandwiches we’ve both chosen. I add an extra for Katy—the cookie I remember that she loved last week—and make my way back to the booth to find her tapping away at her phone. She pushes it back into her pocket as I take my seat.

When she smiles at me—a bright, beaming, indulgent grin that says any of my bull-headed wrongdoings are long since forgiven—I’m struck again by her beauty. The beauty I’m quickly learning is much deeper than surface level.

“If you could learn anything, any skill in the world, what would it be?”

Well, that’s certainly a question.Anything to distract me from imagining you naked, probably. She’s my little sister’s best friend, for god’s sake. She’s too young, too off-limits. She’s too sweet and kind, too bright, too innocent. But then she smiles at me, and I’m just a warm-blooded man. One who’s been celibate for far too long, and who’s always had a thing for blondes. I kick myself, dragging my mind out of the gutter and back to the present—to the smart, kind, fascinating woman in front of me. Time to think with the right head, not the one in my pants.

“I’d like to run properly again, without my leg hurting,” I grumble. Definitely a safer answer than my initial instinct. “But I’ve always wanted to play an instrument. Maybe I’d learn that.”

“Huh,” she hums. “I played clarinet for about five minutes when I was about eight. Didn’t go well. I’m kinda tone-deaf, unfortunately. Just ask Ruth.”

I laugh—a deep guffaw that pulls its way from my belly. The kind of laugh I haven’t experienced for a long time. It feels different. Nice. I have to clear my throat a few times to regain my composure.

“Oh, wow. Ruth’s one to talk about being tone-deaf. Have you ever heard her sing?”

“Unfortunately,” Katy says with a grin and a wry chuckle. “We went to see Taylor Swift together a few years ago. The four of us, and Paloma’s girlfriend at the time. Ruth screamed off-key in my ear all night.”

---