Page 10 of The Weight Of It All
She grimaced. “Ouch.”
“You have no idea.”
“The Gallagher reports are on your desk,” she said,nodding to the pile of folders that weren’t there on Friday afternoon when I’d left.
I nodded and everything seized up. “Nodding hurts.”
“We can communicate by blinking if you’d prefer.”
“Oh my God, you are my twin soul. Thank you.”
“I was kidding.”
“Oh.”
But then, because she knew me so well, she said, “What’s the code?”
“One blink for yes. Two blinks for no.”
She stood up. “Okay. I’ll be back.”
I blinked once so she’d know her statement was received and understood, and she smiled before walking out and softly closing the door behind her.
I went to take the top folder from the pile and realised, very abruptly, that my arms wouldn’t work. My wrists kinda stuck out at ninety-degree angles from my sides because apparently my shoulders, biceps, and triceps were on strike.
Melinda came back with my coffee and put it on my desk at my right. I flapped my useless hand at it, but actually reaching it involved using muscles that didn’t want to be used.
Melinda stared at me and my pathetic attempt to move. “Is that your best T-Rex impersonation?”
I blinked once and she laughed.
God, it was going to be a long day.
After a few hoursof going through the job files, thankful I didn’t have to move much, I’d almost forgotten my body hated me until I tried to stand up.
And holy crap, everything was worse. And really fucking sore. “Ow, ow, ow.”
Before I could fall back into my chair and die, my phonebuzzed. I looked at the screen, and was surprised to see Reed’s name. I hit Answer, then Speaker. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Reed, from the gym.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry for calling you at work. Hope that’s okay. Just calling to see how you’re doing?”
“Oh my God, I’m dying.”
“I’m sure it’s not quite that bad?”
“I think there’s a high chance I could have SPS, which is a rare disease but not unheard of.”
“SPS?”
“Stiff Person Syndrome.”
He laughed.
“Don’t laugh, it’s a real disease. Real people suffer from it. I think I could be suffering from it. Either that, or possibly Lyme’s Disease. Or Chronic Exertional Compartment Syndrome. Or claudication.”
“You Googled muscle soreness, didn’t you?”
I pouted. “Maybe.”
