Lost girl (sasharcy)

Chapter 20

Marcy's POV:

Four weeks and two days after the accident, I went to the doctor's office to get new casts and x-rays. My father took the day off. On the way to the doctor's office, my dad was very talkative—which was very weird. "January thirtieth," my dad said.

Okay, so that was my birthday.

"I thought maybe you'd like a car."

A car. Yeah. I would be 16. Everyone in my class was already 16 and drove. Sasha and Anne know how to drive. 

"Yeah," I said. "I don't drive."

"You can learn."

"You said you didn't want me driving."

"I never said that. It was your mom who said that."

With that we both became silence. We hadn't mentioned her since I told him what happened. I wanted to ask once again what had happened to her but I was scared. I didn't want to get him mad or ruin the moment we were having. 

"I'm sorry, he said. "I think it's time we talk about your-"

I interrupted him by saying "No! I don't want to talk about her."

I didn't want to know anything about that woman. She did so many things to me. All the memories just came to my mind. I traced my finger through the scar I had in my cheek. It was a time when I came home with a bad grade. 

"Okay," he said. "Marcy, just know that you can't run away from what your feeling and your problems. It just won't work."

"So, who's going to teach me how to drive?" I asked, trying to change the conversation.

"I will teach you. You just need your legs heal and then I will teach you."

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I hated living in the small and claustrophobic atmosphere in my house. It didn't feel like home anymore. I felt like an unwanted guest. I hated being waited on all the time. I hated that my dad was so patient with me. I did. That's the truth. He didn't do anything wrong. He was  just trying to help me. But I hated him. And I hated Sasha too.

And I hated myself for hating them. So there it was, my own vicious cycle. My own private universe of hate. 

I thought it would never be over.

I thought my life would never get better. But it did get better with my new casts. I could bend my knees. I used turbo for another week. Then my arm cast came off and I could use my crutches. I asked my dad to put turbo in the basement so I wouldn't have to look at that stupid wheelchair ever again. 

With the full use of my hands, I could bathe myself. I took out my journal and this is what I wrote: I TOOK A SHOWER!

I was actually almost happy. Me, Marcy, almost happy.

"Your smile is back." That's what Sasha said.

"Smiles are like that. They come and go."

My arm was sore. The physical therapist gave me some exercises.

Look at me, I can move my arm. Look at me. 

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I woke up one day, made my way to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Who are you? 

I made my way to the kitchen. My dad  was there, drinking a cup of coffee and looking over his plans for the new year. Four more weeks left of the year, and they go fast with the holidays. After that I would be able to go to my internship again.