Maggie's Story

Chapter 18 –Part I

Olga Rules

I could barely see in the room, it was so dark. How anyone could exist in the clutter and smell I wasn't sure. I went over and opened a curtain only to get another book upside my head.

I hissed, "You throw another damn book at me and you're going to find God sooner than you thought."

He screamed forcibly, "Close the blinds!"

I yelled back with as much force, "No! I've got to get you up and clean this place. Where's Wilson?"

"Hell if I know. He said something about his father having a heart attack. I haven't seen him in a few days."

He looked like hell, his beard was several days old, hair matted, eyes red (which I suspected was from crying and drinking) and terrible, smelly breath. I went over to the bed and looked down at him.

He wrinkled his nose up at me, "Jesus Christ don't they have food in Africa? You look like Posh Spice after a trip to the toilet."

I was trying decided where to start. I decided he was where I needed to start. "Okay Greg, we're getting you into the wheelchair."

He snickered, "Like hell."

I pulled the dirty sheets and comforter off of him and his bed. He yelled.

"Stop! Put that back on and get out of here." He lifted up on his elbows and scowled at me.

I looked down and my stomach turned when I saw the huge, puckered scar on his leg. I wanted to hold him, protect him, but he was obviously not ready for human contact. I put the wheelchair next to the bed and went over to help him into it. He saw me stare at his leg and I saw a deep pain in his eyes.

"Get out! I don't want your pity."

"Well, I am sorry. But that's the last of my pity you're getting, your own pity party is over. If you don't help me get you into the wheelchair I'll sell you on the internet."

"Give me back my covers."

"Greg, look in my eyes." I stared at him, "It's Maggie, not Jim, not Stacy and not some vapid brunette. Do you think I'm going to just slink away? Dream on broomstick cowboy…your worst nightmare has arrived."

He refused to budge. I went out to the sink, filled a small pan with water, grabbed some ice cubes and put them in the water. The whole time I was in the kitchen he was screaming for me to bring his covers back. I looked in the hall closet and found a fan, took it out, grabbed the pan of ice water and went back to his room. I plugged in the fan, turning it on him directly.

"Turn that damn thing off!"

"Greg, you have ten seconds to get into that wheel chair. Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four-three-two-one."

He didn't do anything, but glare at me. I took the pan and threw the water on him. His shocked body jerked up.

"You fucking bitch!"

"Oh, honey, you remembered my name."

The fan was now blowing on him full blast, making his entire body break out with goose bumps. I walked over and supported the wheel chair. I said very calmly, "A warm shower or bath is waiting for you if you just get your ass into the wheelchair." He paused defiantly and I laughed, and in my best sarcastic voice told him, "Oh Greg, you're really scaring me….ewwww."

His body was turning a mottled purple. He grabbed a pill with some booze in a glass, which I pulled away from him forcibly, wrestling it until most of it had spilled down his chest. I handed him the last dregs of a water bottle. He took the pill and then scooted to the edge of the bed. With a good yank, we had him in the wheelchair. He turned the chair and made a run for the covers, but I kicked them away so he couldn't get them if he stayed in the wheelchair.

I locked his wheels, which pissed him off. Then I went into the bathroom and started a bath. I thought soaking his leg would do him good. I rolled him into the bathroom, it taking me a good fifteen minutes as he tried to reach out and grab walls, tables, jambs, anything to keep me from wheeling him around. He wanted to make it difficult to take care of him and he was succeeding.

I laughed again, "You think this is going to work? Honey, you know I'm much tougher than you. Now, behave Greg. I'm running out of places to bury the bodies."

"Screw you."

"You wish."

The tub was waiting and I'm not sure why, but he allowed me to take off his boxers and then ease him into the water. He laid back and closed his eyes. I filled a glass and poured water over his head, grabbed the shampoo and started washing his hair. It smelled like coconut. He tilted his head back as I rinsed his hair. He looked up and I saw those blue eyes and the misery behind them. My heart ached for him. I almost leaned down and kissed his forehead, but didn't. He needed tough love or he'd think he could run over me. I grabbed a washcloth and cleaned his back. Then I rubbed his temples for a few minutes.

