After saying goodbye to everyone, I start getting myself into my wheelchair. "Don't you think you've been in that chair enough? Try these," She brings me a pair of crutches that have been propped up in the corner since I got here. "Don't look at me like that, you can't stay sat down forever."
"Fine." I let her help me stand up. It hurts, a lot. My legs shake like jelly as I try to steady myself. She positions the crutches under my arms.
"See." She let's go of me. "Now you're getting it. Just like riding a bike."
"I never learned to ride a bike." She laughs at me. I want so badly to flop down on my bed and give up, that's how much it hurts. But I can't give up. She hovers only a few centimeters away from me as we walk down the halls, just in case I fall. "You need more painkillers?" I nod, wincing. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the little orange bottle, I swallow them so fast, hoping they'll kick in immediately. It feels like years, but we finally get to Dr. Hastings's office.
"Ah, Gracie, good to see you walking. How's the leg?" I sit down opposite him
"Shaky." The relief is instant when I plop down on the chair.
"I can imagine, you'll get the hang of it. So, your brothers and sisters came to see you today. How was that?"
"Fine." He raises his brow at me. "Good, I guess."
"Did you talk to them?"
"A little yeah, but I don't know what to say."
"They know it's hard for you. Have you been thinking about the exercise we did last week? I know that was difficult for you."
"It's all I can think about. I don't want him, or her in my head anymore."
"When you think of them what do you feel?"
"Weak, defenseless, like I'm nothing but an object. Something they can bend and break until I'm what they want me to be."
"What do they want you to be?" He asks.
"I don't know, like a doll, a toy for them to play with and toss aside when they're done. No matter how much it hurts me."
"Next time you think about either of them, use those thoughts as fuel, make them the reason that you succeed." He leans forward. "Show them how strong you are... because you are."
"Everyone keeps saying that," I kickback in some kind of anger. "They keep telling me I'm strong and that'll be okay, but they don't know. You don't know, it's not getting better and I'm finding it harder and harder to believe that it ever will."
"You think you're not getting better? That's funny because this time a week ago you weren't talking. Gracie, the reason I believe so strongly that you'll get through this is that you've already shown me that you can; you want to get better, and you know you deserve to. Am I wrong?"
"No," I mumble.
"No, I'm not. Now, can you start to trust me?"
"Who said I didn't trust you?"
"You did, just not in so many words."
"Yes. I trust you."
We spend the hour talking more, we talk a lot about John, and how he made me feel. He says that what happened with Rachel was a trigger for my PTSD. He helps me identify all of my triggers, so I know what to work on or what to avoid. I meet with Dr. Hastings every day at the same time, walking gets a little less painful. He suggests I start getting out of my room more often. He arranges for me to go on walks around the building with my nurse. The fresh air feels great. I'm allowed grounds privileges without supervision, but it's not that fun on my own, I suppose nothing can be fun in a mental hospital.
One quiet, cloudy evening, I'm sat in the common room doing a puzzle. Freddie comes to visit me. His eyes are still purple with bruising, and my nose is still crooked. I thought he would have healed by now.
"Hi, how are you?" He sits down next to me.
"I'm good, better, thanks."
"Wow, you're talking, that's good. I'd almost forgotten what your voice sounded like." He pokes fun at me.
"It took some time, but baby steps." I smile. "Hey, you wanna take a walk?"
"Sure, uh, here." He helps me up. "So how long do you have to keep using these?" We make our way outside, clearing it with the nurse that's on duty.
"I don't know, not long hopefully. It's still kind of painful. But, how are you? Mom told me about your grandma."
"Like I said before, she's been dying for years. As cliché as it sounds, she's in a better place now."
"I'm so sorry. What about you? You're in the foster system now, I know what it can be like."
"It's not so bad, it's just a temporary placement until they find a group home or something. I have a job now, so I can start saving the money for emancipation, then I just need to go and get Greg's signature." We walk slowly along the pebbled path that weaves through the trees that surround the hospital.
"You would really go and see him?"
"I have to, it's my only option."
"You don't have any friends or other family members you can stay with?"
"Nope, no friends, you and I are the last of our family that aren't dead or in prison. Big shoes to fill," He laughs.
"I'm sorry, all of this happened because of me."
"No, Gracie." He stops walking and stands in front of me. "It didn't. Regardless of whether or not Greg tried to reverse your adoption, he would have kept hitting me. And he would have gone to jail, Gram still would have died. If anything, you're making things a little easier. I thought when Gram died, I would be all alone, I didn't think I'd find a friend let alone a sister."
"I'm so glad we met." I hug my little brother. "So, where are you working?" We start walking again.
"Your sister got me a job at the diner, I start tomorrow."
"That's great, I'm so happy for you. But," I sigh. "It'll take a long time to raise all that money, isn't there some other way we can do it?"
"You don't have to worry about me, just take care of yourself okay?"
