Ruin (10 page)

I don’t mean to be fixated, but I just can’t take my eyes off her.

Is that so wrong?

I know I shouldn’t.

It’s not right.

But I can’t stop myself from falling for her …

If only it didn’t make me feel so guilty.

Guilty she has to sit there in that bed and isn’t able to walk.

Because if I could … I would change places with her in a heartbeat.

Alexander

I’m walking through the school, checking my schedule to see where I need to go, but for some reason, everyone is staring at me. Some hide their smiles behind their hands while others laugh. I frown and try to ignore it, but their voices become louder and louder until all I hear are their whispers.

Fatty!

Pig!

Snorlax!

My pace increases as I try to get away from them, but it’s impossible. It’s like they follow me wherever I go. When I bump into a girl, she points at me and laughs so hard she almost chokes.

I follow her finger only to find out she’s pointing at my legs … which are missing pants?

Fuck.

I run as hard as I can to the toilet, hoping I can cover myself up and then get out of here. I rush up the stairs, but then one of the planks falls away, and I drop in between. With just one hand, I manage to hold onto the step above, sweat running down my forehead as I cry out for help.

That’s when I see her.

Walking.

A hopeful smile on her face.

Holding out her hand to me.

I can only stare.

In an instant, I sit straight up in bed, covered in cold sweat, my sheets soaked. I breathe in and out for a few seconds, telling myself it was only a bad dream. But damn … it felt so real. As if I really was still in school … still being bullied.

I can still hear their words in the back of my head, as if they never stopped whispering.

As if it happened yesterday.

I shake my head and slap my cheeks. “Snap out of it, Alex.”

But she was there.

Maybell.

Her hand touched mine … in both my dreams and in reality.

I jump out of bed and throw on a shirt and some pants and then run downstairs.

“Where you going now?” my dad grumbles.

“Hospital.”

He looks my way, his face resembling that of a bulldog. “Christ, you’re still hung up on that shit?”

“I’m doing the right thing, Dad.”

“I don’t care if it’s the right thing. Does it earn money? No.”

I consider replying, but it’s not worth my time. He won’t ever listen. He won’t ever change. I’ve learned to accept that now.

My life may be shitty, but hers sure doesn’t have to be. And if I can’t make it less shitty, at least I’ll have tried. Because what else am I supposed to do? What other purpose could I have?

If I can’t make my own world better, at least I can help fix hers. So I slam the door shut and make my way to the hospital.

When I get there and find her sitting in her wheelchair near the window, my heartbeat speeds up at the sight of her. She briefly smiles when she sees me, but I can tell it’s faked. Something’s bothering her.

I clear my throat and walk in. “Hey. How are you today?”

She shrugs. “Fine. You?”

I sit down beside her on a stool and raise a brow. “I’m great, but you’re not telling the truth.”

She bites her cheek, like she always does when she’s trying to process something. “I don’t know …”

“C’mon, you can tell me,” I say as I reach for her hand.

I’ve never been so bold before … but there’s a first time for everything.

As my skin touches hers, a current runs through my hand, electrifying my body, making me aware of the warmth that connects us … and the pain that divides us.

Her brows twitch, and she takes a breath. “The doctor told me I’m not allowed to put any pressure or weight on my leg for twelve weeks.” She gazes at her immobile leg, the muscles losing more density every single day. Her eyes tear up a little, but she pushes them away too. “Twelve whole weeks of not even being able to start walking again. I’m supposed to stay in a wheelchair for twelve weeks.”

“Oh, no …” I squeeze her hand. “But you’ve got crutches, right? You can’t use those?”

“I don’t have a cast. If I fall, I’ll ruin the operation they did. I don’t want to break my leg again … and I’m a mess when it comes to walking with crutches.” She looks away at the window, where the trees are already losing all their leaves. This autumn is a bleak one for her.

But I’m not going to let her feel like she can’t do anything.

So I get up, grab ahold of the wheelchair handles, and turn her away from the window.

“What are you doing?” she squeals.

“Taking you out for a spin,” I say.

“What?” Her voice rises a few pitches, making me laugh.

I rush her out the door and make a sharp left turn. Her hands clutch the wheelchair as I race her through the hallways, cutting corners everywhere.

“Jesus, you’re going so fast!” She leans back as far as she can.

“Exactly the point!” I reply, running even faster.

We’re going so fast that we’re creating wind, and it’s blowing my hair in all kinds of directions, but I don’t care. I keep running, ignoring all the nurses who tell me to go slow and be careful. I run until she stops taking in gulps of air and starts laughing.

The sound of her happiness has me floating on air, and for a moment, it allows me to forget about my troubles too.

By the time her physical therapist shows up near her room, I’m all spent and so is she.

“Wow, that was awesome!” she says, a big smile on her face.

I’m still trying to get some air into my lungs. “Yeah? Good, because if it wasn’t, I’m gonna go back and do it all again.”

“No, no, my physical therapist is here,” she says. I know she hates having to make people wait, and I completely understand.

“But that won’t stop me from putting a smile on your face,” I say.

She turns around and looks at me, making me blush again.

Goddammit. Why do I keep saying those things out loud?

“Thank you,” she says, placing her hand on top of mine. “For doing that.”

I smile at her. “My pleasure.”

