Chapter 2

That was how I made it through until morning, still on the floor.

Pat walked over and tossed a set of hiking clothes down beside me.

She looked at me, drenched in cold sweat, her voice flat.

"Put these on. We're going out to a campsite this afternoon to see some old classmates."

I shook my head. The pain had left me too weak to even sit up.

Pat bent down, gripped my wrist, and hauled me off the floor.

"An outdoor setting is the most effective stimulus. You can't spend your whole life in a wheelchair, deteriorating."

The pull threw me off balance, and a red mark rose fast on my wrist.

"I'm not going. My legs can't walk."

Roderick leaned in from the doorway, his tone almost soothing.

"Lucius, running from it will only make your bones more brittle. Give Pat a little faith, come on."

Pat glanced at him, her eyes softening for a second.

When she turned back to me, her grip tightened.

"Behave. Don't make this hard for me."

The sunlight at the campsite was blinding.

A dozen or so people were gathered around the grill, all friends who had watched how carefully Pat protected me these past three years.

Someone spotted me and joked with a grin.

"Lucius finally decided to get on his feet, huh? Pat's had it rough these three years."

I stood at the edge of the uneven grass, propped on a hiking pole, my ankles cinching tighter and tighter.

Roderick handed me a cup of water and said to the group with a smile:

"Don't look at Lucius like he's disabled. Overprotecting him strips away his ability to survive. He can actually manage on his own now, right, Lucius?"

A dozen pairs of eyes settled on me.

I opened my mouth, but the pain choked the sound out of me.

Pat sat in a folding chair, tapping the tabletop with her fingertip.

"Say something. Stop making other people cover for you all the time."

Someone gave a small laugh.

"Brittle bone disease isn't terminal, Lucius. That's enough already."

"Right, Pat's revolved around you every single day. Anyone would be worn out."

"Roderick comes back and a few tricks later you've ditched the wheelchair. A professional really is different."

The words worked their way into my ears like soft nails.

I gripped the hiking pole, my body starting to shake beyond my control.

Roderick bent down and, as if by accident, pulled away the only empty chair beside me, the one thing I could lean on.

"See, the regression response is coming out. Don't be afraid, we're all here to help you."

His cologne came in close.

It was the scent that had been on Pat's clothes the night before.

I jerked back hard, my right foot came down in a hole, and I heard a single crack.

My whole body hit the ground.

Mud spattered across Pat's shoes.

The campsite went silent in an instant.

Pat looked down at the mud on her shoes and wiped it slowly with a wet wipe, her brows drawn tight.

I couldn't breathe through the pain, curled on the ground, my fingers dug into the grass roots.

"Get me back to the car, Pat. I'm begging you, take me away."

Before, at a moment like this, she would have crouched down without hesitation and lifted me firmly onto her shoulder to carry me off.

But this time, she only looked at me coldly.

"Are you done with the act?"

Roderick took hold of her sleeve and coaxed gently: "Don't blame him. It's withdrawal. If you go help him up now, the desensitization training is all for nothing."

Pat closed her eyes for a moment, then turned and sat back down.

She picked up a beer, her voice dropping low.

"Lucius Henson, stand up on your own and walk to your seat."

I looked up at her.

My vision was blurred with tears; all I could see was how close she and Roderick were sitting.

Roderick passed her a tissue, his fingertips lingering in her palm for a second.

She didn't pull away.

I looked at her in despair, my tears striking the mud: "And if I can't get up?"

Pat looked at me, nothing left in her eyes but a tired coldness.

"Then stay down. I'm not lifting you again."

Someone said under their breath: "Pat's finally toughened up."

Roderick raised his can and lightly tapped it against Pat's.

"Pat, you did great."

The whole crowd went back to laughing and chatting, and no one looked to see whether I was about to pass out from the pain.

Pat even laughed along with them.

The string inside me that had been pulled taut for three years suddenly snapped.

My fingers were still hooked into the mud, blood seeping from the edges of my nails, but I felt no pain.

Slowly, I pushed myself up.

Pat seemed to breathe easier.

"That's more like it. Stop making everyone revolve around you."

I threw the hiking pole aside and, step by dragging step, moved toward the road outside the campsite.

Pat didn't come after me.

With shaking hands I fished my phone from my pocket, meaning to call my orthopedic surgeon.

But before I could hit the call button, everything went black, and the searing pain swallowed me whole.