Double Take
Chapter 8
“This is more than an experience in the shadows of sleep.”
—Richard Bunning, Another Space in Time
BY THE TIME Mom got home, Francie was sitting demurely beside my head reading some ancient short story by Willa Cather for my freshman English class assignment.
“Francie, it’s so nice that you come by to help with Jakey’s homework a couple of times a week. I’m sure it’s helping him,” Mom said. Oh, yeah. It helps.
“I don’t mind at all, Mrs. H. Emily and I are planning to go over our history notes later and this was just a nice stop-over. I remember this story from when I was a freshman.”
“Well, you’ll stay for dinner and to help celebrate with the birthday boy, I hope.”
“Yeah. Um… I’ll step out to Em’s room and give you privacy to get Jacob up.” When she got behind Mom’s back she grinned at me and winked. Yeah. Like Mom was going to uncover anything Francie hadn’t seen and had in her mouth an hour ago. But what the hell. If she wasn’t in the room, I was less likely to get a boner while Mom held the bed urinal for me.
The birthday celebration was good. It would be even better Friday when I was supposed to get my casts off. I was relieved to see that V2 had good taste as Mom served German chocolate birthday cake—my favorite. Em and Francie had a bit of a contest to see who could shove the most cake into—or onto—my face.
“So, Jake, what’s your birthday statement for the year,” Dad said. He pulled out his iPhone and clicked it to record like he was some television reporter. A birthday statement? Oh, yeah. That was a V2 tradition. Every birthday, Dad recorded a statement from us on what we expected from the next year.
“Oh. Um… I guess…” I looked around at my family and they all looked a little worried about what I’d say. Francie and Em reached under the table to squeeze my leg. “I guess everyone should know that I’ve decided to live. That… That’s all.” Mom looked relieved. Em and Pey smiled at me. Dad nodded. Francie let her hand drift north from my leg and gave another part of me a squeeze.
Dad clicked off his recorder. “Good, now, let’s look at some birthday gifts!”
I was relieved that the birthday presents weren’t elaborate. I didn’t have enough experience with my new family to be able to respond appropriately to lavish gifts. Pey gave me a gift card for iTunes with a cute card showing the picture of a girl and her puppy. It said, “You’re my favorite.” I had to wonder what the actual intent of the artist had been for that card. I grinned as I thought it must mean I was her puppy. Em gave me a card, too. It had one of those all-purpose brother-sister themes that talks about how much they fight but still love each other. I smiled at her. She’d shown me she still loves me. The gift card enclosed was for Amazon and her signature said, “Read lots!” I’d get some books I actually paid for on my Kindle. Cool.
Mom and Dad gave me a backpack. Special anti-theft backpack. They said it would be useful for school. Okay. Then they handed me one more box that blew the non-elaborate concept away. It was a quadcopter drone. I had to read the box while Em held it up for me before I figured out what it was. It had a camera and you could operate it with your phone. I could think of all kinds of ways I could get in trouble with this. Several involved girls lying out naked in their back yards. I wondered if I knew any.
“I didn’t bring a gift,” Francie said.
“That’s okay.”
“Maybe I could give you your very first fifteen-year-old kiss,” she said brightly. Before anyone could say anything, she leaned over and had her lips plastered against mine. It wasn’t passionate, but still got a touch of tongues in it. Hell, she’d given me my very first fifteen-year-old kiss and blowjob a few hours ago and had her tongue in my mouth searching for cavities while she rubbed her naked tits against my chest. Em started the applause and was quickly joined by Pey. Mom and Dad didn’t start clapping until Francie sat back down. If the heat in my face was any indication, I was beet red.
I was going to find some way to pay Francie back for that.
Molly had me in appropriate magnetic catch clothes and seated in my chair when Dad rolled in at noon. He was taking half a day off to get me to the doctor’s office for my appointment. I was looking forward to standing up for myself. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen today.
The arm casts came off first. I tried to lift my arm as soon as the doctor got the cast off and nothing happened.
“Whoa there. We’ll work up to movement a little at a time. Molly is going to be helping you for another few weeks.”
“My arm feels like jelly.”
“Use those muscles you’ve been strengthening the past few weeks. Lift from the shoulders.” I followed her instructions and my arm lifted. The doctor had her hands under my elbow and wrist, though, so I wasn’t sure how much I was really doing.
“Okay. Let me do the work now and see how your joints are holding up,” she said. Oh, shit! She lifted and straightened my arm, bent it at the elbow, and rotated the shoulder. It hurt. Muscles that hadn’t moved in two months were being stretched and compressed. When she laid my arm on the table beside me, it wanted to curl up on my stomach of its own accord. “Let’s rest that one while we get the other cast off. Don’t try to move it, but you can flex your fingers in order to help the blood start circulating.”