I help her get up from the wheelchair and back into bed so she can go on the device that the physical therapist brought. It’s some sort of machine called a continuous passive motion device, or CPM for short. It forces her leg to bend, so she doesn’t have to do the muscle work but still gets the proper bending. Otherwise, her knee will lock. Not that I understand much of it, I just know it works. Her leg has to be strapped onto it while she’s half-naked and only wearing underwear, so when the physical therapist indicates it’s time to pull off her pants, that’s my cue to go.

However, Maybell grabs my hand and stops me from leaving.

“Could you stay … please?” she asks.

“Um … are you sure?” I swallow away the lump in my throat and look at the physical therapist. “Is that okay, if I’m here?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t touch the device. She needs to do this on her own.”

“He won’t,” Maybell says. “I just don’t like being alone.”

“Oh, but you’re not alone,” the physical therapist muses. “You still have Mr. Chang to keep you company.”

Maybell glances at me and makes a ghost-like face, and I have to try my best not to burst out into laughter right there.

Mr. Chang. I think she means Mr. Pee-His-Pants-All-Day-Long.

But at least the conversations can be interesting with a man who doesn’t know where he is. It’s always surprising what he comes up with for an excuse as to why he’s in the hospital. One day, it’s because he’s selling his wares to the patients, and other times, it’s because the Nazis captured him and brought him to this camp.

Yep, his mind is nowhere to be found, which makes it all the more hilarious, unfortunately. I shouldn’t be laughing, but the way Maybell talks about it always cracks me up.

“But … If you’re sure. He can stay, of course,” the physical therapist says after clearing her throat.

I wink at Maybell as she struggles to keep the laughter inside.

The physical therapist lifts the heavy device onto the bed as Maybell scoots aside. Then she asks, “Can you take off your pants then?”

“Ahh … I’ll turn around then …” I mutter, swiftly spinning on my heels so I can look out the window and at Mr. Chang, who seems to be reading the same newspaper he was yesterday.

I guess that’s a benefit of forgetting everything; you can read the same thing fifteen times and never get bored … experience the same surprise over and over again. It’s like playing peekaboo with a child; the kid always finds it just as funny as the million times he saw it before.

“Done,” Maybell says, her voice pulling me from my thoughts.

As I turn around, my face turns completely red at the sight of her naked leg and panties. I suck on the bottom of my lip and reach for the chair, immediately sitting down to hide my hard-on. Fuck. This is so wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Maybell asks as the physical therapist starts up the machine.

“Nothing,” I lie. I don’t want to lie to her, but what else am I supposed to do? This is the most awkward hard-on ever.

Why can’t my dick ever not react? It’s just a girl’s leg. I’ve seen plenty before, although most of them were when I watched porn. Except this is Maybell Fairweather’s naked leg. The girl I’ve always dreamed of.

That doesn’t help one bit.

“I’ll put it on sixty degrees, okay?” The physical therapist taps a few buttons. “There you go.”

The CPM machine starts to move, and her leg slowly bends.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to take it off again. If you want to stop the machine for any reason, just press this button.” The physical therapist points at a big, red button near Maybell’s fingers.

“I’ve done it before,” she muses. “I know how it works.”

“All right.” The physical therapist nods and then leaves the room.

Then there’s only silence.

And … a half-hard dick.

Well, could this be anymore more awkward?

Maybell’s face scrunches up when the device reaches the sixty degrees, and she hisses. The sound of pain immediately softens my dick, and I take the opportunity of the avoided embarrassment to scoot my chair closer to her. Nothing’s going to stop me from being here for her. Not even a floppy dick.

Her face relaxes once the device goes down, but when it goes up again the hiss returns.

“It hurts,” she mutters.

I take her hand and hold it tight in mine. What else can I give her besides a hand to crush and a shoulder to cry on? I’d give her my life if I could. If only.

“It’s okay. Pain means that it’s trying to heal,” I say.

“I know … but I don’t know if I can keep doing this.” She squeezes my hand as the pain returns.

“Yes, you can. Ignore the pain. Focus on getting better.” I inch closer to her on my chair.

“How can I focus on getting better when the pain is constant? Always there to remind me of what happened?” she says as the CPM machine lowers again.

“Because it’ll get less and less until you barely notice it,” I answer.

“How do you know?” she asks, the desperation in her voice splitting me in half.

I search for the words, but I can’t find them. “I don’t … know.”

I bite my lip after seeing the defeated look on her face. She starts biting the inside of her cheek again, and her eyes scatter around the room. I know what she’s doing. I’ve seen it before. She’s thinking about all the possible outcomes for this disaster, none of them positive.

She’s thinking about her life—how she used to dance, how she used to be able to go wherever she wanted, and how she lost it all with the snap of a finger.

But I won’t allow her to think it’s lost forever. I won’t let her feel down. Not her.

Squeezing her hand even harder, I tell her, “Look at me, Maybell.” Her eyes zoom in on mine, my voice resonating with her mind. “I promise you, you’ll be able to do anything you want. Someday, you will. It might take a while, but you’ll do it all again. Without pain.”

“Even when I can’t walk?” Her voice fluctuates as she struggles to keep the tears inside.

“Even then. And if not … I’ll help you. Whether it’s standing, walking, jumping, or even dancing.” I smile gently to try to soothe her. “Every step of the way.”