by L. J. Hamlin
"Should I not have asked?" Arkady asks, sitting sideways on the seat, then swinging his legs in carefully, the way Prisha taught him, before shutting the door.
"No, I asked first. It just hurts to talk about it. I was in love once, but she left me." Prisha sighs, starting the engine and pulling out of the space. She already knows where Arkady lives, so he won't have to direct her.
"She?" Arkady repeats. He hadn't realized Prisha was gay. She hadn't said anything when he told her, and he's surprised she didn't use the opportunity.
"Yes. I know I didn't tell you I was queer, but it's not easy. In my culture, women, we have certain roles: wives, mothers. I was lucky my parents were not as traditional, and they came to accept my sexuality. But my love, she couldn't come out. I hear she's married to a nice man, has kids, but I don't ask about her," Prisha says sadly as she drives.
"I'm sorry you couldn't stay with her, but I'm glad your parents didn't let the rules around them take from their love for you. My parents are Catholic. I don't talk to them about men, not since the first time they caught me making out with a boy." Arkady shivers at the memory.
He'd been so afraid that day. His parents had come home early. Arkady was supposed to be doing homework with a friend, and he had been, till playful wrestling had led to kissing. He'd been terrified of what his father would do to both of them. He might be a professor, but Arkady had seen him beat a man bloody in a fight, a man who called his mother a Catholic whore and tried to hit her. They'd sent the boy away, sat Arkady down, and asked if he was gay. He confirmed it. They just told him to be careful, that it could get him hurt.
"Maybe it was for the best. I was young, had hardly lived. I've done so much more, seen more. I may not be with her, but I believe in fate, and that it has a plan for me. Losing her broke my heart, but it was just a twist in my path," Prisha says with a faint smile, and Arkady wishes he had her faith.
He wants to believe everything happens for a reason, but he doesn't see the purpose of his accident, or why fate would take away all that he worked so hard for. But he can't deny his path has changed. He's on a new road, one that's totally unfamiliar to him, and it hurts to walk it. But looking at Prisha in the driver's seat, he has a feeling he's not going to be undertaking this new journey alone.
They chat about less serious things for the rest of the drive, and even though Arkady has been given pain medication today, his head feels a lot clearer, like they finally found something that lessens his pain without turning his brain to utter mush.
Prisha parks as close to his building as possible. "Tell me if I'm being pushy, but it'll be hard for you to get up to your apartment and carry your bag, so why don't I come up with you? You can concentrate on walking and getting used to moving around your apartment on crutches."
"You could come up for a coffee if you don't have plans. I find myself facing a lot of free time, and I might not be the best company, but you seem to not mind my grumpiness," Arkady replies.
"I'd love to come up for coffee." Prisha smiles.
Arkady has to carefully get out of the car, putting his crutches out first, and then swinging his legs out, which doesn't feel comfortable. He puts his right leg down, and he's so glad he's strong, because it takes a lot of muscle to pull yourself up onto one leg from a sitting position. He wobbles a little, but finally gets balanced on one leg and uses the crutches to start hopping.
"You're getting better at that! In a few weeks you'll be able to put your left leg down, and we'll start weaning you from the crutches and to a walking stick. You will see progress and less pain," Prisha says encouragingly, grabbing Arkady's bag and catching up with him quickly.
Arkady gives Prisha the code to let them in the building and then heads for the elevator. It's old and slow, but it would take Arkady much longer to go up the stairs right now, and it wouldn't be at all easy. They get out on his floor, and Arkady makes his way to his door. He has to lean against the wall and prop himself up so he can get a hand free to get his keys out. He's glad that Prisha lets him do it himself. Arkady is going to have to get used to things being more difficult. He won't always have another pair of hands to help. He needs to be able to unlock his own front door.
