Say it isn't so
Chapter 5
After last night, something shifted. I wasn't going to let the cast define me as awkward. Instead, I adjusted my wardrobe to highlight what I still had: my elegance, my confidence, my allure. My style was my armor, and if the cast was going to stay, it would fit into my world, not the other way around.
The next morning, I stood in front of my closet, determined to look as polished and captivating as ever. I chose a fitted navy-blue dress with a daring side slit that allowed my cast room to breathe without sacrificing style. Its tailored lines hugged my figure perfectly, emphasizing my feminine shapes. I paired it with a crisp white blouse underneath, the sharp collar peeking out from the neckline, giving a sophisticated edge.
For my shoe, I slipped on a sleek black stiletto with a pointed toe, its height giving me a sense of balance against the overwhelming weight of the cast on my left leg. My crutches were no longer just tools of necessity; I saw them as part of my look. Their metallic sheen caught the light, harmonizing with the subtle shimmer of my silver jewelry, small hoop earrings and a delicate bracelet on my wrist.
As I styled my hair into a loose, elegant chignon, I couldn't help but think about Vanessa. Her confidence, her charm, and the way she had looked at me last night, those lingering glances that seemed to see beyond my injury. My cheeks flushed at the memory of her playfully striding on my crutches, her red sole flashing with every step.
I finished with a touch of makeup including red lipstick, I took a deep breath, ready to face the office and, perhaps, Vanessa's gaze once more.
The AI project consumed every waking hour, demanding the sharpest focus and quickest moves, even with my injury. Crutching between meetings became a rhythm I embraced, each step purposeful despite the ache in my arms and the weight of the long cast. I wouldn't let it slow me down; exhaustion became a price I paid gladly for fulfillment of my dream.
As I prepared for my next meeting, I stood at the edge of the hallway, adjusting my crutches. The rubber pads were firm under my palms, and I moved them slightly forward before planting them on the polished marble floor. The sound of the rubber tips meeting the smooth surface echoed softly. I shifted my weight, balancing on my good one. My dress moved with me, the slit swaying gently to reveal the bold contrast of my sleek black pump and the bright red cast that stretched from mid-thigh to toe.
The hallway felt longer than usual as I made my way toward the elevator. Each movement of the crutches had to be deliberate, a step forward, a pause to shift balance, then the next. The rhythmic clink of my crutches against the floor followed me, a quiet reminder of the new cadence my life had taken.
Reaching the elevator, I pressed the button with the end of one crutch, a skill I'd perfected over the past weeks. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I crutched inside, grateful for a moment to catch my breath. Alone in the mirrored enclosure, I turned slightly, catching my reflection from every angle.
The woman staring back at me was fierce and unyielding. My cast was a glaring red slash against the neutral elegance of my navy-blue dress, but instead of looking out of place, it commanded attention. My hair, neatly pinned into a chignon, framed my face, and my bold red lipstick mirrored the fiery hue of the cast. The silver accents of my jewelry and crutches glinted under the elevator lights, completing a picture of resilience and poise.
For a moment, I let myself pause. The mirrors didn't just reflect the physical, they mirrored the determination that carried me through every hallway, every step, every moment. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Yes, the pressure was immense, but so was my resolve.
The chime signalled my floor, and the elevator doors slid open. I adjusted my grip on the crutches, steadying myself as I stepped into the bustling corridor. Work waited ahead, but the thoughts circling my mind weren't about deadlines or presentations, they were about the two people who had become central to my life in vastly different ways.
Julian's presence lingered like a shadow. He had grown distant, his discomfort with my "situation" well my broken leg was more apparent every day. "I just hate seeing you struggle," he had said once, his voice heavy with sympathy that felt more like a burden than support. I nodded, not knowing how to respond to something so well-meaning yet so dismissive of my strength. His glances toward my cast seemed to carry a weight of pity, and while I appreciated his concern, it made me feel small, like my injury had stolen a part of me he couldn't reconcile.
Vanessa, however, was a completely different story. She was vibrant, magnetic, and completely at ease with my situation. She had a way of making my crutches feel like accessories, not limitations. One day, over coffee, she leaned in close, kissing my cheek, her lips into a playful smile.
"We should bedazzle those crutches of yours," she joked, her eyes sparkling with mischief. I couldn't help but laugh, the sound breaking through the tension I hadn't realized I was carrying.
"I'm not 16 years old..."
While Julian's discomfort created a distance I didn't know how to bridge, Vanessa's lightheartedness brought us closer. She wasn't afraid to touch the cast, to acknowledge it without making it awkward. Once, she traced her finger along the edge, her touch soft but deliberate, as if she saw the cast as a part of me rather than an obstruction.
During lunch in the office cafeteria, Julian had sat across from me, his eyes darting between my face and my crutches propped against the chair. "Are you sure you should be pushing yourself so hard?" he asked, concerned.
Before I could answer, Vanessa approached us, her bold red dress flowing effortlessly as usual, but this time, she was limping noticeably. Her right foot was secured in a sleek black medical boot, and she moved carefully, wincing slightly with each step. Despite her obvious discomfort, she carried herself with the same confident allure, her stride somehow magnetic even with the limp.
Sliding into the seat next to me, she let out a soft breath, adjusting her boot beneath the table.
"She's doing just fine," Vanessa said with a wink in my direction, completely brushing off Julian's sombre tone. Her eyes flicked to my crutches, a playful grin tugging at her lips as she reached for them. Turning one over in her hands, she smirked.
"These babies have character. They just need a little sparkle to match their owner. Maybe I'll borrow them for my next meeting," she teased, gesturing toward her boot.
The humour in her voice was infectious, and I couldn't help but laugh. Even Julian's lips twitched at her boldness, though his gaze lingered on her lovely legs with a mix of concern and confusion. Vanessa, however, didn't seem to notice, or care. Instead, she tilted her head toward me, her boot resting lightly against my cast beneath the table, as if it was a silent show of camaraderie.
I laughed, Julian, however, seemed even more withdrawn, his brows furrowing as he watched her.
The contrast between them couldn't have been starker. Julian's protectiveness felt suffocating, while Vanessa's support was uplifting. One made me feel fragile; the other made me feel powerful.
As the day stretched on, I couldn't stop thinking about the dynamic between the three of us. Julian, with his quiet discomfort and unspoken longing, and Vanessa, with her unapologetic confidence and effortless charm. Both of them cared in their own ways, but only one made me feel like myself.
The challenge ahead wasn't just about work or navigating life on crutches, it was about figuring out who I wanted by my side as I did it.
Say it isn't so
Chapter 6 to come
Beca
