My Peace and Serenity (A Jeff The Killer Story)

Chapter 9

((HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL JAY BIRDS AND HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! PLEASE DO YOUR BESTIE CATT A FAVOR AND STAY SAFE WITH FIREWORKS AND HAVE A GREAT DAY! FOR THOSE WHO DON'T CELEBRATE TODAY I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!))

"Okay, rise"

I groan and push up.

"Now go back down"

I feel my arm quake as I let my body down slowly without stopping on the ground. I hover over the ground of the hospital gym, making my muscles to burn. I repeat this process ten more times before the instructor, Henry, allows me to rest.

Physical therapy ended up being harder than I thought. At first, when pondering my next surgery, I had assumed it was to monitor my tissue growth, along with sawing down my bone to a flat end. However, it may have included those things, but it most certainly didn't come with any warning when I woke up nauseated, sore, and all out feeling like shit.

Nikki tried to cheer me up some. She played games with me on my computer during her lunch break and told me about her family before the accident, always throwing in words of encouragement with her visits. Even now, as I practically starfish on the gym floor, I can't help but let Nikki's words go to waste. She may have prepared me for the emotional tolls, but she failed to help me prepare for the physical ones.

I have been going to physical therapy for about a week now, and let me tell you, I could have gone about my merry little life without enduring this hell they say will help me.

At first it was little stuff, we moved slow. My instructor introduced himself as Henry, a retired navy seal who lost his leg in an explosion. He moved around with the prosthetic limb as if it weren't even there, making me totally forget at times that he's been through what I have and more, making me stand a little straighter when he's around.

Henry first taught me how to go about daily life. He walked me around the hospital and had me go through various tasks that inhibit my day to day life such as, opening a bag of chips or tying my shoes—which I still haven't perfected. We went about these tasks, a female coming in to teach me how to put on my clothes easily, pull my hair up and how to shower properly until my wound healed enough to not be bothered by the hot water.

However, this week, Henry has decided to begin the exercise part of therapy. This wouldn't be so bad if he weren't an ex-seal! I'll be lucky if I can complete a whole set by the end of the month.

The exercises are simple and progress quickly; I mostly do work outs to strengthen my intact arm, such as push-ups, or weights. My favorite work days, though, are the ones where he takes me into a room off to the side, which contains a single, worn punching bag. Henry has been teaching me combat, but simple moves, ones that can get me out of trouble. In reality I'm OK but I still want to be stronger.

Bethany checks in on me often, sitting in on my therapy sessions and monitoring my well-being during her breaks. She whines sometimes, which is why Nikki had to start attending with her.

Beth would often say things like, "Are you sure that's not too difficult for her?" or "Maybe she should try something a bit simpler?" Even though she means well, it's becoming a lot more tedious for Henry to make her understand that this is the whole purpose of physical therapy.

As for Nikki, Jess' health had steadily dropped, and, despite the doctor's efforts, it doesn't look like she'll be getting better. Nikki still acts the same despite how she says Jess' health has started to dwindle. A part of me wants to help her, but I don't see how I could....

Henry looms over me, handing me a water bottle. I take it and stare at the lid. This is going to be a long day.

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