'You can do it,' she repeated again. 'Wiggle your toe.'
The repetition and forced joy in her voice as she said the line over and over was quickly becoming annoying.
It was, he assumed, meant to be encouraging; however, right now all it was doing was feeding his current want to hit something, and hit it hard.
He had a temper, he knew that, it was something he'd spent a long time working on, and he had done well, he thought, he'd gotten help with it, but right now none of those calming techniques he'd been given so long ago were helping.
Right now he really wanted to hit her and her stupid voice.
'C'mon.' She was smiling, he could hear it, probably one of those fake happy smiles that people had when they lied to your face and you both know it's a lie but there is nothing you can do. 'You can—'
'If I could do it,' he snapped, quickly pulling his anger back into place, trying and failing to keep his tone even, 'I'd be doing it.'
'Mr. Tracy—'
'Scott,' he growled. 'Mr. Tracy was my father, not me. I am Scott'
'Scott.' She sighed softly. 'I'm sorry, the preference wasn't in the notes I was given, I'll be sure to remember that, though.' There was a brief pause, presumably she was making a note, something was scratching, at least. 'You have to know, though, that these things take time.'
He fell back into the bed, another agitated growl escaping before he could stop it, suddenly realising how tight his jaw was. That was going to ache later, he knew it.
'I know. I keep being told that, but it's been… I don't even know, I feel like I've been here forever.'
'It hasn't been forever, I promise.'
'It's been long enough, if it was going to take this long, why didn't they start me doing this sooner?'
'Because there were other things that needed to be taken care of first. You were very badly hurt. You needed to heal before you started trying this. We also needed to make sure this wasn't going to make things worse for you.' He had nothing to say in reply, or at least nothing he wanted to say to her right now. 'Yes, it takes time and it's frustrating that you couldn't start sooner. I know, I do, but you'll get there and one day things will—'
'One day? That's it, some vague, far-off day. How long? A week, months, a year?' He could feel his grip on his temper slipping, voice rising.
'Honestly?' He couldn't see her expression but she didn't sound like she was biting at the rise. 'You're right, it could be months or years. It could be never.'
The word bit harder than John's betrayal. That single word. Two little syllables.
Never.
This could be his life, blind and trapped for the rest of his life.
Never.
'Or,' she continued, laying her hand over his, soft and warm, a slight wear to the fingers, skin rough from work, 'it could be tomorrow, maybe a week, but if you give up, you won't find out.' There was a gentle promise there, a little spark of warmth he wanted to wrap his fingers round. He knew that was probably the point of the way she said it, but it worked and he didn't care. 'I can only tell you the less we have these sessions and the less you try, the longer it will take.'
She left it there. Waiting.
His choice what happened—did he want to continue or did he want to give up and resign himself to this life?
No.
No he didn't, he'd rather die. He would die, will die, if this was what his future was. It came down to how badly he wanted to be walking again.
Stupid question, that.
He sighs softly. 'Sorry.'
'You don't need to apologise.' She was smiling, pleased with what she knew the apology meant. 'It's hard, I know. So, shall we continue?'