"Rate your pain on a scale of 1-10." I hear Richards ask him, as he opens up a new chart on his tab.
I watch as Demi digs the base of his foot into the rug before answering.
He was going to lie.
"A two?"
"Eight."
We both speak out at the same time. One telling the truth, the other lying.
Richards looks at the both of us trying to understand what was going on and why I would have an opinion. Demi just glares at me.
"Why do you say eight Mitch?"
I answer him while still holding Demi's gaze.
"Because it's just been one month since he got discharged and you and I both know that he wasn't ready for a discharge yet."
He speaks up before Richards could get his two cents in.
"Contrary to popular belief, I don't just lie there on the the bed all day and do nothing. I actually move around. This you would actually know if you check up on me and not sneak around like some burglar. It's your fucking house. Act like it!"
Well, someone is pissed.
He has Richards out of his seat on two seconds as he attempts to stand up.
"Get the fuck out of my face. I got here myself, I'll go back myself."
He's livid now.
We both stare open mouthed as he proceeds to take a very long walk back to his wing.
He was indeed getting better.
I'm broken out of my reverie as Richards speaks up.
"He is something eh?" He asks his irish accent coming through.
"Yes he is." I automatically answer my gaze never leaving the general direction of where he just disappeared to. My legs were itching to carry me towards his room.
I hear Richards chuckle as he prepares to take his leave. I still don't stand up from where I'm seating. He knows his way out.
"You are so whipped."
I hear him say under his breath as he walks out of my house.
Yes.
Yes I am.