“And Wesley?” The thought of him being stabbed too makes the words come out strangled.
Cara runs a finger over his forehead. “He was fine. He was protected and wasn’t injured. The only bad thing was the stress and loss of blood on my body started to stress him out, too. They had to get him out right away, and the only way was to…” Cut her open.
I feel trapped in my own skin and the need to tear through shit like the Hulk and bust out of here is almost unbearable. I tilt my head back and look at the ceiling. “What time is it? I kind of need some fresh air.”
Cara glances down at her phone still laying on the couch. “It’s going on nine at night. See? His schedule is all messed up. He’ll be up until at least eleven now.” Cara frowns down at him, bouncing from side to side and I almost want to ask what the hell she’s doing, but the baby seems to like it, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Can you call Easton? I need to take a walk—well, fuck. You know what I mean.” I say, tone bitter and ears hot.
“Go—what? Why? Jackson, I’m sorry if Wesley is crying—”
“No. It’s not Wesley, I just need a fucking moment.” I’m the mute for a reason. I need silence and peace and this emotional overload is making me crack. Hard.
She can hear from my tone that I’m nowhere near messing around because she bends down to pick up her phone.
As she does, something happens.
My arms twitches.
My eyes grow wide, and I stare at it, willing it to happen again.
Any movement, any feeling.
“Did you see that?” Cara gasps.
I nod my head.
“Did you feel anything?” Her voice takes on an excited tone, almost screeching by her last word.
“N-no.” I realize, I didn’t feel a thing. “I didn’t feel anything.”
Some of her excitement deflates, but then her eyes grow with excitement again. “That has to be a good sign though, right? What does that mean?” She’s nearly bubbling with happiness, but I don’t want to get my hopes up, so I shut it down.
“It was nothing, probably a nerve reaction or something. Can you call Easton?”
She stands up, her smile falling flat at my tone. “Oh, um, sure.” She unlocks her phone, giving me a look as she dials him. Walking away, I can hear her as she walks behind me and goes into the other room. She tells him what happened, the excitement still in her tone.
I tune her out, not paying attention to her false excitement and unnecessary hope.
All the while still staring at my arm, hoping for something.
Anything.
8
Jackson
I stare my arm, watching for movement.
It seems that’s all I’ve been doing the last week since it first twitched. I watch and I wait, holding my breath until I see another jolt. Hoping for any kind of feeling.
Just give me anything.
This last week has been short of terrible. My nurse is actually someone that works for Rich and lives close by. She stops by twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening. She helps me change, do my embarrassingly horrible bathroom duties, and gets me bathed. Cara also has to call her or Easton when I need to move, whether it be from the couch to the bed, the bed to the wheelchair, or the wheelchair to the couch. Cara’s five feet isn’t strong enough to lift my well over six-foot frame, and even if she were, she’s not allowed to lift more than the baby for a while.
So, why she was so adamant about me living with her is beyond me.
We’ve been in some weird limbo between friends and something unknown. We still haven’t spoken about us or anything even close to those waters. She’s tried, she’s tried really fucking hard. We ended our last conversation saying we would be friends, but the looks she gives me… the feelings I feel for her… we’re anything but friends.
But I’m not going there. Not when there’s no way out of the room or the house and I have no ability to rage—fuck no. I need to wait until I can get a better hold over my emotions before we walk into those unchartered territories.
The one thing that she has been doing is feeding me. It’s been one of the most embarrassing things in the world to have someone literally feed you like a child. It’s not sexual or sensual at