“Alright, next time, I’ll scream your name at the top of my lungs,” she deadpans, then focuses her attention on my bare chest. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
“No, but I struggle most nights.” I walk past her and grab my mug, then meet her on the couch.
“Have you thought about medication?” she asks.
“I take something when I’m not working, but it doesn’t help with the pain.”
Her expression falls as she glances down at my leg. “Are you hurting right now?”
“Yes, it’s phantom pain. Mostly happens when I’m not wearing my prosthetic, so sometimes it helps when I put it on and walk around. Kinda tricks my brain and makes it stop temporarily.”
“So, it’s not a physical discomfort?”
“It’s all neurological. I feel throbbing, tingles, and aches in the part of my leg that I no longer have, usually my toes or foot. Oftentimes, my foot feels like it’s being crushed or stabbed and even like it’s on fire. Sometimes my ankle too. It feels very real to me. My brain never figured out half of my leg was missing. So, I can’t just swallow a few pills and make it go away.”
“Wow…I never knew that happened. If you can’t take anything for it, what do you do?”
“Besides taking a walk, I just wait it out. Smoking marijuana has been known to help, but I can’t do that on the job. I’m always on call, and can’t risk being caught with it or not being trusted to do my work.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine.”
“I’d never wish it on anyone. I’ve learned to deal with it because I have no choice, but I honestly can’t remember what it was like not to suffer with it.”
“Tristan, I-I had no idea. You hide it so well. Have you seen any specialists to see if there’s something new that you haven’t tried?”
“Yes, I’ve done everything. I take nerve pain meds, which helps minimize it, but I’m on the max dosage. If I take anymore, I risk destroying my liver and kidneys. I was told that if my brain didn’t register that the limb was gone within the first year, it was unlikely it ever would. Most amputees experience some degree of phantom pains. Some people suffer so badly, they end their lives.”
When I look into her eyes, I see them well with tears, and I hate that she’s pitying me. I never want sympathy from anyone—I fought for my country, and I’ll never regret that.
“Have you ever thought of…doing that?” she asks cautiously.
“No, I have too much survivor's guilt. I couldn’t go through with it, not when I was granted a second chance. My brothers died that day, and I’m determined to keep living for them.”
This is the most I’ve ever opened up to Piper. Maybe I’m vulnerable because it’s late or maybe it’s because Piper truly seems interested in knowing more about me, but I don’t know how to feel about it either.
“Even after knowing you for half a year, I realize I don’t know that much about you or who you are as a person. Guess I have a lot to learn.”
“It’d take months, maybe years, to unravel all of me,” I say with a grin. “There’s a lot to unpack, and I don’t particularly like talking about it.”
She flashes me a sweet smile and nods. “You’re so damn strong to be able to deal with everything so flawlessly. I get period cramps and am out for four days straight.”
I chuckle. “I know. I utilized those days to stay off my prosthetic and let the bottom of my residual limb heal.”
She tilts her head, and I know she’s going to have even more questions. Shit.
“I thought it was healed?”
“Consistently using a prosthesis can wear down the skin and even skilled amputees need breaks. It gets red and inflamed, and the skin can tear or bruise. Kinda depends on how bad the injury was in the first place, but I experience all of it if I don’t take time to let it repair itself.”
“You should’ve said something sooner. You know you could’ve taken days off that you needed if you were in pain or you needed to rest. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’re my responsibility, and I’m fiercely protective of you. If I didn’t show up one day and something happened to you, I’d live with even more guilt. I signed up for this knowing my schedule would be intense, and I’ve handled it just fine.”
“Considering I didn’t know about any of this until just now, I’d say you’re right, but going forward, don’t be too proud to let me know.”
“I suspect once your stalker is caught, you won’t need a bodyguard anymore.”
“Oh…” She frowns as if that just dawned on her. “I guess you’re right. But knowing my father, who knows. He sleeps better at night knowing I’m not alone in public.”