"Now, you clean the rest of your body and I'll change your bed."

"But you're missing out on the best part."

"It's my lost."

I went out and quickly rushed around the bedroom rounding up dirty clothes and changing the sheets. The bed was a little wet from where I had poured the water on him, but it was mostly the mattress pad that was soaked and I needed to wash it anyway. After I made the bed, and cleaned off the night stand, I went back into the bathroom. He was waiting for me to help him out.

"Did you want to shave?"

He shook his head. I thought he looked incredibly handsome with the short beard. I didn't want to say anything, because I didn't want him to think I was there for sex or a relationship. I was there to get him to start taking care of himself.

We brushed his teeth and then I wheeled him back into the bedroom which smelled considerably better. I dressed him in boxers, t-shirt and sweat pants, not an easy feat when you consider that I was weak from my illness and about fifteen pounds thinner than normal.

"Would you like to go out and watch television or go back to bed? I need some sleep, I've only had a few hours in the last few days and I'm knackered."

He waved me away with his hand, "Why don't you go now. I can handle it from here. Thanks for the bath. Good bye."

I smiled and shook my head, "Right and any moment your nurse, Cameron Diaz, will be here to take over. What will it be? Bed or living room?"

"Bed."

I wasn't going to argue. I needed sleep to be able to deal with him and his mess. I helped him back into bed, took off my clothes except for my t-shirt and panties and crawled into the bed. He kept looking over at me.

"You just waltz in and crawl in my bed?"

"To sleep, perchance to dream. Don't get your hopes up. I'm not here to meet your sexual needs, I'm here to kick you in the ass. Now, I'm going to sleep."

I fell asleep almost instantly until I felt a hand on my arm shaking me and a voice making demands, "Get up and answer the door, it's my pizza."

I was groggy, trying hard to wake up. Looking towards the window in his bedroom, I could see it was night. The doorbell was ringing over and over. I jumped up. "Just a minute!" I yelled. I ran out to the living room and opened the door. The delivery boy looked at me strangely and I realized I had no pants on, just panties. It was too late to be modest so I grabbed my purse paid him, gave him a tip and took the pizza.

"You owe me 11.00." I yelled back.

"Put it on my tab."

I grabbed plates, paper towels, forks and newspaper. Spreading the newspaper on his lap, I handed him a plate with two large pieces on it. I sat back on the bed with my one.

"Why are you skin and bones?" he asked as he chewed the Supreme Pizza he had ordered.

"I've been sick."

"With what?"

"Doesn't matter."

"What are you doing here? How'd you find out?"

"About your leg or Stacy?"

"Both."

"Jim told me about your leg. Stacy told me she was leaving."

He flinched when I mentioned that Stacy had left him.

He looked at me with pain behind his eyes, "Maggie, just go. I don't want anyone here."

I looked him in the eyes and smiled, "I can't do that Greg. Believe me, I wish I could. I wish I could stop caring, but you and I will always be a part of each other and I can't let you kill yourself with your self-pity."

"There's nothing you can do. I don't give a damn anymore. "

"Maybe. But, I do."

Over the next three days he continued to ignore me or berate me. I had problems adjusting to the time zone. I still wasn't rested enough to start cleaning, so I just picked up a little, got the rotting food into the trash can and took the alcohol and put it up high. Greg would either have to stand up to get his booze or ask me. He watched me do this and shook his head.

"It's my booze, get me a drink."

"You need to sober up first. Tomorrow you can have a drink." I turned to him and put my hands on my hips. "I'm going to bed, it's nine pm."

Around 2 am, I woke up to the sound of glass shattering. I jumped up and ran out to the living room. Greg was sitting in his wheelchair, his eyes wild with pain and anger, he had a crutch in his hand which was extended, trying to pull the bottles of alcohol down and catch them as they fell. Two bottles were already splintered on the floor.

