Paint Me Claimed - Book 2

5 | From lovers to strangers

Leonardo

"Why are you being so hard on yourself?" Amara said as soon as I asked her for another round of walking. "You have to take it slow. From what I feel-"

"I don't care about what you or my mother feel. I just want you to do your job."

Trying to walk without the support of crutches and relying on my artificial limb was hard. Harder was to justify how desperately I wanted to be independent.

For the past couple of months, all I did was learn how to walk, and how to place my steps correctly so it wouldn't hurt my body in the long run. I was welcoming the prosthetic leg into my life. There was no escaping from it.

"Listen," Amara said as she walked from the other end of the room. "I'm doing my job and a part of that involves knowing what's disturbing my patients."

There was a certain concern that dipped her voice, irking me further. I didn't want people to pity me or care for me. I wanted them to leave me alone. Since that seemed like an impossible task, I wanted to sail through life with as little interaction as possible.

Maybe that was the reason why I'd put a lot of effort into hiding from the world.

Out of sight, out of mind.

"Is it the routine, Leo? Or something else because I want to know what's making you so frustrated?"

"You want to know why I'm frustrated?" Peering at her, my voice intonated. "You want to know why a man like me, whose brother assaulted his girl, is frustrated? Or that, umm, I don't know, my father is hunting to know my whereabouts, and my mother is fighting depression after seeing me crippled. You need more reasons?"

Inches from her face, I spewed acrid words of hatred.

"Or because the woman I love and thought of spending the rest of my life with didn't even bother to know whether I lived or died. So, you chose, Amara, because they all seem to be the probable cause of my frustration."

Amara stood silent. Biting into her lower lip, she nodded to herself as if assimilating my rant into her bloodstream.

The anger that danced over my chest and held my senses hostage, disperse. I wasn't even sure why I channeled everything on her when her only fault was trying to help me.

"Your issues are deep-seated, Leo. They are coming from the deeper insecurities that you have. I think you need to see a therapist to get over-"

"No, thank you. I'll deal with them by myself." I refused to be a part of another 'fix broken Leo' charade. "I don't need to talk to someone who'd dredge out more garbage and weaken me."

"But Leo, therapy isn't about weakening," she said, offering me my crutches. When I refused to take them, continuing my walk for proper alignment and whatever other shit Amara cooked up, she continued, "...therapy is about facing your fears and getting to know your strengths."

"Are you here to lecture me, Amara?"

"No, but...I'm here to help."

With every step, razor-sharp pain sliced through my spine and branched towards my trembling legs. The knowledge that I was weak, that I needed help to conduct mundane tasks branded my skin. The heat of shame and frustration boiled my blood.

"We have an agreement," I said. "You help me with this. And I'll help you in getting what you want."

Amara wiped her face, sliding her palm down her neck. I realized the crash course of our deal wasn't seeping into her conscience. She gripped the roots of her hair, moving back in an irritating display of surrender.