DANCING ON MY OWN (Charlie Puth)

T W E N T Y T W O

"Come on Mia, you got this!" Charlie cheers enthusiastically from beside me.

"I can't do it!" I whine at Charlie and the physical therapist.

"Yes you can, just try." Charlie scolds my negative attitude.

I'm currently strapped into this weird safety vest thing, my feet are touching the floor but no weight is being put on my legs. In order to 'walk', all I have to do is move my legs. It's basic muscle memory, but my muscles can't seem to remember how to do the most basic of things.

The past few weeks, we've been preparing to do this. We started with wiggling my toes and went to learning to move my ankles, to bending my knees and then lifting my legs up by myself. It sounds simple really, and after practicing it religiously, I was able to master the simple exercises. But now that I must put them all together, to make the simple movement of walking, it's damn near impossible.

I give it my best shot, but it's not happening like it's supposed to. I put every ounce of focus into this simple exercise, but I can't do it. I grow increasingly frustrated, and at this point my still healing muscles grow tired.

"I can't do it anymore." I sigh as I let my legs go limp.

"You did good, you really did." The therapist tries to reassure me, but I know it's not good enough. It's not good enough for me, anyway.

Charlie helps undo my straps, and then takes it upon himself to lift me, bridal style, and put me back in my chair. I give a small smile as a thank you, and then fall back into my pity party.

Charlie talks to the therapist for me after realizing that I'm too busy being a crybaby to bother with conversation. It's near the end of January, and I have been improving for the past month, but I'm afraid it's not enough progress. Shouldn't I be able to do more than this by now?

All of my doctors act like they're impressed by my accomplishments, but I can't help but feel like I'm moving too slowly.

Charlie wheels me out to the car, careful to avoid any snow or icy patches in the parking lot. He hasn't spoken to me yet, probably testing the waters on how upset I am. We haven't hardly fought at all since my apology. I've snapped at him a few times, but immediately apologized afterwards. Thankfully, he forgives me each time.

As soon as I'm in the car with my seatbelt buckled in, and Charlie loading my chair into the trunk, I start crying.

Charlie's face softens as soon as he opens the door to see me wiping my tears.

"What's wrong?"

"Stupid fucking legs." I complain.

"Hey, you're doing good. You're making a lot of progress. Just be patient and keep doing what your doing." He grabs my hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb as he throws the car in reverse and backs out. It feels kind of nice to hold Charlie's hand, it's also very soothing, which helps me calm down off of my pity party.

We don't speak a lot on the way home, but we do hold hands for the whole drive there. Charlie hums and sings softly with whatever plays on the radio, and as for me, I stare at him the whole time. Not on purpose, I didn't even realize I was doing it until we pulled in the driveway. Something about him just entrances me, maybe because his face his so damn beautiful.

"Need a nap?" He snaps me out of my trance.

"Huh?" God I hope he didn't catch me staring.

"Are you tired? Ya know, from therapy?" He chuckles as he makes his way around the car to get me out.

"Yeah, I could use a nap." I finally answer. Therapy really does wear me out, considering I haven't been able to be very active for the past two months.