The Disbanded: Divided We Stand-Chapter 2
By MyNameIsCAB
--Fang's POV--
It's hard to think about the last time I saw Max. It hurts a lot, emotionally. The doctor's say that I'll get better as long as I take my meds, but it only feels like it's getting worse. I guess that's how depression is supposed to feel.
Where am I now, you ask. Well, nowhere really. I don't have a place to stay and the only money I have was what Max left in that backpack in the hospital. It's just enough to pay for my medication.
I've spent these past two years around a small town. It's where the doctor's in that hospital sent me for rehabilitation. It's in Massachusetts, a couple hours away from Boston…You know, Fenway Park.
The people are nice. I've gotten to know them. Or maybe they just pity me because I'm stuck in a wheelchair. Maybe because I'm a crippled and hopeless angry teenager that will never walk again. Hell, I might never get to fly again except in an airplane.
"Hello, Nick," Dr. Guerra smilee as I wheel myself in to his office.
"Hi, Doc," I try to smile, but I doubt it came out right.
The doctor sat in his chair across the desk from me, holding up an x-ray of my leg. It doesn't look any better than before.
"So…" I said.
"Well, it looks a little better. I don't know what kind of bullets those are, but they definitely did a lot of damage," Dr. Guerra told me.
I wondered that too. Usually healing wasn't a problem, well, until now. I bet you Itex specially designed those damn bullets to make the person who got shot take forever to heal.
"Don't lie to me doctor," I finally sighed. "It doesn't look any different from a month ago."
He frowned. I was right after all, then. It took a while for him to speak. "Yea, it's not looking good, Nick."
Nick was my name. No one would take me seriously if I called myself Fang all the time.
"So what then?" I questioned.
The doctor shook his head. "There's not much we can do. Unless you want to do reconstructive surgery."
"I can't afford that and you can't reconstruct my bones because of what I am," I tell him, referring to the part of me that was avian.
"Yea, that's the problem, I guess then," the doctor nodded. "I'm sorry, Nick."
Part of me wanted to be angry. I wanted to throw myself out of my wheelchair and onto Guerra's desk and scream and shout that he needed to do something and had to stop being sorry for me. But that wouldn't do anything, so I sighed and said nothing.
"But we can still be hopeful," the doctor tried to say with reassurance. "Here's your prescription for you depression medication and pain meds. I'll see you later."
"Later, for what?" I was finally losing it. "Rehab isn't going to do anything for me if I won't ever be able to walk, Doctor. If I can save money, then I'm cutting rehab."
The doctor scratched his chin. "I guess you're right Nick."
"The only thing that you can help me with is my prescriptions for my meds and my depression," I pressed on.
"What about therapy, Nick?" he asked. "You can still come for group discussions and private sessions with me. You're going to need that to get out of your depression."
Perhaps I needed those things, but I wasn't showing up for physical therapy anymore. It was a waste of money because we weren't getting anywhere.
"Nick, come in for free. I won't charge you anymore," Dr. Guerra pleaded. "Where are you going to go?"
He was right. All I had was this rehab facility and a small town. I didn't even have my own place to stay. I ended up sleeping at the bus station or if I was lucky, inside the rehab facility or Dr. Guerra's office.
"At least, if anything let me help you with your depression, Nick," the doctor seemed to be repeating himself now. "Winter is coming, the worst season for depression. I'll let you stay with me."
"Okay, fine," I agreed.
Dr. Guerra stood and opened the door for me. "Thank you."
"For what?" I said.
"Because I've watched a lot of people like you go and leave and end up killing themselves, Nick," Dr. Guerra sighed. "And you remind me of my son…He committed suicide and that's the only reason I'm here."
"But I don't have family, why do you care so much about me?" I said, meeting his gaze.
"Because, I just do."
I nodded and wheeled out.
"Nick, promise me I'll see you at my house tonight," Dr. Guerra said.
I looked up at him. "I promise."
So I did show up at his house around 5PM. He ordered some pizza and showed me the guest room. Maybe it was the house or his hospitality that made me wish that I was back with the rest of the flock. And so as I got into bed, I cried some wishing Max was here to comfort me.