Page 36 of Colt
I can feel my pain, I’m not on massive doses of opiates, I’m going to go do something, because I can’t stand this. Not anymore.
I feel like I can do it. I feel like I can, and so I think I will.
I get up off the couch, and I open the back door, looking at where I have half my pavers laid down to make a little patio area. Part of the deal with me living here, essentially rent-free, is that I do lots of home improvement stuff for the property, so that when my mom puts it up for rent, it’ll have better value. And I don’t like that the project is half done.
I stared down at the pile of pavers. Quite a few of the stacks are tall, so I don’t even have to bend down to pick them up. And clutching a paver up against the side of my crutch my fingers curled around it as I move from one side of the yard to the other isn’t that hard. Bending down to put it in place, that’s a different story. It’s my damned ab muscles.
They got so torn up by that animal that I can feel my diminished core strength anytime I try to do something. But it’s not terribly painful, it’s just difficult. As long as I can make sure my leg stays stabilized. Then I’m good.
Though as my piles of pavers get shorter, bending to pick them up becomes more of a problem. The late afternoon sun is beating down on me, and I’m starting to feel a little bit lightheaded. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I had water,and… Well, it was with my painkillers, which I think now happened hours ago.
But I’m making progress, and I’m much happier doing this than sitting on my ass. So I keep going.
I keep going until I'm lightheaded from how much everything is starting to hurt. It’s deceptive, I think, how much extra weight the pavers are adding, or maybe it’s just the extra back-and-forth, and even though I’m relying on my crutches, there’s more weight than I realize being transferred to my injured leg.
I can feel my body telling me to stop. My head even tells me to stop, but there’s something stubborn in my gut that keeps on going. There are only five left to put in place, and that stubborn part of me wants to finish it.
Because if I want to, I will.
Because that’s the way I’ve always done things.
Until I pick up the last paver, and my crutch slips from under me, and I fall forward, my leg going behind me. “Fuck!”
I fall forward. And even though I’m able to catch myself with my arms, I don’t entirely mitigate the impact.
I’m sweating, and not just from the heat. There are black dots swimming in front of my eyes. I’m losing consciousness. The pain is so excruciating. I roll over onto my back, breathing hard, my forearm over my eyes as my stomach cramps intensely and I lose consciousness altogether. Everything is blank. And then I open my eyes. It feels like it’s been one extended blank. But I’m not alone when my eyes open. And that’s my first clue that it’s been a little longer than a single breath since I closed my eyes.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I was finishing a project.”
Allison is staring down at me like she wants to kill me. Or help me back up. “What’s wrong? What are you hurt? Did you hit your head?”
She sounds frantic. And upset.
“I didn’t hit my head. I just… I bent my leg weird, and it hurt. I also think I haven’t had enough water today.”
“We need to call your doctor.”
“I don’t need my doctor. I’m fine.” I push myself up into a sitting position, and my head is swimming.
“Just let me get you some water.”
She disappears into the house, and I am left to feel like a fucking tool. Because here I am, the God damned damsel in distress again, while she rushes off to save me, this time for myself. I let out a long, slow breath as I sit there, and she returns with a glass of water. The way she hands it to me expresses her deep disapproval of my behavior. And fine. Just fine.
“Sorry,” I say. “But I was going nuts here doing nothing. I can’t stand it.”
“But you have to do nothing, you dumb ass. You just do. You’re not Superman. I know that you feel like you are because your body used to do what you wanted it to do, but it’s not now. And it’s not a moral failure to have to heal, Colt. But it is really, really stupid to push yourself when you need to rest.”
I hate that she’s lecturing me. And I hate that I need one. I’m just pissed. I’m fucking pissed off. And I’m…
I’m tired of her yelling at me. I’m tired of her being right. I’m tired of…
With strength that comes from I don’t even know where, I push myself up to my feet. And I barrel toward her, bracing myself on the side of the house as she backs up, our faces inches away. “I am not a child, and I don’t need you to talk down to me.” I’m breathing hard. “Yeah, this wasn’t the best idea, but I’m fine. I’m not… I’m not broken, Allison.” I can smell the scent of violets on her skin. And my whole body tightens. Everything inside of me roared at that soft, flowery smell.
“I could prove it to you,” I whisper, my voice sounding rough. “That I’m not. I could still make you beg for me.”
I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me that those words come out of my mouth, that I say them to my stepsister. Except I just know that the feeling inside of me is something desperate. I don’t feel like myself. And I want to. I need to.
