Lean On Me #Wattys2016

Part 3

Mateo

Fucking great. Of course she's a therapist here. Dammit. I push the weights up again, my quad muscle burning and the sleek shiny skin near my healing wound pulling tight. When I'm done, Jane will help massage out the scar tissue so moving my leg won't be as uncomfortable. I thought being in the sandbox was torture, but having some one kneed tender skin is a lot worse.

I watch her my stranger helping Levi as I continue my set. She laughs at his jokes and leans over him at times to adjust the machines. I shake my head. He has her wrapped around his finger. I know for a fact that fucker can bend over and change the weights himself, he's just enjoying the view as she does it for him. It pisses me off. I'm feeling so frustrated I'm able to add an extra five pounds to the small amount Jane asked me to try. From the awareness beneath my waist it seems that I'm not just mentally frustrated. I'm having trouble keeping my eyes off her ass and the perfect rack she has bound down by some sort of sports bra I'm sure.

I haven't had sex since the week before we deployed. It's been a long fucking time. Probably the longest dry spell since I lost my virginity at fifteen. It's starting to wear on me. I've tried to help myself out, but the depression I've been feeling over this whole fucking nightmare has made me disinterested in previously enjoyed activities. In other words, I don't even want to fuck myself.

She's trying not to look at me. I can tell because she won't turn around in my direction at all. It's obvious to anyone in here, but Levi isn't going to call her on it because her little act of defiance is putting her tits right in his view. I don't blame him one bit. When she leans over to unlock the wheel of his chair, he looks up at me giving the universal, "Look at that," face. Men are assholes—all of us.

I hate this hour of my day. I hate that I need help. I hate that I should've been at Pines' funeral but I was being wheeled into my second surgery the day they put him in the ground. This is not how I thought we would all come home from our deployment. We should be heroes, but instead I'm just a disabled Marine—scratch that—I'm just fucking disabled. Marine Corps offered me a desk job and I took the medical discharge. I don't want to hold anyone back and I'll never be ok with carrying out my service behind a desk. Fuck that.

I close my eyes as the muscles in my bad leg start to twitch and shake. I'm pushing them really hard today and I know I'll pay the price later. Jane keeps reminding me that it' not a race, but she doesn't know that to me it is. I'm racing to get the fuck out of here. I'm racing to get my leg back. I'm racing to finally get my fucking happiness back. And if I'm honest, I'm racing away from the survivor's guilt I have for taking five shots in the leg instead of one to the head like Pines.

I open my eyes and focus on the ceiling for a minute before I have to switch machines. I squeeze my chewed up muscle in the palm of my hand, willing it to get stronger so I can be done with this place. The half numb feeling I get through the damaged skin only reminds me of how delicate the other therapist was when she corrected my position. Her hand felt like a small shock as she gripped my injured thigh and the sensation ran straight up my leg and into my groin. I'd pulled her hand away before any of my self–loathing thoughts could become dirty and directed at her. She seems too nice to be a part of anything my deprived male brain might think up.

It's the longest hour of my day and when Jane finally brings me over to the table to ice my leg, I can't wait to get it over with. Jane's pager beeps and she pulls it out to check the display. She's the head of the physical therapy department and is always getting emergency calls. "Ashlyn," she calls over to the beautiful girl, holding the door open for Levi to wheel out of. "Can you ice Mateo so I can help work up a plan for the new admit?" Ashlyn's eyes fall to mine and I can see that she' not too happy about the request, but she's a professional.

"Sure." She makes her way over to the ice and grabs a few bags. There are other people in the office with us, but it's quiet in this corner. She comes to stand at my side as I lay down flat on the table where Jane left me. She reaches for the top of my sweats, but I hold them up with one hand and shake my head.

"Just put it on top of the pants," I command.

"It won't get your muscles as cold. It's also easer to tape to your skin." Her fingers dip beneath my waistband and I become suddenly paranoid that I'm going to get hard right here on the table in front of this woman and then I'll never be able to come back. Not that they will kick me out, but after a few month of not reacting to anything, I'm going to be pretty fucking humiliated to get excited about the young therapist dishing out her bad attitude eye roll for eye roll, sarcastic remark for sarcastic remark to my own.

"Suit yourself," she says, dropping the ice on top of my thigh a little harder than necessary. I grunt with the pain. My eyes watch her face, her big hazel eyes inspecting my leg for the best position for the ice. Then I let them fall down her neck and over her rack. She's perfect. Maybe not the ditzy blonde type I used to go for, but something about the way she straightens with confidence around me has my body on full alert. She's clearly good at her job and that makes me wonder what else she might be good at.

"Well?" she asks and I get lost for a second watching her plump lips move. When they grow tight and into a thin line, I realize she's talking to me.

"What?" I lean up on my elbows and look down at my leg.

"Does it feel ok?" she asks and I get from her tone it's not the first time she asked me that.

"I'm missing flesh and muscle. It feels just peachy." Her lip tries to lift into a smile at my words but she stomps it down.

"That's all you're missing?" she leans in and whispers sarcastically, making it a point to look around at each of the veterans in here with entire limbs gone. Point received.

"Thanks for the ice," I say, sitting up and sliding off the table. I don't look back when I leave, and she doesn't stop me to say goodbye. 

***Hope you're enjoying it so far. Who are you picturing as Mateo and Ashlyn?