"Greg!" I screamed. Still sleepy, I did a stupid thing, I ran towards him. He turned in his wheelchair just in time to see me step on a large sliver of glass, "Ahgggg! Oh damn!"

Blood started pouring out of the wound. I gave Greg a dirty look and went over to the chair.

"Don't get your blood on that rug, it cost 5,000."

"Screw you."

He didn't even look contrite. "If you hadn't been a bitch, this wouldn't have happened. You're going to need stitches."

I barked back, "I know asshole!" I limped into the bathroom and yanked a hand towel off the rack, wrapped it around my foot and put on some of his sweatpants, which looked comically baggy and bunched up around the ankles on me. I grabbed the keys to his car so that I didn't bleed on the rental and ran out the door. Two hours later I was back with stitches in my foot, a nice bandage and a surgical sock over it. I hobbled inside and looked at the mess he had made. There were probably three more bottles on the floor and he was passed out with one in his lap. His face was contorted, as if he had gone to sleep in the middle of a spasm of pain or a dream of Stacy.

I sat on the easy chair and cried to myself. He was in a tailspin, diving fast into the earth. I was hoping I was up to the task. It sounded like both Stacy and Jim had batted zero, maybe I was his last best hope. Or was I? I stayed up for the next six hours and cleaned. I hobbled around, doing five loads of laundry, washing the fridge, cleaning up glass, and scrubbin his bathroom, all while he slept the booze off. Crashing back into the easy chair, I fell asleep until I heard screaming in my ear.

"Feed me!"

I jumped. "What the …" I turned and looked at him, "Feed yourself."

His eyes bloodshot, his face puffy from the alcohol, he barked, "I can't get around the kitchen in the wheelchair."

"Then stand up and walk around."

"In case you haven't noticed that scar—"

I knitted my brows and puckered my lips, giving him a staged look of sympathy, "Ah, poor baby." Turning my back to him to go back to sleep, I yelled over my shoulder, "Go get yourself some food. You managed to get yourself some booze."

He rolled over to the phone and dialed the pizza place again, ordering a pizza and beer. I finally got up and went back to the freshly spruced bathroom, took a shower and came out to find him eating pizza for breakfast. I shook my head and went in to get some cereal. There was none. Grocery shopping was next on my list. I grabbed a piece of pizza.

"I've just spent six hours cleaning your crap up. Try not to mess it up while I'm at the grocery store? Is there anything you want?"

"More beer, more candy, more potato chips and you need to replace my booze."

"Yeah, and you need to be neutered." I walked out the door. Despite his diet, Greg had lost a substantial amount of weight. The two of us looked like we had just gotten back from the Bataan Death March. I picked up food, got some gas in the car and drove back to find the police walking out the front door of the apartment building.

I was holding several bags of groceries and trying to grab my keys to get in, "Officers, is there something wrong?"

"Is that your husband?" The tall, Latino-looking cop motioned towards Greg's apartment.

"Yes." I lied.

"We almost took him in for throwing things at us. But we see he's in a wheelchair, so we gave him a break. Tell him to keep the music down; we had four complaints in less than an hour."

I nodded. Greg had just declared war.

I went into the apartment and smiled at him. "Why don't you lay down for awhile? I have some work to do out here."

He agreed to read in bed. After rolling him back and installing him in his bed, I took him the journals that had been stacking up inside his mailbox. I went out to the living room and began my attack. I took the wheelchair and rolled it outside, called Salvation Army and told them to come and get it. I crawled behind the stereo and unplugged it from the outlet. Looking around, I found his cell phone and took out the battery, putting it in the upper cupboard of the kitchen. I took what booze was left and threw it out. The television plug was hard to get to, but I managed to pull the cord until the plug came to. Guitars, banjo, harmonica, were all gently put in the back of his hall closet. I crawled under the desk and unplugged the computer. Standing in the middle of the living room, I looked around; I was ready. Stomping back to his bedroom, I turned on the fan again. I had a pan of ice water.

