Page 4 of You Can Make Me
“Coop? Are you hungry?”
He didn’t respond.
I walked over to the old stereo and turned the music down a little before I approached him, being sure not to come at hisback. He still spooked every time I touched him unless we made eye contact first.
“Cooper?”
He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and turned just enough to look at me out of the corner of his eye, which was nearly covered by his now-longish hair.
“Hey,” I said, softer now, approaching him cautiously with a hopeful smile. I couldn’t help it. Every time I saw him was a blessing, proof that he was still here. Part of him, at least. “Are you hungry? I brought you a sandwich from that deli, you seemed to like it last time. Can I get you something to drink?”
He stared back at me for a long moment before he nodded.
I could breathe again. I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the sandwich and a plate, some napkins, and a bottle of the iced tea Cooper liked. I set them on the table and stepped back to wait for him. He pulled the blanket tighter with one arm, grabbed his cane, and he hobbled over to the table, sneaking furtive glances under his hair at me.
God, I wished I knew what to do for him.
We sat at the table and Cooper kept his head down as he ate slowly, still struggling at times to chew. The sutures in his mouth and cheeks had long since dissolved, but the tissue was still healing. He’d had to relearn how to chew without biting the inside of his scarred cheek.
“I grabbed the mail while I was in town. You got a letter from your mom, what looks like a check from the network, and something from your insurance company.”
He nodded and took a sip of his tea.
“How is your pain today?”
He shrugged.
He’d opted to stop taking his pain medications two weeks ago, against medical advice. His doctors had said he should stay on them until his next checkup at the end of the month.
“Coop, the doctor said that it’s better not to let the pain get worse?—”
“I don’t want to be fuzzy. I can’t think.”
I exhaled. It would not do for me to lose my temper when Cooper was struggling with everything that had happened to him.
He couldn’t walk without some sort of aid, as his balance was off after the blow to his head. He had almost daily headaches and couldn’t look at his computer for longer than twenty minutes at a time or he’d struggle with his vision. He’d been in near constant pain from the number of deep cuts he’d received, which had healed, but the scar tissue was tight and pulled when he moved.
It killed me to see him continuing to struggle so hard after everything he’d been through, but he fought my attempts to get him moving and refused additional medical intervention.
“Maybe if we go back to the doctor sooner?—”
“The doctors can’t do anything for me. They can’t fix me.”
And that was his answer to everything. He couldn’t befixed. His brain, his gait, his poor wounded flesh. His face would never be the same, the face he’d relied on to land him a coveted spot as a television investigative reporter. He’d made me take all the mirrors out of the place first thing when I’d brought him to this refuge.
I’d done everything he’d asked except leave him.
This was more than he’d talked in a while, so I pushed.
“Maybe they can prescribe something that doesn’t make you foggy. Or maybe they can suggest something over the counter…”
He took a few more bites of his sandwich and then pushed back from the table, his wince making my heart hurt. I hated that he was in constant pain.
Cooper heaved a big sigh, and his hand came up to his ribs.
“Can I at least get you some ibuprofen? I hate to?—”
“You find anything out? About the internet? I get kicked off sites when I’m reading articles, and it won’t hold long enough to download and print them. If I had better internet, maybe I could work…”
