Love on the DL

Chapter 1

Kevin

“God damn it!” I hiss through gritted teeth.

My physical therapist says nothing, as usual, but continues the pointless exercises. 

The floor of the hospital room is cold on my already triggered body. It feels like we’ve been doing these exercises forever and still, not a fucking thing.

“Jesus!” I snap when the young, easy-going PT adjusts my leg. The pain contrasts sharply with the usual numbness that plagues my lower limbs.

I glance at the man having to ‘help’ me get my normal ability back. My irritation grows with the able-bodied therapist. He tries to get my legs to flex as he bends them in. 

“What are you trying to do to me?” I bark.

He stays quiet, just like he always does. He’s too patient for me. I don’t have time for it.

As he pulls me up to assist me in getting to the bars, I look at my reflection in the walled mirror. A harsh laugh echoes in the room. 

“You know these exercises are pointless, right? I’m never going to walk again. But go ahead, keep wasting your fucking time,” I say, my voice dripping with irritation and belittlement. 

“Maybe we should have you sit and work on your ankle and toe movements.” 

He goes to help me back to my wheelchair, but I throw myself off of the bars into the chair myself. I’m tired of him and his pity. I almost miss hitting the chair, but I’m in the seat now and that’s all that matters.

Still saying nothing, he kneels in front of me and asks me to try and focus on one toe.

“One toe? Okay, but see, I can’t feel much of anything unless you fuck with my legs in that obnoxious way. I’ve got peripheral neuropathy from a goddamn landmine. Shrapnel, body parts, all of it flying at you. And now you’re telling me to wiggle my toe?” 

My false laugh is demeaning, and Dr. Grayson takes a heavy sigh and gently sets my foot back down.

He begins to pack his things. I glance at the clock.

“Quitting early, huh? Makes sense, everyone else does.” 

I snort, frustration filling me up even more than before. I spot one of his dumb little resistance bands by my wheel and pick it up. 

“Here, don’t forget your worthless equipment.” I hurl the weightless band at him with enough force that it thuds against the wall behind him when he ducks. 

“Kevin, I can only help you if you want to be helped.” He shoves the band into his bag and zips it up. 

“I can’t be helped. Don’t you get that? There’s too much damage. You said it’s less than likely I’ll ever walk the same way again. And that’s positive. So what do you suggest I tell my fried nerves? Heal quicker?” 

I cross my arms and turn away from him. I’m done with him and his optimistic bullshit.

Dr. Grayson says nothing as he walks to the door. But before leaving, I catch his reflection in the mirror as he turns towards me.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of veterans, Kevin. Some are much worse off than you. And they still found a way to cope and pull through. Your stubbornness will be a greater setback than your physical ability will ever be.”

If only there was something else I could throw at him.

I sigh heavily once the door clicks shut, feeling hollow defeat swirling in my chest. Much like how I felt when I received recognition for the explosion. 

‘It is my honor to award Kevin Merrington the Purple Heart for his service and sacrifice to his country. Not only did he save himself, but many of his colleagues survived because of his quick thinking and response. He did what many couldn’t. And for that, he is a hero among heroes.’

I remember looking out into the crowd and seeing nothing but pity from the attendees. That medal was a consolation prize. It holds nothing but a reminder that I can no longer do the basic thing a one-year-old can do. Walk. 

I glare at my legs, wishing, no, willing them into submission. I need them to work. 

The doctor had said that there was a chance I may never walk again due to the damage the landmine did to my nerves.

I’m not paralyzed. I have numbing sensations. Things are just refusing to work, I think, trying to rationalize. 

But as I continue staring at my unmoving toes, straining to make even one nerve ending connect, I start shaking.

The anger surges through my chest, forming my hands into tight fists on my armrests.

Before I can give into my urge to slam my chair against the wall as hard as possible, my father, General Roland Merrington, enters the room. His expression is, per usual, stern and disappointed. His military cut is out of habit, like mine, but his light hair and piercing gray eyes contrast my dark eyes and hair, making me happy I resemble him so little. 

His gaze is heavy with the weight of unspoken words. It’s just as effective as if he were to speak his tribulations. 

As always, I ignore the disappointment in the General’s eyes. I know it all too well. It’s the only response he has to me, one I’ve become familiar with since childhood. 

“Come to let me know what other standards I haven’t met yet?” I spit as I wheel back towards the bed.

He clears his throat, about to speak, but I don’t want to hear it. I cut off his answer.

“It’s my decision. I don’t need your approval about this. I don’t need therapy. It’s pointless, and it’s my decision to drop it. It just puts false hope in your and mom’s heads, and we don’t need that. I’m done. You’ll just have to accept that I’ll never walk again. I’ll never be the son you had hoped for, so sorry for your loss.” 

Bitterness is the only way I know how to flavor my words anymore, especially to him. 

“My loss?” he snaps as he turns from the window. “There’s no false hope. You’ve just given up on yourself. Can’t say I’m surprised, given your track record.”

“Seriously? My track record? I was in the military, just like you wanted us to be. Just like you, remember, Dad? But hey, now I can’t walk, so I guess that’s my fault, too.” 

“It is! Because you don’t want to. You want to wallow in this pity party you’ve thrown yourself into.”

“Dear God, you sound like the doct—”

“Good. Because he said you may never walk again. There’s a slim chance it's going to be that bleak according to him, but you need to have a better attitude about it and actually want it if you’re ever going to get there.”

“A better attitude? Tell me, how would you behave if, after thirty-one years, you couldn’t walk anymore?”

My father walks behind me to grab my wheelchair and pushes me to the side of the bed. 

“Kevin, you need to stop being a pain in the ass and grow up. Do you think your brother would act like this if this had happened to him?”

“Oh, sure, compare us, because that works so well for you.” 

I can’t help but act like a child right now. He brings out the worst in me.

In the mirror, I see his hands tighten on the back of my chair. His temper is rising with mine, and I’m not about to deal with my father and his rehearsed lectures. I’ve had enough of being coddled and told to ‘have a good attitude.’ I wheel away from him and head towards the window that he had been standing at.

“Listen.” My frustration is starting to boil over now. “The therapists and nurses have already given me enough motivational speeches to last a lifetime. I’m good, so save yours. No matter how much you want a noble son who can walk, you’ll just have to continue being bitterly disappointed.” 

I keep my eyes focused on the people outside the hospital walking along the trail. 

What I wouldn’t give to be out there with them instead of locked in here. To just simply be… walking.

“I have nothing positive to say to you,” he says crisply. “You’re showing what kind of a man you are now. And all I know is this is not how a man handles this situation.”

My nails dig into the crappy material of the chair’s armrest. But I refuse to fire back at him. It only fuels him and pisses me off more.

“I’m going to get your mother now. She’s getting you food. I suggest you change your attitude before we come back in, for your mother’s sake. You may have given up on yourself, but she never will. Do not break her heart just because you’re in pain, Kevin. Try to refrain from being selfish.”

Once the door clicks shut, I loosen my fingers. 

A choked sigh escapes me as I try to forget my father and focus on what I’m supposed to do now.

The part that frustrates me the most, that no PT or nurse can help me with, is what the hell am I supposed to do now? What can a disabled veteran do besides fall into a deep depression?

My life has turned upside down, and for once, after years of being so sure of everything, I have no idea what the next step is.

I laugh dryly at the irony.