He narrowed his eyes, "What are you going to do with that?"

"It depends." I looked at the deep creases near his eyes, the lines that hadn't been there before and wondered if the leg or Stacy had put them there. I mustered a scowl and snarled, "You can cancel my subscription, because I'm tired of your issues. From now on, you're getting up and walking to strengthen your leg. You're going to help clean up, bathe yourself, start living. If you don't, I'll torture you into submission. I picked up a few techniques in Africa."

He laughed at me until I dribbled some of the ice water on him.

His body jerked from the cold. Making motions towards the phone, he clenched his jaw, "I'm calling the cops."

I walked over and unplugged the phone. "Fine, get your ass up and plug it back in."

He looked around, "Where's the wheel chair?"

"Salvation Army."

A journal flew at my head. I poured the rest of the water on him. He jumped, arms flailing, his eyes flashing open. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me onto the bed, rolling over, pinning me down, his eyes no longer miserable, but angry. I wasn't sure if I wanted him substituting anger for misery, but at least he was moving around.

He looked down, teeth clenched, "Maggie! If you do that again…"

We looked at each other, his face six inches from mine. The tension was almost unbearable. I wanted so much to kiss and hug him, bring him back to earth. I could tell he wanted me too. He was debating whether to take me or let me up, his deep blue eyes searching me for a response. I said nothing, waiting for his decision, not sure what I'd do if he did take me.

He paused, looking at me, his face inching slightly closer, then jerking back. He let me go and sat up, "Damn, now I'm wet and that fan is …" He took a journal and threw it at the fan, knocking it over. The safety switch kicked in, stopping it. Pulling his leg out of bed with this hand, he sat at the edge of it.

We both were silent, letting what just happened between us dissipate. I stood up and picked up the fan. I didn't turn it on him, instead, I stood, hand primed on the switch, waiting until he had something to say.

He clenched his teeth, shaking his head back and forth, finally looking up at me. "I can't stand on the leg, it hurts like hell."

My voice was kind, sweet, loving, "I know Greg. But if you don't start now, you'll be in a wheelchair your whole life. The stronger your leg, the less pain. We have to strengthen it before it atrophies."

He said nothing, which was a good sign. If he wasn't going to do it, he would have told me. I went out and got his crutches. "Let's get you into the bathroom for a bath so I can change the sheets and put the mattress cover back on."

Again, he said nothing, but when I brought back the crutches, he let me help him up. It took us several minutes to get him into the bathroom, but we did. I ran the bath and got him into it, leaving him to soak. I changed the bed and looked at it. I wanted so much to flop down on it and go to sleep.

"Hey? Anyone out there? I'm shriveling up, prunes where my balls used to be."

I went in and got him out, drying his backside off. I gave him a pinch on the butt. He tightened his cheeks reflexively.

I giggled, "Nice butt."

"You may kiss it if you like."

"Wow, now that's an offer I think I'll pass up."

We got him out to the living room and I spent half an hour with him doing isotonic exercises, making him push his right foot against my thigh. We switched to motion exercises. He bitched and moaned the entire time, calling me names and telling me I was a Catholic whore, a baby killer. I simply smiled and nodded.

When we were done, I rewarded him by walking down the street and buying him a mocha frappachino, which he sucked up while I went in and started dinner. I was shocked to find him standing behind me in the kitchen, leaning on his crutches.

"Mags?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you here?"

"When I got the call from Stacy, I felt like I had no choice. I care about you and you're my friend. I thought I could help."

He said very solemnly, "Maggie, I don't love you anymore."

I hadn't come so that he could tell me that he loved me or start a relationship, but it still hurt to hear it. I continued to stir the sauce.

"That's okay Greg, you don't have to. I'm not here because I expect something back."

He nodded. "I used up all my love on Stacy."

