The fake girlfriend deal. ||BEING HEAVILY EDITED||

Twelve|Like him. (edited)

     (RIVEN POV)

            "Ahhh, it looks like the swelling from the initial injury has gone down. The socket is too big, so it's rubbing over time."  Paul, my prosthetist, looks over the socket on my leg, his hands feeling it for any dent, notch or scratch.

     "It's scratched up too, when did this happen?"

"Probably last night." I shrug, I feel like a child sitting in the tight metal chair, watching him fiddle with my leg, asking me questions.

"I'm assuming that's where this happened?" He motions to the bruise under my eye, his grey eyes squinting like he's ready to scold me for something.

  "Some guy tried to start some crap, there was a scuffle, it's fine though."

It wasn't fine, the school board wants to meet me to ask if I saw a knife, if he had one, he's getting expelled.

     "Gotta be careful, especially with a sore on your leg." He shook his head, "How long has it been bothering you?"

  "Few weeks now."

  Paul's face drops, "and you've been wearing it anyways?"

  "Sometimes, other times I just-"   Other times I wanna be normal and not deal with the hassle of crutches and doors or stairs or people watching or personal questions.
    
Paul takes off his rectangle glasses and sets it on the table next to him. "Are you struggling with adjusting to your new body image?"
"It's been a year, hardly doubt it's new." I scoff, keeping my eyes on the stacks of new sockets resting side by side on the counter.
     
He doesn't find it near as funny as I do.  Paul leans forwards and stares at me so sharply that I feel like I'm back in middle school dealing with the principal.

"Are you dealing with depression or thoughts pertaining to low self esteem?"

"I mean-" I laugh a little and kick my lips but I shake my head "I'm always dealing with that; even before the accident."

  "I'm gonna give you a list of therapists in the area that know more about your situation and can provide help. They all take insurance and Medicaid as well." He turns back to his table and begins writing out a list of names and addresses.

   Yes because that's what I need when my leg is on fire day in and day out.

"I don't need a therapist, I just need the pain to stop, just to get the dang thing to fit right."

"If you're refusing to use crutches when needed because of a mental issue going on, you run the risk of hurting your leg even worse, and if it's swollen and a large open wound, you won't be able to perform at your peak level, which damages your ability of doing things in life you want to do. It's a vicious circle that starts and ends with mental health. See a damn therapist."

  That's the first time I've ever heard Paul speak like this, and it's enough to take me back and make me shut up.

  "So!" He claps his hands and turns to the stack of sockets. "I have two sockets that closely match your fitting, one of which is slightly smaller at the base. Let's try it."

      It fits nice, but once it's all connected and I stand up, the pressure is on the back of my leg and makes me buckle down.

"Okay let's try this one." He grabs another, and it fits too tight.

The third is too long, the fourth too wide, and the fifth one fits perfectly.

"You must've lost quite a bit of the swelling, this socket is an inch smaller at the top, are you sure it fits okay?"
  
I have been working out more, more leg based strength training, more running, it's also been close to a year since my injury and the swelling is just now starting to go down, it made sense why the socket would feel weird.
This felt great, no pressure, but snug and I didn't wobble or feel like falling. It felt like a second skin. Perfect.