Just Good Friends (Cheap Thrills #5) - Mary B. Moore Page 0,74
was a surreal place, so I was not in a good place in my head still, even with the relief that I still had two arms. We were just walking into the waiting area when she said it, so all of the poor sick and injured people heard me shriek, “There’s a demon in there?”
Thankfully I was in the presence of two well-known P.V.P.D. members and a nurse because they were able to just smile and wave at everyone as they led me out of the building and into the parking lot like nothing was wrong. As we cleared the doors, Garrett pulled me in for a hug and rubbed my back.
“She didn’t mean exorcize a spirit or demon, baby. She was talking about doing exercises to build up the muscles again.”
Shit, I should’ve known that especially seeing as how I had four printed out pages of the things in my purse. I blamed a lack of sleep, the internet, and my irrational mind taking over from the rational one. Oh, and also Timmy the twat who couldn’t hold onto the saw correctly.
Swallowing loudly, I pulled back and nodded. I could’ve explained it all, but instead, I burst into tears.
“I’ve got a cheesy smelling gimpy arm. It used to look like this one,” I held up my left one, “which I wouldn’t mind being gimpy because it can’t do much. It’s useless. I don’t want it to smell like cheese, though.”
Leaning around his brother’s shoulder, Raoul looked down at my skinny limb. “Huh, kinda does look gimpy.”
Lifting it, I stuck it under his nose. “Smell it. Cheddar, right?”
Most people would’ve backed away, but curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned in to sniff it. “More like Roquefort. Jesus that needs to be washed. Maybe try bleach.”
Those words were a blow to my heart that felt like it was going to fly out of my chest still. Pressing my face into Garrett’s chest, I started crying even harder.
“I k-k-knew it. I should’ve let him cut it off when he dropped the electric saw. T-t-the people on the internet said it could happen.”
It’s probably not a surprise to admit that I was banned from looking shit up like that. For the person who loved weird and random facts, it was a huge blow, but the isolation and stress of the last two years had obviously had an impact on me mentally. At least, that’s what I figured when I got home, and Garrett rationalized it all for me.
I’d started working on myself the next day on my first day at work—after sixteen hours of sleep—and slowly but surely, I was getting a better grip on my mental health and my strength. What was weird was that I didn’t struggle when it came to the kids, but sometimes it's easier seeing something for other people than it is for yourself.
“Stop thinking so deeply,” Garrett murmured, snapping me out of my thoughts as we waited for Clyde to stop pooping in a patch he’d decided on in the woods. “This is meant to be a relaxing experience.”
“I was just thinking about my cheesy arm,” I chuckled, pulling on two pairs of disposable gloves and getting a bag ready.
This was another area we’d worked on—poop. It seemed to have dominated way too much of our time, but finally, we knew what we were doing. Shit literally did happen, but it happened less if you didn’t mess around with a dog’s diet. Clyde was on one brand of dog food, and we were all much happier for it. Sheena also had a sensitive stomach, so the pediatrician had cut out certain foods from it, which meant no more accidents there either.
Snickering, he looked around us and then straightened up. “Nope, I can’t do it,” he clipped, snatching the bag out of my hands. “I need to show you what I’ve done.”
Poor Clyde had only just come out of his poop crouch, so his moment of relief ended when he felt the tension coming off his master. With an almost scooping motion, Garrett had the poop in the bag and was pulling me with his free hand back to the vehicle, Clyde walking close to my side.
I wasn’t exactly unfit, but I also wasn’t fit enough to jog through the cold air and not suffer as a result, which was why I was panting when we got to the truck. “What do you mean what you’ve done?”