"Well, that's understandable. Hopefully, you'll find someone you can love later, when you've healed. I'll pray for you."

He snickered, closed his eyes and shook his head, "Maggie you never change."

I turned and glared at him, "Do you want me to change Greg?"

His eyes went soft as he leaned against the jamb of the door, his body leaning on his left leg, "No, I don't think I do. You're perfect the way you are."

I chuckled, "Well, I don't believe you. But thanks for the sentiment." Our eyes locked and we shared a moment of compassion before I turned back to the stove.

From then on out, Greg had to earn his gadgets back by using his crutches and exercising. He earned his stereo, television, telephone, instruments and computer back by working hard on his leg and using his crutches. He actually started to work out on his own. We bought him a stationary bike, which helped a lot. I also took him out and together we found a sofa, not my style, a dark leather and testosterone laden, but it seemed to fit his personality. He was starting to get around on the crutches really well, so well that he was able to keep up with me, chasing me around the apartment to argue with me while I cleaned, sorted and straightened.

I was still tired and worn out, which meant I went down for a nap almost every day. One afternoon, after telling him that I was going for a nap, I sat down on the bed, my rosary in my hand, closed my eyes and prayed.

"Lord, please strengthen his leg and take away his pain. Give him the courage to love someone again and then send someone into his life that he can love. If you don't mind God, I'd like someone to love too. But, take care of Greg first. I can wait. Amen." I made the sign of the cross and then looked up to see him standing in the door shaking his head. He turned and, with his crutches, went back to the living room.

He didn't say anything that evening, but eventually he asked, "Are you lonely Mags?"

I giggled, "Lonely? I have lots of friends and my family. I'm not lonely for company. But, I am lonely for that one person who measures your highs and lows, is in pain when you're in pain, laughs if you're happy. I'd like that in my life." I was looking out into space, thinking about what was missing from my life. I turned and smiled, "I'm lonely for that."

"Then next time you put in an order to God for love, move yourself up a notch. I don't want it."

"I know you're in pain, in more ways than one, but Greg, I really want you to be happy. And, you were happier when you were living with Stacy. It's odd, but you actually do better when you're in a relationship."

"You weren't here the last two years."

"Maybe it wasn't the right relationship, but when it was good, you were happier."

"You're such a romantic, too optimistic for your own good."

I went to Mass on Wednesday morning, stopping to do some grocery shopping before I went back to the apartment. When I got home, Jim was with Greg. They were watching television and drinking beer. I hadn't let Greg have any alcohol since the bottle busting incident. But then, he hadn't asked for any. Jim followed me into the kitchen and grabbed me, hugging me tight.

"Maggie, you're a miracle worker. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

I warned him, "Jim, he's nowhere near being okay."

"But he hasn't touched those crutches in six months, hasn't been sober in five, hasn't wanted to do anything in months, didn't even care if he pissed on himself. I don't know how you did it, but he's even starting to talk about going back to work in a few weeks."

"That is good! I'm glad I could help. I only have ten days left and then I have to get back."

Jim gave me another short hug and stepped back, studying me. "Maggie, you don't look well."

Greg came into the kitchen, "You're right, she doesn't look well. You're sleeping a lot too. Where have you been?'

"Africa. I was in Africa studying Anthrax. I'm recovering from pneumonic plague."

Their collective mouths dropped open, eyes widened.

Greg barked at me, "When?"

"A few months ago. I haven't been able to get well."

Greg walked over to me, grabbed my chin and looked at me with the eyes of a clinician. "You've lost a lot of weight, what else is going on?"

"I have a low grade fever, fatigue, headache."

Greg turned to Jim, "We need to get her to the hospital and run some tests."

I frowned, "I'm not that bad off."

But he was off to the bedroom, putting on a clean t-shirt. Jim turned to me, smiling as he shrugged his shoulders, "You have to let him, he's actually excited about something that's not his leg or Stacy."

"I don't want to be human bait for Greg House."

"It could be worse; you could be a human sacrifice for Greg House."