He almost head butts the door in the process of opening it when he stumbles, but he manages to get the door open and stay on his feet. He's sweating a little when he gets into his apartment, and makes his way to the couch and sits down, waving for Prisha to do the same. Everything is ever so slightly neater than when he had left it, but his mother had told him she'd cleaned, and Lou is still at his parents' place, as he can't risk getting his knee bumped while it's still healing.
"I like your place." Prisha smiles.
"Thank you. I'm glad I didn't have to move." Arkady had been greatly relieved by that. This place is home. It has his posters, his blankets hanging over the couch. He knows he could take most things with him somewhere else, but he likes how he's put it all together here.
"Is it okay if I make the coffee? You're doing well, but boiling water is pushing it." Prisha doesn't sugar coat things, and Arkady appreciates that. He doesn't want to be lied to or coddled like a child. So even though not being able to make coffee in his own home pisses him off, he nods, and Prisha heads to the open plan kitchen, which Arkady knows his mother, God bless her, has re-stocked.
Arkady remembers the last meal he made in that kitchen, the night after the party where he'd gotten into a fight. It seems like much longer than a few weeks ago. It feels like a lifetime ago really, and maybe it was. It was part of a different life, eating to keep his body fit for dance. He doesn't need to do that anymore, but Arkady isn't sure he'll be able to break the habit. He doesn't want to put on weight. He can't imagine how much harder it would be to hop around on his one good leg if he weighed more and wasn't as strong.
Prisha says he can still work out, go to the gym. He just has to be careful until he heals more and never push his knee too far, even once his knee heals as much as it's ever going to.
"How do you like your coffee?" Prisha asks.
"Black please, no milk or sugar, but I have both if you want them for yours," Arkady tells her.
"It was nice of your mother to get your place ready for you," Prisha says, finishing up the coffees and bringing them over, putting them on the coffee table. Arkady's noticed there's more of a gap between the couch and the table, like his mother moved it, knowing he'd need more room for his leg, and Arkady is touched.
His mother might not say she loves him often, but she shows it in little things. She doesn't just do things for appearances like some families. Like she knows only Arkady would see the changes to his apartment, the food in his kitchen. She did that just because she wanted to, because she loves him.
"She's a good mother. We're not an emotional family, but I know she cares," Arkady says.
"We don't always say I love you with words." Prisha sits down and gets comfortable. She looks at home in Arkady's place, and he finds himself hoping this won't be the last time he sees her here.
Chapter Five
Slowly, on two feet and two crutches, Arkady makes his way to the gym area, where he's had physical therapy for weeks. Prisha's waiting for him by a weight bench, and Arkady makes it past other people working out with their PT trainers.
"Morning, sunshine," Prisha says brightly as Arkady sits on the bench next to hers.
"Morning," Arkady replies. He's feeling sore already, and he hasn't even had his session.
"Not a good day, huh? Body or head?" Prisha asks. Being his friend and his therapist, she's been dealing with both. She knows that he doesn't just have bad days physically, but mentally, too.
"Someone I used to work with emailed a news article about me," Arkady admits.
"What did it say?" Prisha asks, moving his crutches away.
"The fall of a rising star. It was all about how I could have been world class, how I'd danced in several countries, but that an accident meant I'd never dance again. I bet Thomas told them
the story. He always thought getting in the papers was a good thing, especially if he could get paid for it. Well, now I know he was all about money." Arkady sighs as he moves so he's lying down on the bench because Prisha always starts by examining his legs to see if he's having pain or weakness anywhere. His right leg is working a lot harder than it used to, so it gets sore and tired, but the real pain is in his left leg.
"The more I hear about your manager, the more I wish him bad karma. I know it must be hard, but don't let it drag you down. You've been doing so well. I know a dozen people who would have just given up, and you haven't. I know you have bad days. I know life is far from perfect right now, but you're a fighter. Don't let one news story take the light you've kept alive in you," Prisha says firmly while she examines his leg.
