Boundless Love

Nothing Works

Levi's POV...

"How is your pain level right now? One being the least amount of pain and ten being the worst," Charlotte asks me.

I wasn't even noticing or even thinking about pain or the fact that I have two fractures in my back.

"Umm a four maybe." I lie.

Now that she has asked me, I am in quite a lot of pain. She must notice I lied because she gets a few extra pillows from the closet and places them under my arms.

"I'm just going to adjust your posture so that you're more comfortable," she says.

Before I can respond, she stands up and leans over me while gently placing her hands behind my shoulders, shifting my upper body slightly to the left. I hold my breath and realize that my body won't lift on its own and she is the one moving my torso. I want to cry.

"Does that help with the pain at all?" She looks worried.

"Yes," I reply, not lying this time. I don't feel the painful pressure I felt a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry for all the commotion earlier, it must've been scary for you not knowing why you are here," she says to me. No shit, really, you think? Jesus, what am I doing? This girl doesn't deserve my crappy attitude, she's trying to help me. I think I'm going crazy.

I don't know what to say without sounding angry, so I just nod. The events are unreal to me and even though I can't control my body or my mind apparently, I need to be reminded of the details. I gather all the courage I have and ask her, "Can you please tell me what happened again and how I got here?" God, I hope I didn't sound so rude this time.

She sits back down next to me and her plump lips curl up slightly, "Of course," she says.

She continues to tell me that I was hit by a car while I accidentally stepped into the street in London, I was taken to the hospital where they did surgery on my lower spine to stabilize it, then I was immediately flown here to Boston after on a med plane. Mark had heard about this experimental therapy program for people with spinal cord injuries and called Charlotte immediately. There was only one spot open, so Mark and my family flew me here right away. I was too drugged up at the time for anyone to explain what was happening to me.

"It was very important that your family get you here quickly, because therapy treatment needs to start immediately so that your nerves stay active and you have the best chance of regaining strength and movement," she says looking straight into my eyes so that she knows I understand. I don't understand, that's the thing, I don't understand why I'm paralyzed.

All I can do is nod and stare at her. Her eyes are so captivating and calm, and I'm caught staring, trying to figure out what color they are, instead of honestly listening to what she's saying. There is a layer of dark blue, then green and a hint of gold to her eyes, they're mesmerizing.

"Is it alright that I try a few things to your left arm like I did to your right one? And to your legs and feet?" She asks me.

I immediately stop staring at her. "Yeah, sure," I clear my throat and say.

She walks over to my left side and gently picks up my left arm and begins to press and massage in the same areas she did with my right arm. She must see the discouragement on my face when she asks me to squeeze her hand and my muscle only manage to twitch.

She looks at me with an encouraging smile and says, "It's ok, you can feel what I'm doing right? This is just your baseline, and now I know what we will need to work on."

I should be scared as shit right now, but I'm in denial and she seems so hopeful and maybe I should be too.

She moves to my right leg, this time only moving her hands along my thigh down to my toes.

"Can you feel this?" She asks me with a concerned look.

"No!" I angrily state, not meaning to sound so angry, but now I feel like I am shaking and hyperventilating all over again.

She firmly presses her thumb into my inner thigh next to my groin and keeps it there a few seconds before massaging my upper leg. She then presses into areas around my knee and into my calf. I can feel that now as she is looking at me and waiting for me to respond, but my lungs are on fire and all I want to do is scream.

"Just breathe," she says in a soft yet comforting tone.

Slowly, I feel my breathing begin to slow again as she massages my leg and foot. I have to keep breathing like she says.

"Try to lift your knee up from the bed," she instructs. There goes my lack of oxygen again.

Suddenly she gives me a huge smile. "That was a good inch up off the bed," she says with excitement.

At that moment I feel myself smiling back at her, and I feel a small sense of relief, when I look down at the evidence.

She moves to my left leg, doing the same she did with my right. Only this time my left leg barely moves at all when she asks me. For some reason, the left side of my body does not want to cooperate, but since she still looks so hopeful, I will give her the benefit of the doubt.

Charlotte continues to explain that the therapy treatment will be intense. Constant therapy for 16 hours every day, some passive and some active...whatever that means. She explains some of different types of therapy they do at this specific facility and that her and her assistant and one other person will personally oversee my case.

She informs me that my program will last 12-18 months, and at the end of the 12 months I will probably have gained all the feeling and movement I am going to function with. After that, therapy would switch to learning how to live independently. When she informs me that I may or may not need crutches or a wheelchair to help me get around for the rest of my life, my eyes swell up and tears start uncontrollably rolling down my cheeks.

She tucks her long blonde wavy hair behind her ears and leans over to wipe my tears from my face, since I can't do it myself. That makes the tears pour out faster knowing I can't do this simple task on my own.

We talk for a little longer. She makes sure I know that I will have ups and downs, and that I will need to be on a bladder and bowel regiment to help gain control of those again.

"What do you mean control my bladder and bowels again?" I harshly ask her.

She then takes my hand in hers and looks at me with her beautiful multi color eyes and says, "I know you're angry and scared, and 12 months is a long time, but I will do whatever it takes and I will help you every step of the way to get you back to an active happy lifestyle."

Charlotte wipes my tears for me one more time. It's killing me to know that this kind person undoubtedly will need to do everything for me. I can't even lift my own hand up to my face to wipe off my embarrassment.

"I will send in Nate to get you cleaned up and I will let your family and manager know about the program and the length of therapy we discussed. I will be right outside if you need anything else," she says and walks out the door.

I can feel warmth near my groin area and look down to realize that I have peed myself. "Fuck!" I blurt out loudly. Does any part of my body work anymore?