Page 9 of The Darkness Within
‘Sergeant Sommers, real life American hero.’
What I wouldn’t give to laugh at a sitcom or lose myself in a movie. To fall asleep to a documentary. But the likelihood that it would trigger a relapse is very high. I’m afraid to even try.
A surge of anger flashes through my body, heating my blood. I’m so sick and fucking tired of being afraid. What was the point of surviving if I’m afraid to live? I don’t want to just merely exist each day, struggling to while away the hours before the sun sets and the drugs steal my consciousness. I owe Gutierrez more than this. I owe it to myself.
When Liza returns, she’s carrying two brown paper bags, and I can smell the mouthwatering aroma from across the room. She places them on my tray table, and instead of dropping my meal off and leaving me to eat in solitude, Liza pulls the plastic chair in the corner close to my bed so she can share the table with me. The close proximity causes a small wave of panic. Is she going to make conversation with me? Probe me for information and details about my captivity?
It’s been so long since I’ve carried on a normal conversation like this with someone, and I want it. I want the mundane ritual of sharing a meal with someone again, as much as it scares me.
“Crab Rangoon for you, potstickers for me,” she says, pulling cardboard containers from the bag.
It’s still warm from the deep fryer, and when I pop it in my mouth, I can taste the grease and the creamy cheese. The crunchy wonton wrapper breaks apart on my tongue, filling my mouth with tantalizing flavors that I dreamed of on the darkest nights, when my stomach turned itself inside out with hunger. My eyes fill with unshed tears, but I’m so lost in the rapture of the taste, in the experience of the texture, that I don’t even care if she sees me cry over Chinese takeout.
It’s more than that, more than how delicious it tastes, it’s a dream realized. I dreamed of this, and I survived, and now I’m being rewarded. Nothing can diminish the pleasure of this moment, of this meal, except maybe knowing that Gutierrez never got his mama’s paella. But before I can dwell on that, Liza breaks the silence.
“Is it everything you dreamed of and more? Sometimes, the memory doesn’t live up to the reality.”
“No,” I rasp, clearing my throat. “It’s even better than I remembered.”
She hands me a tissue from the bedside table, and I blow my nose noisily. I’m a fucking mess, but to her credit, she doesn’t say a word.
“You better eat up and get a good rest tonight because tomorrow you start therapy with Riggs.” She laughs when I roll my eyes. “I’ve read your chart. I know you haven’t participated in more than ten minutes of physical therapy since you were first hospitalized, but Riggs won’t put up with that.”
“He can’t make me,” I say, sounding like a toddler.
Liza’s brow hitches like she doubts me. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Riggs has ways.” She finishes with an evil cackle, rubbing her hands together. It’s the first time I laugh today.
“Why are you so against therapy? It would improve your limp greatly.”
“Is it gonna fix my head?” I snap, feeling like an ass when her smile falls.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply it would fix everything. But when you’re older and arthritis sets in, that limp is going to hurt a lot worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
Liza chews her last bite of egg roll and licks the grease from her fingers, nodding. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, or what you’re still going through, but there’s no point in cutting off your nose to spite your face, Sergeant. Take the therapy, get better, walk easier, and you can deal with the rest another day.”
“So, this Riggs guy, what’s he like, the second coming of Christ?”
Liza laughs and wipes her hands on a napkin. “I haven’t had a patient as charming as you since…” A fond smile touches her pink lips. “Since Wardell.”
“Nice guy?”
“The best. Like you.” She collects her trash and drops it in the can. “Are you still hungry?”
“No, this was more food than I’ve eaten in weeks.” Liza smiles and pushes her chair back to the corner.
“Maybe tomorrow we can order burgers and fries.”
I groan like a glutton, imagining the taste of the greasy broiled meat and salty fried potatoes. “Liza?” She turns at the door. “Thank you,” I say softly.
Thank you for treating me like a person, like I’m human.
Liza wasn’t kidding. Fuck Riggs.
The remnants of last night’s sedatives are still trickling through my blood, and Liza won’t give me another dose until I finish therapy. I’m short-tempered and tired, and his clipboard and pen-clicking are pissing me the fuck off.
“Good, give me another ten reps.”