Steffie...2.0 chapter 8

 Steffie...2.0

Chapter 8

The first thing I noticed as I stirred awake was the familiar antiseptic scent of the hospital room, a smell I had come to associate with care and recovery. The soft hum of activity outside my door and the rhythmic beeping of monitors grounded me, but it was the sunlight streaming through the partially drawn curtain that drew my attention. It cast a warm glow across the pale blue walls, and for a moment, I simply lay there, relishing the peace of the morning.

My gaze drifted down to my right leg, finally it was now encased in a full leg cast that stretched from almost my toes to just below my hip. The sight filled me with pure pleasure. It was white, long and bent at the knee, a very hard reminder of the night that had changed everything. The fall. I thought of it again, not with regret, but with a strange fondness. The deliberate push, the rush of air, the jarring impact... and then the sharp pain that had solidified the moment. It was all part of the experience, a story etched not just in memory but now visibly on my right leg.

The cast was following the shape of my leg in a snug embrace. My toes peeked out from the bottom, slightly swollen and I wiggled them gently, enjoying the slight movement. The sensation reminded me of the care and precision that had gone into setting the fractures, three breaks, Ethan had said, his voice shaky with concern but his touch steady. Now, those breaks were wrapped in this beautiful, protective shell, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction.

It's my leg...

My uninjured leg lay covered by the blanket, but it was the cast that held my attention. I ran my fingers along its surface, savouring the cool texture beneath my fingers. It was perfect, from the way it conformed to my knee's slight bend to the way it immobilized my entire leg. I imagined the weeks ahead, navigating on crutches, feeling the weight of the cast as I moved. Dressing to show off my new accessory. The thought brought a small, genuine smile to my lips.

To my left, the bedside tray held the usual assortment of items, a glass of water, my phone, and a small Chromebook, the same one I use to update my site, write my stories. A bouquet of flowers sat on the table, their vibrant petals a cheerful contrast to the room's clinical surroundings. My gaze lingered on them for a moment before returning to the cast. This was my tenth day here, and this afternoon, I'd finally be leaving the hospital.

A nurse entered quietly, her smile warm and familiar. "Good morning Stephanie," she said, checking the chart at the foot of my bed. "How are we feeling today? Ready to head home?"

"More than ready, but I'm going to miss this place...well, a little."

She chuckled as she adjusted the blankets. "I'll take that as a compliment. And don't worry, you'll be back for check-ups and cast change soon enough."

As she left, I let my head rest against the pillow, my thoughts returning to the fall. The thrill, the pure sexual tension, the moment of impact, it had all been worth it. Now, with this cast as a constant reminder, I felt a strange, undeniable joy. It wasn't just about the injury; it was about embracing this unique chapter of my life, one step at a time.

The midday sun bathed the hospital parking lot as I sat in the wheelchair, waiting for Dominique to arrive. My right leg is in a long white cast supported by the wheelchair's elevated leg rest. The cast was striking, covering my entire leg, its surface unblemished except for the faint creases where it conformed perfectly to my knee and ankle. I was holding on to my crutches, a promise of mobility and independence I couldn't wait to reclaim.

The automatic doors behind me slid open with a soft hiss, and I spotted Dominique stepping out, her auburn hair catching the sunlight. She walked toward me with a purposeful stride, her eyes immediately darting to my cast again. A mix of concern and curiosity played across her face as she reached me, her lips curving into a tentative smile.

"Hi, Mom," she said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. Her gaze lingered on my leg, her tone light but with an edge of tension. "Ready to bust out of here?"

"More than ready," I replied, returning her smile. "Let's get this show on the road."

She pushed the wheelchair toward her car, navigating the path with ease. When we reached the backseat door, Dominique set the brakes and opened it wide, ensuring plenty of space for the transfer. I shifted slightly in the wheelchair, reaching for the crutches to balance myself.

"Take your time," she said, watching intently as I positioned the crutches and used them to pivot out of the chair. My broken leg stretched stiffly behind me, its weight requiring a little more effort as I carefully transferred into the seat. Dominique reached out to steady me, her hands gentle but firm.

Once I was seated, I adjusted the position of my leg and Dominique returned the wheelchair and then returned to secure the crutches in the backseat. As she slid into the driver's seat and started the car, the tension in the air grew palpable. I could feel her glances, her unspoken question hanging heavy between us. Finally, as we turned onto the main road, she broke the silence.

"Mom," Dominique began, her voice careful but insistent, "tell me... please. It was an accident, wasn't it? Not... intentional?"

Her words hung in the air, laden with worry and something deeper, an understanding, perhaps, of my fascination with the situation. I looked at her, seeing the conflict in her eyes as she waited for an answer.

In the afternoon Dominique helped me into the living room, her arm wrapped around my waist for support. My crutches were tucked under her other arm, temporarily out of reach as I balanced on my good leg, my broken leg making every movement painful. She guided me to the couch, her touch gentle but firm, and I sank down with a soft sigh of relief.

My cast stretched out across the cushions, its rigid presence a constant reminder of the events that led to this moment. Dominique placed the crutches against the wall and then adjusted a pillow under my broken leg, ensuring it was supported and comfortable.

"There," she said softly, stepping back to survey her work. "Anything else you need?"

I shook my head, offering a small smile. "No, sweetheart. This is perfect. Don't worry you know it's not my first broken leg"

Later on Dominique rolled into the living room in a sporty, lightweight wheelchair, the metallic frame gleaming under the afternoon sunlight. The streamlined design matched her playful personality, sleek, vibrant, and a little daring. Her legs rested casually on the footplate, her posture relaxed yet poised. She moved with ease, spinning the wheels with practised hands, the subtle sound of the rubber against the floor adding to the quiet ambience. She had a natural grace in the chair, a sense of ownership, as if she were one with it.

Her choice of outfit further highlighted her comfort in the moment: a fitted tank top in deep burgundy paired with stylish black leggings and black heels. A delicate gold necklace glinted at her throat, catching the light as she wheeled herself into position near the armchair. It was clear she wasn't just pretending for fun, she was exploring something deeper, her own fascination with mobility and its nuances.

But even as Dominique sat in her wheelchair, I could see it in her eyes, she wasn't done. That lingering question hung on the tip of her tongue, she chose to sit directly across from me in her wheelchair, her hands resting lightly on the wheels, her expression thoughtful. She hesitated, her gaze flickering to my cast and crutches before finally meeting my eyes.

"Mom, I have to ask you again... was it intentional?"

I couldn't brush it off this time, not when she needed an honest answer. I sighed, leaning back into the cushions, my fingers absently tracing the surface of my cast. The weight of her question was heavy, but I knew it was time to speak. I began carefully, my voice low but steady, "it wasn't... entirely accidental."

"What?"

Steffie... 2.0
Chapter 9 to come