"I think I need a distraction. I don't do very much apart from come here, train. Lou's home, but he's still being walked by a service. You said I could try a walking stick today. Maybe if I can get walking on that I can do something. I don't know what, but I'm going crazy." Arkady used to be so active. He never seemed to stop, performing in shows, training for them, working out, going to parties. He doesn't do any of that anymore.
He has dinner with his parents every two weeks at his parents' house, and Prisha comes over for coffee as often as work will allow, but he's not around many people. He doesn't know what to do. He has money, both his savings and a very reasonable settlement, but nothing he wants to spend it on. He's lost his purpose in life, and for the first month after he was injured, he'd had to fight just to get out of bed every morning. Some days, the pain was so bad he'd had to take his stronger pain meds, and they leave him useless.
Until recently, he was just holding on to life, trying to claw his way through pain and confusion, and his pain is still bad. It changes each day, but he feels different than when he'd first learned he'd never be able to dance again. He thinks that for a little while he'd given up on living life and had merely been surviving it. He thinks he might have days when he's ready to give up again, but today, today he feels like living.
"I have an idea. Someone you should talk to. He's a friend, Cade Bassin. He's an artist." Prisha smiles, bending his knees, checking the flexibility. His left knee is still a little stiffer than it should be, as well as hurting him.
"Is he gay?" Arkady asks. He's not sure he's ready for a date.
"Yes, but it's not a fix up. I just think he'd be a good influence on you. Push against my hand with your leg." Prisha puts her hand on top of his bad leg, and Arkady pushes up. It's painful and makes him feel slightly sick, but the first time he'd done it, he'd almost passed out, so he's improving.
"If he's some asshole with a perfect life, I'm not sure I want to meet him." Arkady sighs.
"Would I be friends with an asshole? No. He's a good guy. He's thirty, so older than you, but younger than my thirty-nine. He's disabled, has been since birth, but he's so positive about it," Prisha says, massaging some tension out of Arkady's calf.
"Disabled how?" Arkady's curious. He's met other patients at the physical therapy clinic, talked with some in the waiting room especially, and has realized they're normal people. He likes some of them, dislikes others, so he knows things could go either way with this friend of Prisha's.
"His right arm is totally paralyzed but feels phantom pain. The doctors could never work out why or do anything to fix it. He does PT to stop the muscles from wasting away. That's how I met him; he's a really sweet guy. I think you could use another friend, one who understand pain and life being more difficult," Prisha says.
"If you can get me using the walking stick today, I'll meet the guy. I don't really want to meet someone new while on crutches. I know it's not a date, and that I'm being vain, but I used to be the guy who walked into a room and everyone said how graceful I was. I feel like Frankenstein's monster, lumbering around uselessly," Arkady complains.
"Okay, then let's get to work," Prisha says cheerfully.
They do some exercises, and then Prisha gets out an adjustable walking stick. It's black, not the ugliest thing in the world, and Arkady reasons that at least black goes with everything. Prisha sorts out the height of the stick and then hands it over to Arkady.
He manages to stand up with it, and it feels more secure than when he'd stood on the crutches in the hospital for the first time, but that had been on one leg. At least he's on both now, even though one is weaker than it should be. Arkady has a moment of thinking of trying to do a lift like this. He would crumple to the ground and drop the person he was holding.
Arkady shakes away those thoughts and gets a good grip on the stick. Then, like Prisha tells him, he leads with his strong, right leg, then follows with the stick and his damaged leg. It's easier than he'd thought it'd be, and he takes a few practice steps. It's more comfortable than the crutches, which sometimes rub under his arms and make his shoulders ache. He's sore. If he uses it too much, it'll make his hand hurt, but he has strong hands, and he thinks he likes this better.
Prisha gets him to walk across the room a few times before getting out a set of fake steps, which he goes up and down. They're trickier than walking on the floor, but he can do it. He has to sit down afterwards, his leg needing a rest, but he feels like he's made progress, a good leap forward.
"So I'll arrange coffee with Cade and send you the details. I'll pick somewhere near your house. How are you at meeting new people?" Prisha asks.
