Isabella's view:
Mark helps me inside of the house, wheeling me until I'm nearly at the living room.
"Thank you, Mark, I'll call you later," I say, smiling.
"Are you sure, Isabella?" he questions.
"Yes, you've done more than enough now go," I say with a small push.
He nods and leaves, so I wheel myself over to the living room. The pain I feel is unbearable. Tears well up in my eyes and I try to force them not to fall, closing my eyes. My ribs feel as though someone is stomping onto them over and over, my arm and leg burns. I bite my lip so I wouldn't scream.
"Why me?" I mutter to myself, rubbing my right arm and leg slowly.
"Because this is what God wanted," dad says, walking over to me, a smile on his face as he too has tears in his eyes. "It's ok to cry, baby girl. Crying doesn't make you weak, it just means you have been strong for too long."
"I don't want to cry dad."
"I know baby girl, but sometimes it is ok to let it out instead of keeping it in."
"Yeah dad, that's why you're holding your tears right now. I'm fine," I say as I wheel myself past dad and over to the sofa.
Man, this is tiring. This uses up too much of my energy.
I try to push myself up from the wheelchair but slump back onto it, failing every time.
"Here, let me help you baby girl," dad offers, but I refuse it.
"I'm ok dad. I don't need help. I'm capable of doing this on my own, thank you very much."
Dad steps back and watches my failed attempts at getting up.
"Ok, come help dad," I say defeated, after the 15th time of not being able to get up.
Dad walks over to me, now in front of me as he places his hands onto my waist as he steadies me up.
"I feel like I'm being juiced dad," I say with a laugh, as his hands tighten around my waist.
"Sorry baby girl," he apologises as he softens his grip around my waist, helping me walk over to the sofa, my hands on his shoulders as he slowly lowers me down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.
"Thanks dad," I say, smiling at him as I force my legs up onto the sofa to relax them.
Well, this is better than those damn hospital beds. Felt like I was laying on sheets of metal in there, and the food... flavourless! Yuck.
Just as I am reflecting on my time at the hospital, mum comes in with a forced smile on her face.
"What's wrong mum?" I ask, eyeing her carefully.
"Nothing sweetheart," she replies, her right eyebrow twitching a bit, her smile still forced as the sides of her mouth twitch a bit, tapping her finger on her thigh abruptly.
"Don't lie to me mum. You're doing that thing with your body language again, so spit it out already," I say bluntly.
"Oh. Well sweetheart, that physical therapist will come over later today to speak to you, sweetheart."
"And?"
"And she wants to discuss plans of what you will be doing in terms of the exercises and such," mum explains.
"Okie dokie," I say, forcing a smile which fell after she exits the room.
Lord, give me strength!
I look around the living room, bored out of my mind, trying to find something to do. I sure could use a drive around or someone to hang out with right about now.
My phone buzzes and I pick my phone up. It is a text from Mark.
'Hey Isabella,
It's me, pretty sure you know who, but just wanted to check in on you. So yeah, how are you doing so far?'
I chuckle slightly before replying,
'Hey there,
Nah, I don't know who you are, please enlighten me. Kidding, kidding. Seriously though, it's so boring. I'm just sitting here and my devil of a physical therapist is coming later, at who knows when. In all honesty, I'm so glad to be out of that hospital. I can finally eat food that isn't tasteless and like you are eating cardboard. Finally, I can sleep in my own comfortable bed, instead of those hard as rock ones. On the plus side I won't have to see that doctor from the hospital ever again... I think.'
'Yeah, well Isabella, it's great to have you back home and next door. Missed seeing your pretty face around this neighbourhood. Hopefully you will have a speedy recovery. Want me to drop by?"
"Don't worry Mark, I'm fine."
Silence after I send the last text.
Dad paces around the room, his big heavy feet making the floorboards creak with every step he takes. 10 creaking sounds later, it gets on my nerve.
"Dad! You know how much I hate the sound your feet make with the floor. You see that book over there, make yourself useless and pass it to me," I state, rolling my eyes, puffing.
