"For a girl who spent most of her life in a hospital you sure are lively." "Says the dead guy who's just thrown himself out the 19th-floor window." || 2018, svmmerborn
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PARADISE, FLORIDA. 11:30 AM.
ENGREY'S PHYSICAL THERAPY CLINIC
MARLI MORRIS SITS IN HER WHEELCHAIR, arms firmly crossed. Her lips are pursed, her jaw gnashed; a look of stubborn determination is knitted onto her brows.
"I can't do this," she says, matter-of-factly, dark eyes glowering under a thin curtain of bangs.
Next to her, the dark-haired therapist sighs, letting the documents on her clipboard fall with a plop. Sufia Knight has had worse days. Today is threatening to be one of them.
"You have to try, Marli," Doctor Knight says, voice stern. She has been leafing through Marli's progress report, and doesn't like what she sees one bit. The girl is falling behind on her physical exercises. Deliberately. And now, here she is right in front of Knight, outright refusing to participate. Not a good sign.
"What's the point? This stuff never works for me," the paraplegic girl announces indifferently.
Doctor Knight studies her patient. In the stark overhead lights of the clinic, the young girl looks hollow, a weary little soul scooped out of existence. There are bags under her big, tired brown eyes; her skin is a dull, acne-scarred ashen shade. Her hair, though washed well, is unnaturally dry: a bundle of pallid brown close-cropped around her ears.
Marli Morris is not the magazine image of a healthy, flourishing nineteen-year-old. She's sickly. She's dying. Or so the girl thinks, and she won't be convinced otherwise.
"I'm just wasting your time, Doctor," the girl insists.
Sufia breathes in deeply, slim fingers knitting on her lap. She is stern, but kind. A good doctor knows how to balance these traits. "The only time being wasted here is yours, Marli."
"Yes, tell me more about how I only have a precious few more months to live," Marli says, mouth curving in sarcasm. "Unless I make progress on this therapy course. Then I'm, what, miraculously healed and can go on to live happily ever after? God, sure hope that's the case."
Sufia Knight leans forward in her chair, voice calm but serious. "I'd never say that, Marli, and you know it. I don't like scaring children, and you're big enough to know better than to believe in fairytales. But I can help you, more or less, and that's the truth."
Marli turns away, but Dr. Knight is already at her side, kneeling so that they are at eye level.
"And you can help yourself, too," the therapist says, a soft but firm hand on the girl's shoulders. "These exercises cannot cure you overnight, but in the long run they might help you to walk again, as they have for many others. It's worth a shot."
Marli darts her gaze around the room, intent on not meeting the therapist's eyes. A sense of guilt bubbles inside the teenage girl. Sufia Knight speaks the truth, she always does. The doctor isn't afraid of hurting or being hurt. Perhaps that is both a virtue and folly.
