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Nicola stepped carefully into the weight room behind her client’s brother. She heard a short conversation between her client and his brother while she memorized her surroundings. She hoped that he had equipment that would be of use to her planned therapy. She found herself amazed at her client’s exercise room. It had almost every single piece of equipment that would be of use to her program. She could only dream of owning this much equipment for toning and building muscle tone! The other half of the exercise room also contained relaxing items like a Jacuzzi, sauna, and massage table. The farthest wall was made completely of glass with her client’s Olympic size pool sitting right outside. The pool led directly into the exercise room by swimming beneath the glass wall.

Nicola was stunned into silence as her client’s brother ushered her forward to her client and immediately left the room. She glanced back to see the door shut quickly. She was finally alone with her client, but she had never spoken to him before. Usually, she would call to confirm her appointment with clients so she could at least familiarize herself with their voices. However, she had not been given that privilege. Nicola noted a hunched shadow sitting among the equipment, which had yet to welcome her to his home or greet her with a simple hello. Out of initiative, Nicola stepped forward awkwardly, unprepared for what the shadows contained.

“Hello? Mr. Dorough?” Nicola called into the shadows of the room. She sighed with relief as her client finally rolled into the light. Nicola was thankful that he held no visible scars of his accident, but she could already see the signs of depression sinking into his soul. His dark curls lay in a messy heap against his forehead. The thick and tangle curls set off a haunted expression in his murky brown eyes. His strong shoulders sagging forward in deep agony as he braced his obviously aching arms against the pads of the wheelchair’s arms. The heavy dark bags of worry and narcissism were settling beneath his tired eyes. He looked physically strong and as if there were no flaw in his abilities, but he looked emotionally sick. Nicola admitted to her heart that he was handsome, but extremely disturbed. She knew that she had a lot of work to prepare for. “Mr. Dorough?”

“Yes, that’s me,” the man finally answered.

“I would hope so. It’s good to meet you. I’m Nicola Tilley. Dr. Jacobs’s office sent me over for your physical therapy,” Nicola explained, sitting down on the bench press near his wheelchair. She recalled his mother saying that this was one of the first times Howie had ever willfully gotten into his wheelchair. Nicola removed her sweatshirt in preparation for warming up, revealing a tight white tank top beneath. She watched as Howie finally glanced up at her, almost instantly allured by her physical features. Nicola ignored his precious stares and continued with her normal speech. “You can use my first name, Nicola, if you would like.”

“You can call me Howie, but it doesn’t really matter at this point,” he announced.

The blunt statement immediately crashed against Nicola without preparation. She leaned forward, unable to understand what he was implying. She smiled uncertainly. “Why wouldn’t it matter, Howie?” she asked.

“You should already know.”

“Know what?”

“Why I won’t be needing your services after today,” he stiffly replied, leaning forward in his wheelchair. His back ached with pain. The disks caused discomfort every waking hour. His legs were numb, which prevented him from feeling the pain of two broken femurs. He ran his right hand through his messy locks, somewhat annoyed at Nicola’s foolishness.

“Why won’t you be needing my services? Dr. Jacobs scheduled me to your therapy for several months””

“I DON’T NEED THERAPY!” Howie finally exploded, unable to hand the stupidity any longer.
Nicola’s mouth hung ajar at his angered words. She sighed with regret, knowing that Howie was probably still dealing with the denial stage of his trauma. It was impossible to reach patients still suffering with denial. Nicola sighed in grief, this would be a difficult case for her to work, but she was up to the challenge.

“Howie, why don’t you think you need therapy?” she asked calmly, hoping to break through Howie’s bitterness and resentment.

“Have you even stopped to take a good look at me, Nicola?” Howie sneered, pointing toward his useless legs. “Or are you as blind as the rest of those idiots? If you haven’t noticed, I’m a DAMN CRIPPLE! I’ll never walk again according to all those overpaid quacks! I’ve gone to every God-awful hospital in search of another answer. But, Hell, all the answers careened back to the obvious answer. I’LL NEVER WALK AGAIN! Why would I do therapy when we know the truth? Therapy can make others better, but it’s not for permanent cripples. Therapy is useless to someone like me! So, please see yourself to the door before I become any more angered at the situation. I am hopeless and helpless!”

Nicola allowed Howie’s hateful words to hang in the air while she stared at him. She knew that the bitterness had take hold of whatever Howie had left in his broken soul. She understood why Howie reacted the way he did, but she was still angered. He reminded her of someone from her own jaded past. She refused to be sucked back into her painful memories. She had already dealt with each issue, suppressing the emotions that had labeled her immobile for several months. She would forget again.

Nicola tugged at her stray curl, struggling to control her own temper. She glanced at him and then leaned forward again, composing her words. “Would you like my opinion?” she finally asked.

“Do I really have a choice?” he grumbled.

“No, not when you act like a two-year-old.”

“Then, yes, I would love your opinion,” he announced sarcastically.

“I did plenty of research before I attempted to come to your house on my gracious terms. I have looked into your file and it’s very said to see that your talents on stage have crashed, but it’s not the end of your life. Physical and occupational therapy can help you get on with your life. These therapies teach your muscles to become strong and allow you to do normal activities in a unique way. As for not needing it, you couldn’t be more wrong. Without therapy, you won’t be able to even lift yourself off your wheelchair. You will become totally disabled and weak. The muscles in your legs will shrivel up and waste away from a lack of use, we call that atrophy. Not to mention the long periods of sitting in one position will cause your skin to deteriorate and die. Have you ever heard of bedsores? And if they become infected, God help you, because amputation in sometimes the only curse. And if you don’t use the muscles in your arms, the same will happen to them. You will become stiff and unable to move at all. Then you’ll really be damned.”

Howie fell silent from Nicola’s calm and threatening words. He refused to dignify her pressures with answers, although he became somewhat nervous over the nasty words. However, it seemed to Nicola that a stubborn streak had exploded against her words. She knew that she had lost the battle for the day. Nicola sighed with defeat, reaching down to pull her sweatshirt back on. There would be no therapy today. She didn’t know what else to really do for him, knowing that she had probably blown all the communications between them. She quickly heaved her duffle bag onto her shoulder, glancing to see Howie staring at her.

“Did you want to say something?” Nicola asked somewhat hopefully.

Howie held his silent tongue.

Nicola groaned. “You know, you don’t have to have therapy. However, I did tell you the consequences if you choose not to have therapy. I was not lying about those things, no matter what you think. You have the number to Dr. Jacobs’s office if you would like to cancel therapy, but your family has my number. If you decide that you really do need therapy, please don’t hesitate to call me,” Nicola explained softly, glancing at Howie for some sort of response. However, he gave none. Nicola shrugged her shoulders, walking out of the room without looking back. When the door closed, the sunshine from the windows seemed to evaporate beneath the dark clouds, leaving Howie to remorse alone.