I bend down in an effort to pull a pair of warm socks on his feet as we begin to get dressed on an early fall morning.
"I've got it." He snaps at me out of nowhere, yanking the sweatpants from my hands with as much force as he can muster and catching me off guard. "Why don't you go do whatever it is you'd rather be doing?"
I stand there, a little stunned that he's speaking to me this way. It feels like it's coming out of nowhere. Everything was fine when we went to bed last night, and this morning has been business as usual, too.
"What?" He barks at me as I continue to stand infront of him, silent.
"I want to be right here, Josh," I tell him patiently. "With you."
He scoffs, and it sends a pang through my chest at the thought that he doesn't believe me.
"Josh?" I ask gently, trying to figure out where this all coming from. I step forward and reach out to him but he moves away from me as quickly as he can.
I'm physically recoiling a bit as he begins to grumble, sitting half dressed on the bed and shaking out the sweats I know he's going to struggle to dress himself in. He's only been home for a week. I know he's frustrated but he's still healing.
"Please let me help you," I request softly. "And then we can talk about this."
"Just go, Donna. Leave me alone. I don't need your help. I don't want your help," he spits at me.
I open my mouth to respond but I can't seem to find the words. I step away slowly and then turn on my heels and practically bolt into the living room, trying to keep the tears at bay until I know he can't see me anymore.
Reasonably, I know he's just frustrated. I've seen plenty of people frustrated with their recoveries. But this feels different. This is Josh, and he's not taking it out on me. I thought I was the one he didn't speak to that way. It was probably naive but, I thought I was the exception.
I sit down on the couch and cup my face in my hands, forcing myself to remain quiet. I listen as I hear him swear in frustration a few times, an theres at least one sharp intake of breath that I know is pain. I'll be in there in a moment if he needs me, but right now I think he should be by himself. It's only a moment later that I hear him forcefully throw the clothes into the hardwood floor. I can tell he's shuffling over to the door, which he slams with everything he has. It's not long after that the comforter on the bed moves a bit and I know he's at least laying down.
I quietly sit down on the floor in the hallway, leaning back against the wall next to his door so I can hear him if he wakes up. We have an open door policy right now, but if he needs to be mad at the world I'll give him a half hour to get over it.
"Donna?" He gently calls out for me a few minutes later. "Donna, I'm sorry. Can you come in here please?"
I stand up and pull myself together before I open the door, stepping a few paces inside but stop I in the middle of the room, remaining silent.
"Oh sweetheart," his face falls as soon as he sees me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."
"But you did." The words are cold as the tumble out of my moth before I have a chance to think about what I'm saying. None of this has been easy on me, either, and I guess the stress and exhaustion are catching up with me.
His eyes widen a bit and I immediately feel terrible. He struggles to sit further upright, and I see that he's still in only his boxers.
I realize he's trying to apologize and I take a few steps forward, wanting to hear him out.
"I had no reason to say those things or to act that way towards you. I just... I don't know what got into me," he tells me, as his voice rises in frustration and he maneuvers himself to sit on the side of the bed. "I find myself so angry sometimes. I just can't stand feeling like such a burden!"
"You're not a burden, Josh." I tell him, desperately hoping he hears the sincerity in my voice. "This is normal for your recovery. If anything you're ahead of schedule. You have no idea how many patients-"
"I'm not your patient!" He shouts, interrupting me. "I'm your boyfriend! If you feel like this is an obligation or just another part time job, then just do us both a favor and leave."
"Don't you dare put words in my mouth." I match him in intensity. "I'm here because I love you and you know that. Yes, it's hard sometimes. It's hard to see you in pain and frustrated and to know I can't do anything more to help you. But I have never, for even one minute, been here because I felt obligated."
He lets out a deep sigh and stares at a spot on the floor.
"I know that." He runs his hands over his face. It's clear to me that his emotions are running him over right now. "But I still feel worthless. I can't even bend over to put my pants on by myself or take a shower. God knows I can't make love to you, not that you'd even want me to after seeing all of this, and with the monstrosity of a scar on my chest," he motions to himself.
"That scar," I sit down next to him and reach out to gently cover it with my palm, "is proof you made it. That you fought through the impossible and can back to me. I'm never going to get tired of seeing that scar."
He bristles a bit on reflex, but I know I'm getting through to him. He's listening.
"I know you're in pain, Josh. I know every day you wake up exhausted and achy and frustrated. And do you know what? You have every right to feel that way, because something inexcusable happened to you and it sucks. It really does. But god, Josh. I wake up next to you every day and I say a prayer thanking god you're still breathing."
He moves his head slightly, turning to the side and resting his forehead against me. He's holding onto my waist now, though he remains quiet. My hand doesn't move from where it's ever so lightly covering his beating heart.
"Why do you stay?" He asks, studying my face as though he's really trying to figure out the answer to his life question.
"Because I love you, Josh." I tell him without wavering. "And that's not going to change."