ineffablefandom 1A: Fall
He had Mick Jagger singing on the stereo. Words of wisdom, words he'd said many times before. "You can't always get what you want." He sneered at those words now., and straightened his back in defiance.
All he wanted was to walk. Normally. Without pain, without cane.
He tossed his cane to the couch, watched it roll to the crease where the pillows met the cushions. He closed his eyes, briefly, ad took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He had no reason to be nervous. He was just going to walk. He'd been walking all his life. His mother loved to tell the story about how he'd walked out of his bedroom when he was just ten months old. He'd climbed out of his crib and walked out into the family room of the apartment in Hamburg.
He'd let his pain stunt his steps for far too long. He knew well that he was missing the adductors and the quadceps in his thigh, and that was why he couldn't walk without his cane. He could take short, painful steps. He could move fast if he had to, if he was motivated, but he paid the price for it later. There was always a price to pay. His back hurt, his shoulder ached from leaning on the cane. The muscles that remained in his thigh tensed and cramped to the point of taking his breath away.
Behind him, Mick kept on singing. "You can't always get what you want, And if you try sometimes you find, You get what you need." Greg scrubbed both hands over his face. Dug at the ducts in the corner of his eyes. Pinched the bridge of his nose, then took a deep breath. He could do this. Walking was as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. Like riding a bike, something you could never really forget how to do.
He just had to...do it. He bent down to rub his thigh, relaxing what muscle was left. "You can do this, Greg," he muttered to himself, catching his own eye in the mirror above the fireplace. He looked...different somehow. Determined. Focused. Confidant. He could do this. One foot in front of the other. Easy.
He extended his right foot. So far so good. "And I went down to the demonstration, To get my fair share of abuse," Mick crooned.
As soon as his left foot moved off the floor, he knew he was going down. His leg was in mid swing, and the right leg just couldn't take the weight. His knee bent, he threw his arms out to try to catch himself, complete with a string of curses.
He caught himself on the seat of the nearest chair, so that he didn't hit the ground. Pain seized his thigh, jolted into his back. For a long moment he couldn't move at all. It took all his inner strength to force himself to move. He eased himself around and down to the chair. His right leg curled up reflexively, seeking relief from the constant and unabaiting throbbing that claimed his thigh. He gripped the knee with both hands and rocked himself forward, seeking any way he could to alleviate the pain.
Mick kept singing. He was aware of the song in the back of his mind, his lips moving with the words to try to distract himself. "I went down to the Chelsea drugstore, To get your prescription filled, I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy, And man, did he look pretty ill"
He wasn't sure how long he sat there cradling his leg. There was really no way to measure time when the whole world seemed to split open and all he could do was breathe through it. Finally recovering enough to think coherently, his mind flashed on his pills. He'd taken one before the experiment, but it wasn't enough. He needed more.
He fumbled with the bottle. The lid hung on the flap of material inside his pocket. His hands wouldn't stop shaking long enough to let him open the bottle once he got it free of his pocket. He took several deep breaths meant to calm him down. He only felt more frustrated. Unable to work the bottle, he threw it instead, s that it hit the wall and popped open from the force of impact. White pills rained down on the floor and scattered on the floor.
He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. Instead he slammed his fist against his thigh and howled with the shock of the pain. The tears that filled his eyes then were from the pain. His palm opened and his fingers curled around the throbbing muscle.
"You can't always get what you want, And if you try sometimes you find, You get what you need."
All he wanted was to walk. Normally. Without pain, without cane.
He tossed his cane to the couch, watched it roll to the crease where the pillows met the cushions. He closed his eyes, briefly, ad took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He had no reason to be nervous. He was just going to walk. He'd been walking all his life. His mother loved to tell the story about how he'd walked out of his bedroom when he was just ten months old. He'd climbed out of his crib and walked out into the family room of the apartment in Hamburg.
He'd let his pain stunt his steps for far too long. He knew well that he was missing the adductors and the quadceps in his thigh, and that was why he couldn't walk without his cane. He could take short, painful steps. He could move fast if he had to, if he was motivated, but he paid the price for it later. There was always a price to pay. His back hurt, his shoulder ached from leaning on the cane. The muscles that remained in his thigh tensed and cramped to the point of taking his breath away.
Behind him, Mick kept on singing. "You can't always get what you want, And if you try sometimes you find, You get what you need." Greg scrubbed both hands over his face. Dug at the ducts in the corner of his eyes. Pinched the bridge of his nose, then took a deep breath. He could do this. Walking was as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. Like riding a bike, something you could never really forget how to do.
He just had to...do it. He bent down to rub his thigh, relaxing what muscle was left. "You can do this, Greg," he muttered to himself, catching his own eye in the mirror above the fireplace. He looked...different somehow. Determined. Focused. Confidant. He could do this. One foot in front of the other. Easy.
He extended his right foot. So far so good. "And I went down to the demonstration, To get my fair share of abuse," Mick crooned.
As soon as his left foot moved off the floor, he knew he was going down. His leg was in mid swing, and the right leg just couldn't take the weight. His knee bent, he threw his arms out to try to catch himself, complete with a string of curses.
He caught himself on the seat of the nearest chair, so that he didn't hit the ground. Pain seized his thigh, jolted into his back. For a long moment he couldn't move at all. It took all his inner strength to force himself to move. He eased himself around and down to the chair. His right leg curled up reflexively, seeking relief from the constant and unabaiting throbbing that claimed his thigh. He gripped the knee with both hands and rocked himself forward, seeking any way he could to alleviate the pain.
Mick kept singing. He was aware of the song in the back of his mind, his lips moving with the words to try to distract himself. "I went down to the Chelsea drugstore, To get your prescription filled, I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy, And man, did he look pretty ill"
He wasn't sure how long he sat there cradling his leg. There was really no way to measure time when the whole world seemed to split open and all he could do was breathe through it. Finally recovering enough to think coherently, his mind flashed on his pills. He'd taken one before the experiment, but it wasn't enough. He needed more.
He fumbled with the bottle. The lid hung on the flap of material inside his pocket. His hands wouldn't stop shaking long enough to let him open the bottle once he got it free of his pocket. He took several deep breaths meant to calm him down. He only felt more frustrated. Unable to work the bottle, he threw it instead, s that it hit the wall and popped open from the force of impact. White pills rained down on the floor and scattered on the floor.
He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. Instead he slammed his fist against his thigh and howled with the shock of the pain. The tears that filled his eyes then were from the pain. His palm opened and his fingers curled around the throbbing muscle.
"You can't always get what you want, And if you try sometimes you find, You get what you need."