Paint Me Claimed - Book 2

3 | Weird croissants and laughter

Leonardo

They say no man could be completely broken unless when forced to rely on someone else for their daily needs. It was that sheer dependency that broke every strand of their willpower, eventually turning them into nothing but a crumpled piece of body and soul.

A couple of months had passed since my accident but the memories remained fresh. Every night, that horrific scene of the blast replayed in my mind. It drummed up the reminder - I was a failure. A commander who failed in his duty to protect his men.

My days passed with intense physical and psychological therapy but nothing seemed to revive my will to walk. To live.

I was under constant vigilance like a prisoner. From the food I'd consume to my medicine intake and every other thing I did, I needed someone's help. Someone to monitor me in case I fell unconscious again.

The worst among them was the part about personal hygiene. There was something soul-crushing about a person being bathed by someone, being attended to for every one of nature's calls.

If you could survive that, I bow to you.

I wasn't strong enough to bear through it.

My self-confidence took a nosedive faster than a crashing plane, falling into the sea of frustration and despair. I knew I needed to be brave for those dependent on me but it was easier said than done.

More so, when I didn't even want to try.

"Please, just one more time." Amara stood at the far end of the parallel bar, tempting me to take another step towards her. "One more. Then I promise, we are done for the day."

"You said that an hour ago."

I clenched my teeth and took another step. The artificial grip of the prosthetic limp dug around my stump, trying to stumble me over. The pain, a dull sensation thumped over my left thigh, ending where my leg ended and the titanium limb began.

Since my amputation, this became the norm - walking. Or trying to walk. More exercise and stronger medicines. The support staff monitored me like some wounded, caged animal who was being experimented on to see how it reacted.

"How about this..." Amara said as she took a step closer.

If she reduced our distance by moving closer, I'd have to walk all over again.

"Stay where you are," I growled. "I'm trying."

"We can take a break for a while-"

"Dammit. I said I'm trying. So shut the hell up."

"Excuse me."

I looked up to the sight of her, arms crossed over her chest.

Her brown eyes darkened as I took another laborious step, ignoring my progress. "You promised, you'd not be rude to me."

"Sorry," I said, gripping the cold steel on both sides and moving ahead. "I'll try to work on it."

Though my right leg held much of my weight, I still had to learn how to use my artificial limb and walk like a normal person.

Normal was such a funny word for me. What was normal for everyone wasn't the same for me.

My body, seared both in skin and soul wouldn't be normal again. My leg would never regain its lost strength or regrow the lost part. No matter how much I trained to walk like a normal person, some things would never be normal for me.

What sucked the most about this ordeal was even after two months of being in the hospital and training to walk every day with my artificial leg, I still needed help. I needed someone to strap on my limb and hold me if I stumbled.