That was a good idea since my whole arm was tingling like it had fallen asleep. Molly handed me my rubber ball and I started squeezing it while the doctor got the other cast off. More of the same. I found I was sweating by the time both arms were stretched out on the table beside me. Then it was the leg. She did a few movements with my leg, mostly to get the cast out from under it and see if the knee would bend. Then my table was rolled into an x-ray room.
The x-ray tech was nowhere near as gentle and cautious as the doctor. He pulled my right arm out to the side straight, heedless of my cry. He set up the film and stepped out of the room. I heard the whir and click, then he was back to put me through the same torture on the other side.
“Jesus! Are you late for your lunch break? That hurts.”
“Ah, it’s just your muscles being stretched a little. Now roll to your left a little so I can get a different angle on the leg.”
“I can’t roll.”
“Oh, crap. You kids these days are such babies.” He pushed my shoulder and butt to the left and shoved a pillow under them. Then he spread my legs so he could get film where he wanted it. All the time he kept yammering. “When I was a teen, I broke my arm and had it in a cast for three months. A month after it was free, I pitched a no-hitter for my baseball team. You just need a better attitude. Determination. People aren’t going to treat you like you’re fragile just because you’ve had a couple of broken bones.”
What a fucker. I tried to estimate his age. My V1 brain was trying to tell me this was just a kid like all the smartass caregivers at the nursing home. My V2 eyes were telling me he was an old man—even older than my parents. If this was what old people were like in my V3 timeline, I was going to have problems with them.
Was I ever like that?
My doctor, on the other hand, was a total fox. When I was back in the examination room, she looked at the film and then prodded each of my limbs gently. There was nothing sexual about the way she treated me. She just looked good and when she prodded at my leg, I responded with a centerfield salute. I thought I saw her smile a little and shake her head, but she didn’t say anything.
“Well, Jacob, it looks good. The bones have knitted together firmly. The pin in your leg is strengthening that break—though you might feel it as a bit of an ache when weather changes. That will go away. The big challenge for you now is getting your muscles back in condition so you can function as the lively teen you are and want to be. That’s going to involve even more physical therapy work than Molly has been putting you through daily.”
“More?” I squeaked.
“Jacob, your body went through a severe trauma. You’ve experienced some of the places that have been painful or uncomfortable over the past few weeks. The torso twisting exercises, for example, have been designed to keep scar tissue from building up around the cracked ribs. The shoulder, pelvic, and abdominal exercises are going to make it possible for you to compensate for weaknesses as you recover the strength in your arms and legs. I won’t lie to you. Some of the therapy you’ll have is going to be painful. And some of it will be pleasurable.”
“Pleasurable?”
“Part of the therapy will include massage. Specifically, Molly will work on your injured arms and leg, but the physical therapy is going to stress your back and your uninjured leg as well. Massage of tight sore muscles is definitely pleasurable.” Her words set visions of what I’d like Molly to massage for me. The doctor saw my response and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Some things you’ll be able to massage for yourself. Think of it as exercise that feels good.”
I know I blushed again. The doctor left to go talk to Dad about how things should progress and Molly got me dressed. She brought regular sweatpants and helped me pull them on. It was a weird feeling to have something covering my legs. And weirder still to sit on the edge of the table with my leg hanging down instead of straight out while she got a baggy hoodie on me.
“There. Now you look like every other gangsta in the neighb,” she said. “You know what we’re going to work on next?”
“Getting my arms in the sleeves without killing me?” I pled.
“That’ll come. First thing is we’re going to work on getting you to wipe your own butt. And to get to and from the bathroom. You’re done wearing diapers, boyo.”
“I’m looking forward to that. I’d like to think that some parts of my body will be private again.”
I still had to use my wheelchair, but my leg didn’t stick out and I could reach the hand control knob instead of pushing the control lever with my chin. We got home and Molly said she’d see me Monday. I experimented with maneuvering my chair around with the hand control and smaller turning radius. Managed to get into my bedroom, get turned around, and get out of it again. I didn’t attempt to get myself into bed, even though I was tired.
Dad helped me get to the bathroom for the first time in weeks. New grab bars had been installed. I looked longingly at the shower, but Dad said that would have to wait until I was either strong enough to stand up by myself or had a girlfriend who’d go in there and hold me up. He laughed at that. I thought of Francie.
Well, she wasn’t my girlfriend. But I really liked her. And she gave great head. My fingers twitched. Next time, I was going to be able to raise my hands enough to squeeze those tits I’d sucked on and get a finger in that juicy twat. Oh, yeah.
I was in the living room napping in front of the TV with Dad when Em and Francie came in.
“Look at you!” Em squealed. “No ramrod sticking out in front.” She hugged me and I managed to lift my arm to her waist. “You can hug back!”
