Paint Me Claimed - Book 2

7 | Fallen soldier or murderer

Leonardo

Since last week, Amara's jovial mood had gone for a toss. She didn't crack stupid jokes and neither appeared to be enthusiastic about my treatment and physiotherapy.

Something bothered her. Gnawing her from the inside, I could see the invisible hold on her problems taking her hostage and chaining her to a place beyond escape.

Amara's life was filled with struggles. Born in a Muslim conservatory family and married off at a young age, her folks ostracized her when she decided to join the Army as a nurse.

She was a fighter who made the most of the situation without letting her problem bog her down. A sudden deviation from her cheerful persona hinted towards the only possibility - her son.

Something must have happened to him. Something so grave which made laser-focused Amara distracted.

"You can tell me if you want to leave early today?" I said to Amara while finishing my daily physiotherapy regime. "I can manage things on my own."

She sat in a corner, biting her cuticles and gazing into the unknown. Though her ears registered my words, her mind didn't process it till I cleared my throat to gain her attention.

"I'm fine. I'll drive you home."

"Alright."

I moved away from the exercise equipment to grab a fresh set of attire from my gym bag. A long hot shower unknotted my tightened muscles, releasing me of pain. The steam balmed the clawing sensation I felt underneath my skin every time I tried walking without the crutches.

When I returned, Amara sat in the same position I left her in. Her fingers fidgeted, and her legs bobbed with the heels of her feet digging into the carpeted floor of the gym.

"Amara, what I meant earlier wasn't me asking you to drive."

"Then what?"

"I mean this..." Pointing at her while I arranged my sweaty clothes in my gym bag, I sat on a chair. "Your mind is somewhere else. Take a break."

She dragged the chair from where she sat and neatly stacked it in the row of chairs before walking towards me. Her eyes were trained on me, but her focus was on my leg.

Though I was better acquainted with my prosthetic limb, I still had a long way to go. Tasks that involved kneeling and balancing on one foot still needed mastering.

That's where Amara came in handy. She had a degree in physiotherapy along with some other courses. Coupled with her nursing experience, and her expertise in training injured veterans, she helped me fit into my new life.

As much as my Mom and I were blessed to have Amara who volunteered to help, I knew one day would come when she would have to leave all of us behind and move on with her life. And her job.

I knew that day had arrived when I saw her hiding letters in her bag than reading them aloud like in our initial days in Miami while trying to irk me.

It was time to let her go.

"Amara, I know that you are called back into service. You are not contractually bound to me or my mother. So, please don't stop your life for us."

She didn't speak. Walking beside me in silence, she sighed a couple of times as if contemplating my proposition. We got in my car and drove home.

As usual, Mom was at my apartment, experimenting in the kitchen. Her latest discovery was an Acacia Bowl. I was force-fed daily. I was told it was healthier.