"Not bad, I guess. I haven't really met anyone new, apart from you, since I got hurt. What have you told him about me?" Arkady's suddenly uncertain, and he's not used to that feeling. He used to be so confident. He didn't care if people stared because he knew he was handsome and reasonably famous.
"Cade knows about your accident, and that it forced you to give up dance. I told him you're a sweet guy who's a little lost. Cade's done a lot of art shows to promote disabled artists' works and to raise money for charity. I just think talking to him will be good for you," Prisha encourages.
"I'll do it, for you, if you think it's a good idea," Arkady agrees.
He gets to go home after that, and even though he's tired and just wants to lie down, the urge to shower the sweat off his skin is more pressing, so Arkady washes himself, leaning against the shower wall a little as his leg is sore, weak, and tired. Once he's out the shower and dry, he puts on loose pajama pants. He's no longer in bandages, and he doesn't like his scars on display.
Arkady sits on the couch, with his leg propped up in front of him. He's supposed to keep it elevated after using it a lot. Lou comes padding over slowly, sniffs at Arkady's knee, and then climbs up on the couch and puts his head in Arkady's lap. Lou seems to be more careful around him these days, like he's picking up on the fact that Arkady's in pain.
He's petting behind Lou's ears when he hears a text come through, and he picks up his phone. It's from Prisha. She wants him to meet her friend Cade in two days, on a Friday, in a coffee shop called The Leafy Bean, and Arkady feels that slight swirl of nervousness again.
*~*~*
Walking into the crowded coffee shop, Arkady feels sick and ready to run away. He's nervous, and this isn't even a date. He thinks about turning tail and hobbling away as fast as he can and apologizing to Prisha for standing her friend up. But his parents didn't raise a coward, and with their voices in his head, he looks for the corner table he was told to go to.
Arkady curses in Russian under his breath and gets a weird look from a passing waitress. Cade has caught him off guard. He's sitting down, but Arkady can tell he's tall and well-built. Cade has longish, curly, chestnut brown hair, big gorgeous brown eyes, and tanned skin. His golden skin, coloring and features suggest that he might be Jewish, and he has a mouth that Arkady just wants to kiss.
He takes the last few steps over to the table and clears his throat. Cade looks up from the book he's reading, some art book, which he puts down, smiling.
"You must be Arkady." Cade not only pronounces Arkady's name correctly, but he stands and pushes
a chair out for Arkady. He uses one hand, his left, and Arkady realizes that most people wouldn't even notice that Cade's disabled. He's wearing a purple sweater with long sleeves, and his hand looks like any other hand, broad, tanned, but without calluses, and Cade doesn't move it at all.
"Yes, I'm Arkady. You are Prisha's friend?" Arkady asks, taking the seat and watching as Cade sits back down. He really is a handsome man. Arkady wonders what his parents would think if this were a date. They're Catholic, but Arkady himself isn't really. He even got out of going to church growing up because training was more important. He doesn't care if Cade is Jewish, but he wonders if his parents would, and if it'll come to telling them. He might never see Cade more than once.
"That I am. Name's Cade, though I think you already know that. She had a lot of good things to say about you." Cade smiles.
A waitress comes over, and Arkady has to move his stick to stop it being knocked over. Other than that, she's polite as she takes Arkady's order for a coffee and Cade's for another cinnamon tea.
"She has probably been kinder than I deserve," Arkady admits.
"I don't know about that. Prisha is a very honest woman." Cade smiles again. He has this easy relaxed smile. He seems so comfortable in his own skin. Arkady doesn't think he was ever quite that laid back, even before he hated part of his own body.
"Have you known her long?" Arkady asks. He feels like talking about Prisha is a safe subject. He's not sure he wants to talk about himself quite yet. Arkady used to be better with strangers. He had to be, travelling all over for work, but since the accident, he's felt… shy doesn't seem to fit, but it's close. He doesn't want people to look at him and only see his limp and stick. Surely he's more than his injury.