The Edifice

50. Home is Where the Heart is

LEE

We wait until Otis finds a little more of his footing and his voice before leaving the safety of his room. I put on the kindest smiles I can manage for him as he struggles to support himself against the wall, even while my stomach feels lodged in the back of my throat.

Knees trembling, breath coming in small pants, Otis's eyes are narrowed in frustration as his temper gradually grows. The initial consensus from the doctor's Katy had hired had all pronounced him in fit shape, a little muscle atrophy but no obvious injuries. What they hadn't mentioned was the immediate need for physiotherapy and help with the million other things he can't do.

If Katy sees him like this I'm not sure she won't try to murder Otis and taxidermy him into a puppet that can perform the tricks she needs him for. I can love my best friend and acknowledge that her empathy levels are barely higher than her patience, after all.

"You're doing well," I lie as Otis flops back onto the bed, tears of frustration in his eyes.

"It's not hard," he complains. "I can move them, I can speak but it's so tiring. I weigh so much now."

"I was a hundred and sixty pounds before I was even in high school, Otis," I remark. I think I know what the problem is.

"You were probably also six-feet-fucking-tall when you were five..." he mutters. "It's not the weight. I could lift buildings. This body does nothing. And it hurts. I used to float everywhere and now I don't even have magic to do that."

I click my tongue and barely stop myself from sinking even deeper into patronising him, despite every inch of my being aching to. It's hard to pity Otis when this is the greatest example of comeuppance since his brother scorched himself to a rotten crisp.

Otis put all of us into danger, Olivia especially so, all for this and now it turns out he didn't even understand the outcome he was chasing. The pain he's referencing, the struggle with the weight of his limbs isn't because he's particularly overweight or handicapped. It's simply the first time in his life he's had to physically exert himself. 

How agonising mortality must feel to a God.

-

Otis grits his teeth and bares it as we make our way through Katy's apartment, arm in arm. Old costumes and filming equipment litter the enormous living room like the abandoned toys of a distracted child.

Katy has spent the last year trying to build her already unrivalled online presence, trying to break into yet another field of celebrity for her to dominate. That had all culminated in her plan for an online guest show, hosted and filmed in her apartment, where she could make or break her guests at a whim and have her choice of sponsors.

Of course, that was the plan right up until she had Otis Creed at her mercy.

Who would have known how many cross-network shares Creed Estates held in almost every media station in the Edifice, from newspapers to film. Well, Katy certainly had. I'm still in two minds about my feelings towards the war of deals she waged with Lucia and Thorus Creed purely for the sake of her own fame. Noble deeds with ignoble intentions indeed.

Nor do I know how I feel about the fact the main outcome of everything Olivia, Otis and I have been through has been creating the Edifice's version of a younger, sexier Ellen Degeneres.

I don't mention any of it to Otis as we hobble up to the figure curled tight on the sofa, watching Edifician soap-operas. Otis's glance passes over her dismissively, just a tiny form blending in with the grey pillows and blankets to either side, instead he breaks off on his own towards the kitchen.