“It’s pretty weak,” I said. “I’ve got feeling back, though, and I’ve been working my fingers on my exercise ball all day. I’ll be able to give you a real hug soon.”
Francie bumped Em out of the way and bent to give me a hug, too. She glanced over at my Dad in the other chair and whispered in my ear.
“Looks like we can’t have fun time this afternoon. I’ll come over Monday. Can you last that long?” I raised the hand that was opposite where Dad could see and managed to get it to her breast.
“I plan to be a little more participative when you get here,” I grinned.
“Oh, yeah!”
The girls disappeared into Em’s room and I went back to napping in my chair until dinner.
That was another experience. I could get both legs under the table and sit facing it. I looked at the plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas that was set in front of me. Some things hadn’t changed in this lifetime. Mom had a fairly limited repertoire of recipes she cooked. This was one of her specialties and one of my favorites. But the silverware seemed impossibly far away. I got my fork in hand. It was heavy. I thought I should ask for a plastic fork like they used to feed us in the home. The staff didn’t wash dishes unless they had to.
I attacked the mashed potatoes first. I leaned so far toward the table to get the fork to my mouth that I almost put my face in my plate. Gravy dribbled down my chin. I sat back in frustration. Em grabbed my napkin and wiped up the mess.
“The new instructions said we have to let you try to do everything by yourself,” Dad said. “Then we can help you use the right muscles to do it with you. Em?”
My sister looked at me with a grin and took hold of my fork.
“Now, J,” she said in a voice that was a combination of condescending and little girl. “Here’s how you hold your fork. You cut your meat with the edge and stab it. Then just point it at your mouth. Here comes the airplane. Open the hangar wide!” She held my hand to help cut the meatloaf and guided it to my mouth, but I had to keep hold of the fork. I almost spit it out when we all started laughing.
“Thank you, Mommy-Em,” I said in my best little boy voice. “May I have some peas, please?” Pey got right in on the action and took my right hand. She guided it to the spoon which I managed to grip. I was thankful that my finger muscles were working fine, thanks to the therapy Molly had me working on the past few weeks. Pey helped me scoop up a spoonful of peas and guided them to my mouth. We only lost a couple.
It was Friday night. Em was out on a date. Pey and I played a game of Parcheesi and I moved the pieces without help. I was pretty proud of myself. I couldn’t quite manage the bathroom by myself, but I could hold my own bed urinal and then dump it in the toilet. I even managed to brush my teeth, though the electric toothbrush felt very heavy by the time the two minutes were up. I was determined to do as much for myself as possible, but eventually, Dad gave me a boost into bed.
I lay there in the semi-dark thinking about life and my body. I raised my arms and held them up for almost a minute before I let them drop back to the bed. I tried rolling onto my side and managed pretty well. That had always been my favorite sleeping position and the last few months on my back sucked. I even experimentally reached for my dick and felt it respond to my touch. I glanced at the table by my bed and wondered how long I’d had a box of tissues and a bottle of hand lotion there. I bet Em left it for me. I managed to reach both and started stroking. I let my eyes drift closed and imagined Francie’s warm mouth closing over my cock while I breathed in her scent and tasted her oil.
I didn’t mean to go any further but a stray thought crossed my mind and I wondered if Em smelled and tasted like Francie did. I’d had her lips over my cock once, too. I suddenly erupted, thinking of eating my sister while she sucked me off. I mopped myself up as I caught my breath and was thankful there was a wastebasket next to my bed, too.
I curled onto my side and dropped off to sleep.
Pressure. It was like being wrapped in a blanket or elastic bandage that just kept pressing tighter and tighter against my skin. There was no air to breathe—not that my lungs had room to expand. There was no sound, my ears filled with cotton. I screamed. Nothing came out of my mouth. The darkness was absolute, even the normal sparks behind my eyelids were gone.
“It’s a dream, J. Wake up, baby. I have you. I won’t let you go. Wake up, J. It’s just a dream.”
My eyes flashed open but I was rigid as a board. I could see by the nightlight that Em was leaning over me, stroking my head. I felt her hand in mine.
“Em…” I tightened my grip.
“I won’t let go of you. I’m here. I’ll never let you go.”
I thought the nightmares would end once the casts were off. My arms and leg were no longer immobilized in the hard casings. I was free. But the dream—my nightmare—was more terrifying than dying had been.
“What happened, Em? Why do I have nightmares?”
“It was just a dream, baby. They come and go but it’s just a dream.”
I took a long shuddering breath and finally felt my body relax. I’d been flat on my back and stiff. I rolled toward Em and put my arm around her. I didn’t have the strength to hug her hard but I pressed my face against her and she didn’t object to pillowing me on her breast. I felt the soft cotton of her nightshirt and held her as tightly as I could manage.
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