Nicole was up for that, too.
An hour and a half later, I was holding myself up by my arms with sweat pouring into my eyes and Danielle chanting encouragement at me from one side of the parallel bars. I kind of wanted to punch her, too. Just like the conflicting feelings I had about my dad, some days I loved my physical therapist, and some days I hated her.
My legs burned.
It was a weird sensation. I could feel them just fine, and some of the muscle tone was back. It was just the motor control that seemed to be missing. I could push with my feet and lift weights if I was sitting, but holding up my own body weight was a whole different thing. My legs just didn’t seem to have the coordination to both hold me up and move me forward at the same time.
I could take a couple of steps at a time and had been able to for a month. I just couldn’t seem to make any more progress.
“Come on, Thomas!” Danielle said. “One more step! Push!”
“I’m not having a fucking baby!” I bellowed at her.
I really don’t know how that woman puts up with her patients. She says I’m not even the worst.
“Don’t give me that! Concentrate!”
“You can do it, baby.”
I looked up and saw Nicole at the end of the row of bars. I hadn’t heard her come in. She had a big smile on her face and looked so fucking beautiful I wanted to run the six feet it would have taken to get to her just to wrap my arms around her.
Instead, I focused on moving one foot just a few inches in front of the other one.
More burning in my thighs and my left calf—like I was running a fucking marathon or something. More sweat in my eyes, and my lungs felt like they were going to go all Alien on me and pop out some nasty little critter.
I stopped and put my weight back on my arms.
“I can’t do any more.”
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“We’re not done yet,” Danielle told me.
If I hadn’t been holding myself up with my arms at that point, I just might have slugged her.
“I’m fucking done, okay?” I yelled back.
“Ten more minutes,” she insisted. “Then you can take a break and hang out with Nicole.”
“Fuck you!”
“Ten minutes!”
“Danielle,” Nicole called out, “may I take over?”
Danielle smiled and laughed softly.
“Be my guest,” she replied. “Ten more minutes.”
“Fuck you both,” I mumbled. Nicole was a worse slave driver than Danielle.
“Only if you reach me,” Nicole said coyly, and my head jerked up to where she was standing.
I hadn’t really paid any attention when she came in, but she was wearing one of those tight fitting V-neck sweaters that showed a lot of cleavage. Her hair was over her shoulders and down her back, and she was using one finger to slide down the V-shape and over the rise of her breast.
“Fuck me hard,” I mumbled.
“Come and get it,” she suggested.