Lean On Me #Wattys2016

Part 26

Ashlyn

I wake up on Monday with the start of a cold. I know that most people would go to work with the symptoms I have, but I also know how hard it is to work on strengthening your body when you feel terrible so I stay home so I don't risk making anyone else sick. Rhett is usually asleep until around noon, but when I wonder out of my room I find him at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone.

"Good morning," he says around a bite of his breakfast.

"Morning. I hope my coughing didn't wake you up." I finally got out of bed around two this morning to take some cough medicine. He just shrugs his shoulders, too nice to admit I had.

"Did you call in sick?"

"Yes. I thought I'd just hang out here and try not to give everyone this bug." I grab a bowl and spoon and head over to the table. I'm still in my pajamas as I take a seat across from him. He stops eating and pours me some cereal and then tops it of with some milk. I take a bite and try not to meet his eyes as I chew. We've been best friends since high school and I know it won't take long for him to figure out something isn't quite right.

"Do you want company today? I was going to meet up with Georgia but I can change my plans." I can feel his eyes on me. I shake my head.

"It's OK. Go have fun." I manage a smile and finally gather the bravery to lift my face.

"I don't..."

"Rhett." Now my eyes are directly on him. I say his name like a period—shutting down his words before he can say them.

"Something is wrong. I can see it all over you. Are you going to tell me about it or do I get to worry all day about you?" He sets his spoon down and folds his hands in a steeple over the bowl. He knows I hate soggy cereal, even when it's not my own. I eye his bowl and then huff out a sigh.

"I met someone."

Rhett nods his head. He doesn't pick up his spoon yet, a sign that he isn't finished with me just yet. I laugh a little and he smiles, knowing he's making me crazy thinking about how mushy the milk is making his flakes. He lifts his brows and leans forward, a not so subtle hint to keep going.

"Fine," I laugh. "He's recovering from an injury to his thigh."

"You really are going to try and save everyone aren't you?" He shakes his head and I roll my eyes. He's always on my ass about my need to help other people who have suffered an injury.

"It started as that," I tell him honestly. "But then I started liking him." I shrug one shoulder and take a bite of my breakfast, dropping my eyes to his bowl because I can't help myself. "We have this chemistry that's undeniable. We hooked up a few times, but then he freaked out."

He slowly picks up his spoon and I imagine he's trying to decide how much of this story he wants to hear. It can be hard for both of us to listen when it comes to our sex lives. He clears his throat, "What do you mean he freaked out?" His voice is low and it puts me on edge as I register the warning in it. I shake my head immediately, rushing to finish my bite so I can correct his assumption.

"Not about that. He hasn't seen them yet. I touched his leg on accident—well, on purpose, but I forgot about his injury. He stood up like I'd burnt him." His face relaxes a little, but he's watching mine to make sure I'm telling the truth. I've had men in the past be total assholes about my scars. One guy I went home with said he couldn't go through with it once he got a good look at the scar beneath my bra.

"What's the story with his leg?"

"I don't know. We haven't talked about it yet." He chuckles and raises his spoon to his mouth. "You're such a guy." The spoon slides in over his lips and I narrow my eyes at him. We always tease each other and living in this small apartment has made our private lives nearly non-existent. I can hear everything even when his bedroom door is shut, and I cringe to think that the same goes for my room.

"I hope your flakes are soggy," I say immaturely, but it earns me a genuine smile.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet. If he is freaking out about me seeing his scars because he hates them, then what will he see when mine are on display?"

Rhett's eyes trail down my body. He takes his time examining the whole picture. "My guess is that he is going to see a smoking hot body that someone takes very good care of. He'll see your perfect skin, perfect ass and perfect tits. If he notices the scars it will be nothing compared to what he will see that he likes." He keeps his eyes on me as he takes another bite of his cereal. He and I are not sleeping together, but sometimes we talk like we're in an intimate relationship. I think it's because I was the only girl in our group of friends and all the boys talk to me like I'm one of them. Sometimes it makes me cringe—there are just some words a girl doesn't want to hear, but most of the time I appreciate the brutal honesty.

"I don't know. It's ben so long since I even thought about what a guy might think. What happened last night has really messed with my head."

"And your choice of pajamas." He scrunches his face up like they offend him. I reach for a coaster in the middle of the table and toss it at his head. He makes me laugh and before too long, we are both cracking up.

"What's so bad about my outfit?" I ask when we are finally calming down.

"I just prefer the little boy shorts and tight tank top. You look like my mother on Christmas morning." This time my laughing turns into a coughing fit. He stands up and takes both our bowls to the sink, returning with my box of cold medicine from the cabinet. "Are you sure you don't want me to stick around?"

"Get out of here," I tell him with a smile. He hesitates for a minute and I think that maybe he's going to say something else. Instead he bends down and kisses my cheek.

"Text me if you need anything." Then he heads back to his room. I watch him go, smiling at easy it is to forget he's a transfemoral amputee. The crash that scarred my body crushed his leg. Before you feel sorry for either of us, it's important to mention that I walked away, Rhett survived but struggled to walk, and Joseph never took another breath or walked again. 

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