his accent » tiago mendes

um|tiago

I hated it.

I hated the feeling that I was dependant on someone helping me out. I hated feeling like I was completely useless. I hated feeling slowly replaced by everyone I know. I hated feeling that no one bothered to ask how I felt--emotionally and not physically--about this. I hated feeling that everyone was secretly giving up on me. I hated that everyone went on with their lives normally, as if it was no major incident, and carried on being happy, whereas I remained wallowing in my own personal puddle of self-pity.

When I think back to it, all I can remember is the play--the foolish play. How rash and indecisive I had been; how I used to butt headfirst into problems; how I somehow always managed to slip myself into the knot of condensed people, all just to give myself a chance at scoring or assisting.

Perhaps then I had thought I was being smart or calculating or even somewhat selfless, but now, all I think I was was just plain stupid. I was pretty much an almost-35-year-old responsible single father acting like he was still a lithe 20 year-old with a quirky attitude.

Wasn't there any other way to learn my lesson? Did I have to have a fractured tibia; an injury that may live on with me till the day I die; to understand that I had to change my attitude?

The world was a cruel, cruel place to live in these days. Not only was I robbed from my own personal health, I had my own children taken from me.

Tiaguinho, little Tiago Jr. who was only a mere six years old, living more than five of them under the care of only one parent, was stripped away from me when he and his nine and a half year-old sister Maria were taken to live with their grandparents; my own parents.

Why, you may ask? Because apparently I was deemed too 'temporarily crippled to be considered appropriate for caring for dependant kids under the age of sixteen years old'. Or at least that's what the authorities said. Yes, I just copied how they said it word for word, with no sugar coating to it.

I cannot believe that they actually took my son and daughter, the only two things that made me look forward to waking up in the morning; the only two people that made me thrive for success, the only two things that pushed me to give them my all.

And if it couldn't possibly get any worse, then, well, it clearly could.

Because right now, the physiotherapist, Mr.Daniel, was giving me that disgustingly sorry and pitiful look on his face that could only bring bad news as I lay down on the couch with my foot prepped up in its cast on the black coffee table with a cushion supporting it. Well, at least someone was supporting me.

I didn't look particularly presentable in my plain grey polo and faded jeans, but he was the one that barged in on me to wreck my day, and I wasn't there to please him.

Looking up at him with my eyebrow arched, my hair tousled and uncombed since I had arrived home in the early morning, my face scruffy from not shaving, and my patience wearing thin, I must've been a sight for sore eyes.

"Listen Tiago," he began carefully as he took a seat beside me and tried to soften up his voice as much as possible to try and lessen the pain of what he was about to say, but I wasn't having any of it, "You may not like what I'm about to say, but it has to be done."

I bit on my tongue to prevent myself from telling him that I don't like him either but I'm forced to listen either ways, and nodded my head instead.

"You and I both know that it's near impossible to do anything on your own now," his nervous eyes flickered to the wheelchair beside the table before resting once again to stare into my dark ones, "You barely could use the toilet in the hospital on your own."

Again, I stopped myself from telling him, 'Gee, thanks for reminding me that I'm currently incapable of moving,' and just stayed quiet and nodded along in, what I hoped seemed to him as, understanding.

He went on, this time looking at the dark red couch material under his fingers, "Simeone and I thought it would be appropriate for you to hire someone to help you out daily," he went on in a defeated tone, and I almost snorted at the fact he pretended to act like it mattered to him, "Someone to temporarily live with you for a few months and care for you."

Stopping a groan from escaping my lips, I simply let out a grunt, accompanied with a quick shrug.

"When do I start picking?"

Mr.Daniel just blinked, "Huh?"

Rolling my eyes at how slow he sometimes was, I stressed on my words once again, "When do I start picking? Someone to help me I mean?"

"Oh," he breathed out, giving me a cringe worthy smile that almost made me predict what he was about to say next, "We've already picked someone. They're brilliant at what they do."

"Oh my God," I groaned out, running a frustrated hand through my messy locks, "And you didn't bother to think to pass this by me except now?!" I asked incredulously, sitting upright to give him a full on glare while he cowered, feeling fully intimidated by the whole 6 foot and half an inch of me.

He held up both hands in defence with wide eyes, "Well, Simeone hired her, I just approved, then he gave me the duty of informing you," he rushed out the words quickly.

I put my face in both hands, before coming to realization that it wasn't all I thought.

"Did you just say--her?" I inquired in a dangerously calm voice, although I could practically feel the smoke coming out of my ears.

"Well yeah," Mr.Daniel frowned as he scratched the tiny blonde hairs at the nape of his neck, "She's coming in an hour, I gave her a copy of your house keys."

"Get out," I seethed, clenching my teeth together, and cracking the knuckles of my fingers despite knowing that I was definitely now incapable of hurting anyone in my state, "Please," I forced out a smile as he nodded nervously again with that pitiful look on his face.

Sighing as he got up and slammed the door in a hurry, only then did I realize how quiet the house was without the kids.

And I didn't like it one bit.

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