Corrupted Constructs

Chapter 42

The next two weeks pass horrifyingly slowly, the blonde spending all of her time in bed or on the couch.

If she still would have had her old job, she would have been able to use this time to catch up on paperwork and it almost makes her miss her old job at the FBI. Almost. Because she would never be able to do that again.

However, being a barista meant that she was completely unable to work as long as she couldn't get around properly.

She wasn't able to stand up at all, she couldn't get around without the help of either one of her transportation devices, and she was still kind of out of it from all the painkillers. The first two were already major issues, but that last one would make it dangerous for her to be working with steaming hot liquids because she was sure to get burned this way.

She also wasn't able to ger out of her house much because the city was too large to be walkable and public transportation was absolutely wonderful in theory, but it was severely lacking for people with any sort of mobility issues.

Besides, it was still slippery outside, and Clarke's balance was not great on a regular day, but with only one usable leg and a healing stomach scar, she was sure to break or shatter another few bones.

Lexa had come by a few times, but she had insisted that sleeping over wasn't safe. Not with Clarke's stupid, injured leg. Not when she'd potentially end up hitting it in her sleep.

The blonde obviously disagreed, and, in any way, she was willing to take the risk.

This was the longest they had gone without spending a night together and Clarke didn't like it one bit. But alas.

Even still, today was the day for her second surgery. The one where they would be able to fix every last shard of bone in her leg. Again, Lincoln picks her up at her apartment, helps her to and into the car, and drives her to the hospital, and again, her lover doesn't send her much more than a 'Good luck. Text me when it's over'-message.

At this point, it was starting to seem like the brunette didn't care, and as much as Clarke tried not to let it bother her, it was kind of starting to hurt her feelings.

After her surgery, which luckily went well, Lincoln is the one sitting by her bedside when she wakes up and the one to visit her for the next two days along with Anya, while she is confined to the hospital bed.

This time, Clarke is slightly less bored though since nurses keep coming in to clean the metal pins sticking from her skin, and she immediately is started on physical therapy.

"You'll have to learn how to clean these yourself when you get home and how to do some of your exercises at home," the therapist says before continuing, "Usually, we'd recommend having a person there to help you. If you can get whoever is taking care of you to come in at noon tomorrow, I'll drop by and teach both of you at the same time. Do you have someone in mind?"

Clarke's eyes shift away from the physical therapist as she immediately thinks of her brunette.

"I suppose so..." she says uncertainly.

The therapist looks at her with sympathy, and Clarke hates it. She hates how he probably views her as a sad woman who has no one that cares enough about her to help. Because she does. She has plenty of people that would probably be willing. She just doesn't want to ask. She doesn't want to put that on them. She just wishes Lexa would have been here and would have volunteered for the job without any hesitation. Just like she would have if the roles were reversed.

She would not ask though. And she wouldn't put expectations like that on her either.

Besides, she could figure this out by herself just fine. She was a very capable and independent woman after all.