Chris is keeping things quiet while Claire can't stop worrying.
Oh, did I say it won't be another six months OHOHOHOHOHO I lied, I meant nearly eight months!
Months had flown by after Chris had finally come home, but he had progressed slowly, at least in Claire's mind. That's how he wanted it, he thought to himself.
Three little birds flew by the windows as he pulled his body up slowly from his wheelchair, using the trapeze handles that Claire had graciously fitted herself in the home gym. And slowly lowered, then pulled back up as the burn gradually set in his muscles. He let himself drop back into his seat and he wheeled himself over to the length of mirrors, wiping his brow and arms with his little towel. He had regained some level of sensation in his toes, and one side of his leg was starting to react to touch again, but he had neglected to tell his sister.
It wasn't with malicious intent; when he had begun to realise that he could wiggle his toes and partially feel his bladder filling or feel his lower bowels working, he had told himself that he would keep his progress quiet. He wanted to keep it confidential between himself and his physiotherapist. One day, and it will be one day, he swore to himself one little thing; that he would stand up without aid, walk up to Claire, and give her the embrace that he owed her so much. He wanted to give her that surprise.
He also hadn't revealed to her that he had taken her USB stick full of old family photos, and that he would spend some time each day browsing through them all, as if trying to claw back whatever he could from his past, trying to tease his memory to reveal his parents' faces, to unveil his and Claire's own faces from when they were kids.
Before accidents and tragedy and brushes with Death.
"I am so glad I put a towel over my chair," remarked Chris as he patted the damp sweat marks on the cotton fabric. He pulled his phone from his chair bag and cut the connection to his home gym stereo before achingly making his way over to the doors. He forced the wheels over the door frame, thankful that he had built it at ground level without steps, even if he had no recollection of making such plans and measurements, and began to make his way back into the house.
Movement at the corner of his eye stopped him part way, and he rotated the chair to face the large cherry tree. A squirrel was feasting on the feeder that Claire meticulously kept full, and then another poked its tiny nose out from the other side of the house. With a twitch of its whiskers it softly bounded over to join the other, curling its body up the stand and perching itself.
"Chris, seriously, I can do this if you want me to!" Claire protested as she gestured at the bath, but Chris stubbornly pushed her arm away and turned the faucet off.
"Claire, please, I'm capable of bathing myself!"
"But after last time-"
"Last time was my mistake!"
"But you used the emergency button and I didn't look at my phone-"
"I don't expect you to be staring at your phone in case I buzz, Claire, you're allowed a social life!"
"But if I had checked I would've seen-"
"Goddammit, Claire, just listen to me!" Chris yelled, and Claire froze up. He roughly snatched the white, fluffy towel from her hands and hung it over the side of the bath, before sighing and taking a few breaths.
"I got cocky, that's all. It was my fault. I didn't even mean to hit the button, I landed on it."
"But-"
"No buts, Claire," he snapped again, "I'm capable of getting in and out of the bath, and I certainly don't need help trying to clean myself!"
"But you got hurt and-"
"Claire, I can't even feel half of my body, nothing fucking hurt! I didn't feel those bruises! Now please! Let me bathe! I can do this! If I do need you then I'll shout or something!"
Claire hesitantly stared at him, and finally, after the prolonged staring contest beside the rising wall of steam emanating from the bath, she silently declared herself defeated and lowered her head. Wordlessly she left the room, and Chris sighed to himself again.
He hated it. He fucking hated giving her hell like that, he hated seeing the look on her face whenever he rejected her help. He locked his wheelchair brake on and pulled himself up with yet another set of trapeze handles, and, with a sneaky glance at the door to ensure Claire was truly gone, he wiggled the toes on his left foot.
How high can I lift my leg, really, he thought. He willed himself to raise his leg, but with barely a tickle of his hamstrings and quads, he probably shifted no more than two inches. With a disgruntled cough he pulled himself onto the bath seat, and winched the handle until the seat touched the bottom of the bath.
He was getting there, and Claire was none the wiser. He rubbed his hand idly over his inner thigh and touched his knee. Was he being selfish by not informing her about his progress? He wasn't making her change his catheter bag. In fact…damn, no, she knew that he could feel his bladder, yeah, he forgot that she had been told. By him too. He had told her.
He rubbed a knuckle along his forehead and a little drop of water ran over his nose. He went to wipe it away, but a voice in the next room left his hand hovering in front of his face.
"I'm just trying to help, I don't want him to get hurt anymore…"
It was Claire, her room was right beyond the wall on his left.
"I know but…yeah but…"
Was she on the phone? He held onto the bath side and pushed himself closer to the wall as he strained his ears.
"I don't want him to keep pushing himself, he's gone through a lot of trauma…yeah I know he's not a quitter but…no…no I know… I'm just scared, you know? I don't want him pushing himself too far…"
Who was she talking to?
"Am I being selfish?...Because I want him to stop trying so hard, I think maybe I'm being selfish…oh God I don't know anymore…"
He could feel himself slowly sinking into the warm water, and he grabbed the wall handle to correct himself.
"Do you think I need to back off?...yeah…yeah…but I mean…no but…"
Throughout the whole conversation she was having with an unknown person, her voice had quietened and loudened as she paced in her room; it was a habit of hers, to pace while on the phone, not to mention picking stuff up and placing back down somewhere else…like that time a couple of years ago when she moved a book from the kitchen and into the living room, then picked it back up, walked into the hallway and left it on a sideboard. It wasn't even her book, and he had been left scratching his head when he re-entered the kitchen after hanging the laundry outside, wondering where his book had vanished to.
"No…I don't know…but it stings…because he only remembers me from now, after it all, he doesn't remember me from before…"
Chris' heart ached. He was trying his damndest to remember his life before his accident, he really was, and he wasn't trying for himself.
He was trying for Claire.
Wait?
His eyes dilated.
He remembered her phone call habit! He had clearly recalled that memory of her shuffling through the rooms while on the phone! She was wearing light grey sweatpants and a red vest that day! And the book was Misery by Stephen King!
He laughed to himself. Claire may be worrying all the time about him and his inability to move, but he wasn't a Paul Sheldon, and Claire certainly was no Annie Wilkes!
"Ah, but do I tell her?" Chris pondered to himself. He didn't particularly want to; he wanted to bank all of his recovered memories to surprise her…but if she was that wounded by it all, maybe he should just recall them to her after all. Why should he rub salt into those wounds that she is forced to wear? She never asked for a half paralysed, amnesiac brother.
He picked up the shampoo that Claire had graciously left for him on the bath caddy, dunked it under the water, and he held the bottle over the side of the bath. He let it slip through his fingers and to the tiled floor with a clatter.
"Oh no… whatever will I do?" Chris giggled to himself. He slapped his hand loudly on the side of the tub, shouting his sister's name, and within seconds Claire came running in with a face etched with panic. He laughed quietly as he held one hand over his dick. It didn't matter how many times she had helped him dress, she didn't always need to be subjected to his junk.
"Shit, Chris are you ok?!" Claire screeched, but he smiled and bobbed his other hand.
"I'm fine, but damn shampoo fucking sprung out of my hand, can you reach it for me?"
She sighed with relief and bent down to pick it up, and he opened his palm once he saw her crack the lid open.
"If you're so worried about me, Claire, just close the toilet lid and sit. I don't mind. Keep an eye on me."
She nodded quietly and sat herself down as he worked the shampoo into his scalp.
swear it won't be such a jump in time for the next chapter!
I mean it, it's not like I'm working on Heaven For Everyone anymore XD
I know it was a short chapter, but for this fic I'm going to aim to keep things short and sweet.