“You going to talk to me or just scowl at me?” Adam doesn’t even look up from his phone.
“Talk about what? How you threw me under the bus with my doctor? Dragged me into this place?” My teeth are clenched. Adam puts his phone down to look me right in the eyes.
“You don’t need the wheelchair. You are capable of walking but refuse to do it. You live in the study of our childhood house because you won’t go up to your bedroom or move out. You need to live your life or you’re going to waste your life.” Darren brings our food to us and promptly leaves.
“What if I don’t want to?” I mutter into my burger as I take a bite.
“Then you better change that way of thinking. You are alive and healthy. I don’t know what happened over there and if you’ll ever be whole again but,” Adam moves his hands, so I have to stare at him, “you came back to us. There is so much guilt in your eyes for being alive, but I thank God every day you came back to us. I couldn’t live without my little sister.” I wipe the tears falling as I push the plate away from me.
“I’m going to the bathroom.” I stumble to get out of the booth. I look around to see everyone staring at me. I grab the crutches to help steady me as I walk. It takes me longer to get there because I’m hurting pretty bad. This takes a lot out of me. I’m winded by the time I open the bathroom door of the bar. I lean against the door as it closes trying to slow my breathing down. I can feel the panic attack coming on. The room is spinning, can’t catch my breath, hurt, being squeezed. The last thing I remember is the floor catching me as I close my eyes.
Opening my eyes, I sit straight up, calling for help as I don’t know where I am or how I got here.
“Mia, look at me. It’s Darren. You’re in my apartment above the bar. My assistant manager, Michelle, found you passed out on the bathroom floor.” Darren’s voice comes through my screams.
“How did I get up here?” I’m so confused and scared.
“Michelle, my assistant manager, found you on the floor of the bathroom. She called me on the phone to discreetly have me get Adam. She took care of you until we got there. There’s an entrance in the back to the apartment. No one saw me carrying you out so no need to be embarrassed, okay?” Too late I think to myself. “Adam went to get your stuff from the bar so you can leave from here.”
“I got winded walking to the bathroom. The panic set in when I saw my reflection then hello panic attack. Face meet floor.” I try to smile but I can’t even fake it.
“Why would looking in the mirror do that to you?” Darren was sweet but I know he knows.
“Have you seen my face?” I sarcastically respond. Darren stares at me without blinking. I turn my neck to the left to expose the burns. They are from my cheek down to my shoulder. I suffered third degree burns so my skin looks like leather if it was scaled. There are parts of my skin that are a unicorn white or a firetruck engine red. I can’t feel my face. The third-degree burns left my nerves, tendons, and muscles destroyed. I scare young kids which I don’t blame them, but adults would cross the street if they saw me, so I started staying home. I already feel bad about myself, why let other people make me feel this way as well. “Now that you’ve seen them up close and personal, you can go run and hide now.” I cover my face.
“No.” Darren moves my hair out of my face. “You be proud of those scars.” I scoff at him.
“I can’t. People actually run away from me.”
“They are the cowards. Fuck them. Why are you always hiding yourself?” I rub my left leg as it’s starting to hurt. I’m not used to wearing the prosthetic so long.
“I can’t remember what happened to me. Why am I alive and the others died?” I cry into Darren’s shoulder. I talk about this with my therapist, but my family can never know that I wished I had died over there with my unit, my friends, instead of living the life I am now.
“Let it out. You need to cry, vent, or whatever you do it but don’t ever wish you were dead. Your life has meaning. You were spared for a reason. We may never know why but it was for something, something great.” Darren’s expression was serious. I swallow hard. Could he be right?
“Something great?” I chuckle through the tears and snot running down my face. Darren hands me a t-shirt that was laying on the bed. He reassures me it was only worn once; he thinks.
“Do you still cook a mean burger?” I wrinkle my nose at the odd question. “I lost a cook and Gordon needs his time off.” Darren smiles that big toothy smile that melts my heart and makes it hard to tell him no.
“You want me to cook?”
“Oh, I forgot to ask, does fire trigger flashbacks?” Darren seems serious about the job offer and concerned about my mental health. I start to chuckle. This can’t be real. He’s not serious, is he?
“I’m sorry but is cooking for a bar beneath the great Mia Edwards?” Darren bows down like I’m a queen or something regal then gets off the bed. I notice the smirk on his face in the reflection of the television screen. “Rest up and Adam will take you home.”
“I can’t stand on my legs for long periods of time. I’ve been ducking my therapy appointments,” I blurt out.
“Okay.
