What He Does to Me (V.2)

Chapter 3

I don't remember falling asleep. 

I must have, though, because I am now awake.

Light struggles to filter through the dark curtains hanging on my windows, but it scatters across the floor of my room anyway.

Day two of my visit to Neuveria.

As I was sleeping, I had the most wonderful dream. I dreamt what it might be like if I lived a normal life, as a normal person with a normal, working body.

Walking, skipping, running on my own.

Getting my own books from bookshelves, and if they're too high, climbing a ladder to reach them.

Dancing in the rain.

Maybe even with someone else.

Romantic, fanciful thoughts fill my head as I open my eyes to my darkened, empty room. I wonder if they came about because of my trip to Neuveria, and all the thinking I've done because of it.

When it really comes down to it, I hate being pitied. I'm used to it, but I hate it all the same.

I stare at the light on the hardwood floor. I have to go to the bathroom.

I hate that I have to wait for someone, no matter how early I wake up. It's so pitiful. It never matters if I want to sleep in, either, because I'm always woken up at the same time every day, like a child being made to get ready for school.

The first step on the path of avoiding the pity of other people is to become self-sufficient. What's more self-sufficient than going to the bathroom on your own? I'm a grown man, aren't I? Shouldn't I be able to do something about things I hate?

The idea of self-sufficiency possesses me with such sudden intensity that I feel compelled to try. 

Who cares if I don't make it very far? At least I tried, right?

I'm never going to be able to shake the pitying look in people's eyes when they look at me if I don't try.

I want to be a man.

I pull the blankets off of myself. I carefully study the path between my bed and the bathroom, imagining the energy it would take for me to get myself all the way there. I make a mental note to ask someone to leave my wheelchair in my room. I'm not very good at wheeling myself, but I should probably start to learn to make life easier for myself if I want to give this 'self-sufficiency' thing a real try.

I put my feet on the floor. The carpet beside my bed feels soft to the touch. No turning back now.

I push myself off my bed and onto my feet. They're sore and shaky, but they're mine. I feel a swell of pride in my chest. My legs may be weak, but maybe my willpower can make up for it.

I take a single step. I can make it.

Another, second step. I can make it.

A third step. I haven't let go of the bedpost yet, because I'm scared, but I should get over myself. I can make it.

A fourth step, followed by a quick fifth step. I've let go of the bedpost and regret it deeply, but that shouldn't matter. I can make it.

I can make it. 

I can make it.

I can make it...

My legs seem unwilling to move further than my seventh step. I try and force an eighth, but I don't lift my foot far enough off the ground. It gets caught in the carpet, and I tumble to my knees.

I grit my teeth as I feel my legs buckle under my weight, my knees bearing the brunt of the load. I don't weigh a lot, but it still hurt when I fell. I can only hope that I didn't break anything.