Steffie... 2.0 Chapter 5

 Steffie... 2.0

Chapter 5

The red sling cradled my arm, matching the full-length red cast that stretched from my hand to above my elbow. The vibrant color stood out against the black cocktail dress I had chosen for the evening. My high heels clicked softly against the polished floor, their red soles a subtle nod to the bold lipstick that painted my smile. The glasses perched on my nose added a sophisticated edge. Despite the constraint of my broken arm 6 weeks ago, I felt powerful, poised like a vision of a persona from my stories.

Ethan walked beside me, his presence steady and reassuring, yet his eyes constantly flickered toward me as if I were a masterpiece in motion. The local art gallery buzzed with quiet conversation and the hum of appreciation for the exhibits.

That's when I saw her, lovely Celeste. She stood near a sculpture, her pink cast catching the light. She leaned on forearm crutches with practised ease. Her bright pink cast, covering her right leg from her toes to mid-thigh, seemed to be more than just a medical necessity; it was a statement.

I approached her. Ethan trailed behind, intrigued but silent. Celeste's smile was warm, her gaze direct.

"You wear it beautifully "I said, nodding toward her cast.

She chuckled, her voice low and smooth, moving closer on her crutches. "And you wear yours just as well. Though I imagine we're drawing different kinds of attention tonight."

I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the murmur of the gallery. "You could say that. Is yours...?" I gestured vaguely, unsure how to frame the question.

"For the sake of my art," she said with a knowing smile. "The exhibition is called Finding Beauty in Limitation and injuries. I've been exploring the tension between vulnerability and strength."

It felt like she had reached into my thoughts and pulled out the essence of what I had been feeling for so long. "A kindred spirit," I murmured, more to myself than to her.

We walked or in her case, crutched through the gallery together. The pieces on display were a mix of the abstract and the tangible. One painting, of deep reds and blacks, weight and restraint system attached to a broken leg in a hospital bed. A nearby sculpture, a delicate and petite college cheerleader leaning on underarm crutches and her right leg in a 70's plaster cast, fragility made beautiful.

Celeste paused beside a large wall size photograph: an image of me, I was 19. In the picture, I was seated in a sleek wheelchair, both legs in pristine white long leg casts, my left arm also in a matching cast. A lovely and soft smile lit up my face, contrasting the seriousness of the casts and injuries, as I posed in a lovely summer dress. Light socks covered the foot portions of my casts, adding a gentle, almost a sensual touch to the scene. The photograph was a curious blend of fragility and resilience, vulnerability and elegance.

"That one's mine," Celeste said softly, her voice tinged with pride. "Captured in a moment that redefines beauty in my mind. She was a muse who shows that limitation is its own kind of freedom."

Ethan froze, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the image. His gaze darted from the photograph to me, his expression a mix of surprise and something deeper, something he hadn't yet put into words.

"It's... breathtaking," He managed, barely above a whisper.

Celeste turned to me on her crutches, her smile growing. "Yes she was," she said, her eyes dancing with a knowing glimmer as they flicked to the red cast supporting my arm.

Ethan stepped closer, his expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed a torrent of sentimental and sexual thoughts. "That's you," he said softly, his voice laced with awe.

"It is," I confirmed, still captivated by the image, as if seeing myself for the first time through someone else's lens.

Celeste turned her attention to Ethan, her greeting warm but her gaze curious. "She's an extraordinary muse," she said. "Don't you think?"

Ethan nodded, his hand brushing my broken arm in a silent affirmation. For a moment, the three of us stood there, united by an unspoken understanding, a shared recognition of the beauty found in unexpected places, in moments of vulnerability transformed into something undeniably powerful.

Together, we continued to explore the exhibit, my photo lingering in the back of my mind. The journey through the art felt different now, richer, as if the image had opened a door to something new, something unspoken yet profound.

The next morning I was wearing a pair of fitted jeans, a soft white T-shirt, red lipstick and glasses that provided the finishing touch. Ethan insisted on driving me to the hospital, and as we pulled into the parking lot, he gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

Inside the hospital, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the low hum of activity greeted us. I checked in at the orthopaedic wing and took a seat in the waiting area, the cast resting awkwardly on my lap. Ethan sat beside me, tapping his fingers lightly on the armrest of his chair.

Moments later, a nurse called my name. I stood, adjusting the sling, and flashed Ethan a reassuring smile. "Be right back."

The removal room was bright, clinical, and bustling with activity. The nurse, a friendly woman named Carla with short curls and a warm smile, gestured for me to sit.

"This shouldn't take too long," she said, inspecting the cast. "Looks like it's held up well. Any discomfort I should know about?"

"Just the usual stiffness," I replied.

She nodded, retrieving a small circular saw. "You've done this before, I'm sure, but let me know if anything feels off."

As the blade hummed to life, I watched Carla work with practised precision, carefully cutting along the edges of the cast. The vibration travelled through my arm, a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. Bit by bit, the fiberglass shell that had been a part of me for weeks came away, revealing my arm beneath, pale, slightly stiff, but whole. I flexed my fingers gingerly, wincing slightly at the stiffness.

"Take it slow, and if you feel any pain, stop and rest. You'll be back to normal in no time."

I thanked her and made my way back to Ethan, who stood as soon as he saw me. His gaze fell to my now bare arm, and he grinned.

"Welcome back. Maybe tonight we can celebrate your newfound freedom," he suggested, his tone playful.

I raised an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging at my lips. "Celebrate, huh? What exactly did you have in mind?"

He chuckled, opening the car door for me. "You'll see."

As we drove away, I couldn't help but glance down at my arm, already beginning to adjust to its newfound freedom. The weight of the cast was gone, but the memories lingered.

What did he have in mind...

Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 6 to come