Chris exhales. “You can’t skip it,” he says. “You’ve lost enough weight as it is. Come on. Your appointment is in an hour.”
Dread knots my stomach. I draw in a shallow breath and clench the pillow in my grasp. I try to control my emotions. I’ve gotten through several appointments. They’re not the big deal I’m making them out to be. It’s only because I’ve skipped so many of them that attending one now feels like this looming threat.
I glance at Chris. “Either I skip lunch or I skip the appointment. You choose.” I glare at him defiantly from the bed, but I know from his expression that I’m not going to win.
“You’re doing both.”
I roll around, showing him my back. I hear him waiting by the door, and then his footsteps approach.
The bed dips down. We sit in silence until Chris releases another long exhale. “I’m sorry.”
I don’t have a “you should be” reply ready. Has Chris done anything that I can reasonably be angry with him about? Making me food? Yeah, not solid grounds for throwing a temper tantrum. Booking me into appointments I’ve been skipping for weeks? Real bad guy move…
“You kicked Mark out before I could apologise.”
“You didn’t look like you wanted to apologise.”
“Because you upset me!”
Chris stills. “I did? Kyle, this isn’t like skipping a class. Recovery programs are designed the way they are for a reason. Even if you find it annoying, they wouldn’t have weekly check-ups if they didn’t serve a purpose.”
“Iknowthey serve a purpose.” They were there for the transition period from stump to prosthetic to make sure everything goes smoothly.
“And you skipped them for two months anyway. I’m sorry if you find them annoying. And I’m sorry if you think I’m the bad guy for making you go to them, but I ammaking you go. Whether you throw attitude my way or not.” Chris stands up. “Lunch is ready. Come eat.”
He walks away and leaves the door wide open behind him. Bastard.
I grumble, getting out of bed to shut it. I retrieve my phone from the bedside table and, doing as Mark asked, compose a message. I keep it simple, sendingsorrybefore I have the chance to overthink. My phone rings in my hand soon after and I hesitate, then hold it to my ear. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m sorry.”
It had been so lovely, so good, right up till that moment.
“The appointment, right?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know, Kyle. You got like that when you fell before and got hurt. Can I do anything? You can’t—I guess you can’t keep your eyes closed the whole time.”
“Not unless I want to be in there three times a week. No.”
“You…” Mark sounds hesitant. “You’ve gotten better about it. More comfortable. At least, that’s what it seems like to me.”
Have I? I guess I have. I mean, yeah, I had moments where I pushed through, thanks to Mark’s encouragement, for the sake of healing. And this morning I hadn’t worn the prosthetic at all during our activities, and it hadn’t bothered me. And my eyes were open for the shower. “While you’re distracting me.”
“Want me to come distract you for the appointment?”
I snort, falling back onto the sheets. Amusement cracks my black mood. “Yeah. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind me riding you while inspecting my stump.”
Mark chuckles. “Okay, not the best idea I’ve had.” He pauses. “I can still come. If you want.”
I consider it. But what if I snap at him again? “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine alone.”
Mark sighs.
I cringe, realising how dismissive that sounded. “I appreciate it, Mark. And I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
“I’m not sighing because of that. I know you’re going to be stressed out. I wish there was something I could do.”
“I’ll be fine. I went to appointments all summer.”