"Sorry baby girl," dad apologises, as he makes his way over to the small table in the corner of the living room, picking the book up and handing it over to me.
"Thanks dad," I smile as I open the book, Lone survivor, up to the bookmarked page I was up to a few weeks before.
Just as I have read the first line of the page I was on, the doorbell rings. I try to stand up to answer it, but then a sharp pain shoots straight through my body like a billion pins and needles reminding me of the pain and injuries I have succumb to.
Goddamit!
I watch as mum makes her way over to the door, opening it but after that, I couldn't see who it was since the door was open and it blocks my view of anything that is going on. All I can hear is the mumbling between mum and a man, the only words that I could hear was 'Isabella' and 'bad way.'
What bad way? Were they talking about me? Why did they mention my name?
"I can hear you, you know? I ain't deaf!" I shout, crossing my arms, the book dropping onto my legs. The pain shooting through my body once more, making me wince at the pain.
"Yeah, we know," Mark's voice comes from behind the door.
"Did I not tell you I was FINE Mark?" I question, raising my voice in annoyance.
"Don't you know me by now? I don't give a damn what you tell me, I need to see for myself if you are fine young lady."
I roll my eyes then blurt out, "You saw me, I'm fine. Happy? 'Cause you may now leave."
"No. Not at all. That is not convincing enough," he says as he walks in, sitting across from me, eyeing me closely.
As I watch him, I look away just as our eyes meet, closing my book and tossing it on the table between both sofas. If only moving around was as simple as painless. Every little move is painful sending the hairs on the back of my neck standing up straight.
"You're in pain," he states, his eyes burning into me like flames through a house.
How the hell does he know I'm in pain?
"Nah, I'm good," I say, avoiding eye contact with him.
"Lies. You are such a bad liar, Isabella. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing, I know the signs of pain so don't think I'm stupid. I don't have 'dummy' written on my forehead."
"I'm fine Mark. Really."
"What's with the damn lies?" he questions angrily, biting his bottom lip.
"Because."
"Blurt it out, woman!"
"Because I'd rather you not freaken worry, Mark."
As soon as I blurt it out, I knew I couldn't take it back nor say anything to make it any better. His eyes were wide, his nails digging into his arm so much that his arms turn red.
"You're mad," I say calmly, raising my eyebrow.
"Nah," he says, looking away as he stands up immediately.
"Now you're the liar, Mark. You know what you do when you are mad? You have that look on your face and your nails dig into your skin, making your arm red and nearly bleed. I notice these things so don't try hiding it," I state, watching him as he makes his way over to the display cabinet.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Mark, whatcha lookin' at over there?" I ask, watching him some more, unable to see what he was looking at exactly.
"Is this you?" he asks, pointing to one of the baby photos.
"Yes, it is. I was 3 there and dad took me to the park. I remember that day like it was yesterday," I reply, smiling as I remember that day.
"You look so happy in all the photos, Isabella."
"Yeah, I mean my parents are amazing. I don't see them much when they work, but when I do see them it's great. I miss them a lot when they work, though. I'm more closer to my father then my mother, I must admit."
Just as we were talking, the book I had thrown onto the table levitates.
"Um Mark, if you are doing that you better stop!" I yell, my eyes fixed on the book.
"Better stop doing what?" he asks absentmindedly as he spins around. "Oh, Isabella, that is not me." His eyes widen.
"Mark, don't bloody joke around, put the damn book down!"
"Isabella, I'm telling you it is not me," he says, walking towards me, grabbing the book trying to pull it towards him only to have the book resist. "Um, Isabella. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I think the man that died in this house is here or how do I say this... He hasn't moved o-"
"Are you telling me this house is haunted?!"
"Um... Maybe?"
"Mark, you son of a... Why does he have my damn book then?"
"Um, no idea."
The book then makes it's way over to me, landing softly on my thighs.
"Seem's like this ghost dude wants me to read," I say.
Mark sits down on the seat across from my again, looking at me.
A/N:
Thank you all for reading, apologies for updating so late.
Hopefully you all love what you are reading so far. Don't forget to comment and vote ^-^