Page 6 of Room 1017

I sobered. “Always.” Sometimes this job could be a lot, so it was important to ask for help when you needed it. Otherwise, you might burn out.

“Okay, then. He’s just three days out from his final surgery. Could you meet him at the hospital?”

“You got it, boss.” I saluted him on his way out the door. “Tell Dale I said happy anniversary.”

He waved at me over his shoulder and then was gone. Which left me alone with Mr. Brown’s file. I willed my heart to steady before I flipped it open and began to prepare myself for what I was about to walk into.

3

Peter

Notevenaweekago, I’d been stubborn enough to think I could muscle my way up a flight of stairs. Now I wondered why I ever bothered trying. There was no point to this—toanyof this. Why bother going through all these surgeries when I would never be the man I used to be. I was slowly wasting away, and pain was always at the forefront of my mind because it refused to be ignored. It was a constant living being in the room with me, and with each day, it became more solid, morereal. Soon enough, it would grow teeth, maybe claws and fur, and it would tear into me… Maybe it would finish the job that thug with a knife failed to complete.

It was still early, and I was fully resolved to spend the whole day throwing myself a pity party in the dark—but then one of the nurses came in (the one with the squeaky shoes that always smelled like minestrone soup, but not in a good way) and yanked open the curtains. I hissed, like some kind of feral opossum, as the sunshine blinded me, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it burned my skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scolded. “A little sun never hurt anyone.”

“Some people are actually allergic to the sun,” I grumbled. “It hurtsthem.”

She stared down at me. “And are you allergic?”

I should’ve known she would throw that back in my face, because of course she knew I wasn’t. She knew every detail about my medical history. “No,” I finally spat out.

“Well, then. Enjoy the sunshine, it’s good for you. You’re going to get rickets if you don’t get enough vitamin D. And then where would you be?”

“Close the curtains,” I demanded. “If I want rickets, that’s my own damn business.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Then I guess you’d better get out of bed and come over here to close them yourself.” She arched her thickly penciled eyebrow, daring me to fight her on it. She could totally take me, with the state I was in these days.

I huffed out a disgruntled curse, turning away from the window, which only served to make my incision pull in an unpleasant way. Her shoes squeaked all the way back to the door. “That’s what I thought,” she sassed, throwing me a smirk on the way out the door.

And to think, she was one of theniceones. I actually preferred her gruff attitude over the gentle nurses, the ones who felt sorry for me. Although, at this point, I was pretty sure they were all sick of me. I couldn’t even blame them, because I was sick of me too. I’d be out of their hair soon enough. Tomorrow I could go home.

Amy was coming to pick me up in the morning. I hadn’t seen her in a few days. She’d been eating through her personal days trying to take care of me, driving me to appointments and sitting by my bedside, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she felt guilty that she hadn’t been able to protect me, or if she was just that sweet a person. Not even her upbeat personality could withstand my constant gloom, though. She was like a sunbeam trying to find its way through a torrential downpour, and I really hated myself for bringing her down too. No one deserved this. I just wished I could escape from it as easily, but it wasn’t like I could just… walk away.

So far, I’d refused to get out of bed even to use the bathroom. I was probably going to end up with bedsores—could you get sores on scar tissue? Guess I would find out soon enough. I would slowly waste away until there was nothing left of me. It shouldn’t take long, the way my muscles had atrophied so far. My ribs jutted out, my arms and legs were knobby and thin. I avoided mirrors because I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.

I dozed for a bit, as soon as the obnoxious morning sun rose high enough in the sky to put me out of direct danger of overcooking. I couldn’t so much as kick the blankets off when I got too hot because the night nurse had taken tucking me in a little too seriously.

Nurse Minestrone woke me up sometime around noon, greeting me loudly with hersqueak, squeak, squeak. “Time for lunch, Mr. Brown. Hope you like oatmeal.”

“Would it matter if I didn’t?” I muttered under my breath, but she acted like she didn’t hear me.

She set my meal on the table along the wall then headed back out to the hallway. When she returned, she was pushing a walker like I’d seen blue-haired seniors using at the grocery store, shuffling down the aisle. She rolled it over to my bedside and gave one handle a pat. “So, are you ready to try a few steps?”

“I’m not using that,” I growled. “I’m only 32, not 82.” Somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind, I was aware of how ridiculous I sounded. Obviously, people of all ages had mobility issues, for myriad reasons, and there was nothing wrong with that, but I wasn’t terribly worried about the truth right now. Because what I really meant was “they’re for other people who aren’t me.” All I wanted was to be transported to a reality where I was still whole. Was that too much to ask?

She smiled harshly, her mouth a hard line entirely devoid of any humor. “I’m really sorry to hear that,” she said, then headed out of the room at a brisk pace. “Enjoy your lunch,” she sang over her shoulder.

I sputtered with indignation. “How am I supposed to do that? You left it on the… table,” I trailed off as the door closed behind her. She didn’t even try to bribe me with another popsicle like the night nurse, Teddy. He treated me like I was a child, but all it did was make me even more stubborn. I could not be bought.

My stomach grumbled, and I stared longingly at the tray of food. I was hungry, but the walker was mocking me, with its rubber-grip handles and cushioned seat. What if I tried to use it and I couldn’t? What if the pain was too much or my muscles didn’t work? What if I was doomed to fail, even before I truly began. Fear was a sneaky bitch. Just when I thought I was done with it, it popped right back up and said hidey-ho. So instead of reaching for the walker, I gave up. I knew if I waited long enough, Teddy would be back on shift, and he would take pity on me and roll the table over to my bed. I could wait to eat.

I turned my head to look out the window, and though I couldn’t see much beyond the tips of the buildings downtown, it was enough to make me homesick for work. Even though my body was weak, my mind still yearned for the adrenaline of the chase, the focus of a new puzzle. I felt trapped in this body, the pain as effective at keeping me prisoner as any concrete walls or barred window.

I told myself I should’ve been able to muscle through it. But this wasn’t like other injuries I’d had, like a sprained ankle or a broken nose. And after the year I’d had… I was too tired. I was just so done with it all.

There was a knock on the door. It was a pretty regular occurrence around here, but if they expected me to get up to answer the door, they would be mistaken. I remained stubbornly where I was, silent and sulking, staring out the window.

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