'All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

Got a feelin' your electric touch could fill this ghost town up with life.'

*ALTHEA'S POV*

October 12, 2023.

74 missed calls, 318 unread texts, and I didn't even dare to check my voicemail as I opened the SMS.

Well, about 300 of them were from Asher last night, with lots of all caps, exclamation marks, 'let me explain', and 'please, tell me where you are' variations. But there were also new texts from Kylie and Paxton asking how I was doing and if I needed cookies, Linda telling me to enjoy some well-deserved rest, and nearly ten messages from Jordon.

This meant it was serious, and I called him as soon as I reached my hotel room.

"Babe, I was starting to get worried." His voice met me on the third ring with a breathy chuckle, so smooth that I could have almost believed he was in the next room—Almost. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry. My phone was on silent mode, and it's just... Something happened." I sighed, stepping over the open suitcase I'd left there in the blur this morning and trying to avoid the many crumpled tissues all over the floor, so I could reach the bed before my legs could give out.

Should I even have told him? A rational voice in me told me not to, but it sounded too much like Asher's tablet. I couldn't perpetuate his lies, even less with Jordon.

"Something good, don't worry. It's just—are you seated?" I plopped down on the soft mattress, trying to prepare myself too.

"Yes, I'm lying on the bed."

"What? Oh right, it's really late for you. I'm sorry. Did I wake you up? You must be tired. I can call you tomorrow, or today in a few hours for—"

"Althea," he called, his calm tone contrasting with the breathlessness of mine. "I just closed my laptop five minutes ago. I'm fully awake, and I know we'll both struggle to fall asleep, and we'll be more tired if you don't tell me what's making you so nervous."

Well, the lack of sleep was one of the reasons why I was so nervous, and the tiredness was weighing on each of my thoughts as they twisted to find a way to announce this smoothly.

"Asher is alive."

Nothing with Asher could ever be smooth, and the skip of my heart was still as abrupt, as I was still processing these words, everything stopping to restart faster with this new reality. A lot like the shuffling I caught from the other side of the line.

"Asher? As in Asher, your..."

"My late boyfriend, yes. I know it might sound crazy, but he's never died."

It did sound crazy, and once I'd summed up the last 24 hours the best I could, the deafening thumps being the only sound echoing in my ears made me take in how insane I sounded too.

"Are you still here?" I checked to make sure Jordon hadn't fallen over. Although it was more probable that he was currently searching for mental institutions to commit me.

"Yes, yes, uh... I'm just trying to understand... It's not possible. I mean..."

"I swear I'm not crazy! I just saw him less than one hour ago, and there were the kids..." The words hitched in my throat with a breath as I glanced around, and although I could still picture everything perfectly from the vibrant jade of his eyes to his strained fingers around mine, in front of me, there were only the untouched bed and my trembling hands with nothing to support my plea.

Except for my phone.

"I-I can ask Kylie to send you pics, and you can check the registers of deaths." Something I surely should have done long ago.

"Althea, it's okay. I believe you. I know you're not crazy, and you wouldn't invent something like that," he assured, while still taking an unsure breath. "But how can it even be possible?"

"Well, like I've said, I left soon after, and there was the Covid crisis, and... I guess it's my fault too because I've never really checked." I swallowed dryly as my gaze landed on my open suitcase, where a few unfolded tee shirts were spilling out like the buried memories.

All I ever knew was to pack up and leave everything behind.

"No, I mean how could he even come up with something like that? Does... does he have some brain deficiency following his accident?"

"What? No. No, I don't think so..."

I hadn't even considered the possibility, actually. But in the little time I'd seen him, he'd been fully coherent. At least, as coherent as Asher could ever be, and everything about this lie was so him, so excessive, so...

"It's beyond my comprehension."

"Yeah, he's kinda beyond..." I shook my head, not finding a better way to describe the unwavering transparency with which he'd told me he didn't regret it, while Jordon was probably pinching his nose trying to fathom it.

He would have to meet him to understand. But this, I'd rather it never happened.

It would have been like fire meeting ice, like Mentos and Coke, although they were more like M&M's and...

"And... does it change something?"

Fine white wine, at least, it was what Jordon's question resembled: smooth and flowing, yet making my head spin for an instant.

"What? No, of course not. Whether Asher is alive or not, you're still my fiancé. You don't have to worry," I assured, as honestly as I had once told Asher he was my one and only.

However, it had been before the lie that had changed everything.

Would he still be my first, one, and only, otherwise?

The toneless voice recounting the future he'd imagined if he hadn't lied kept resonating in my tightening chest, louder and louder, and it was echoed by every detail that had happened exactly like he'd pictured in his twisted plan.

After all, he'd known I would believe his lie; I would leave; I would never come back...

Nevertheless, hating him appeared impossible in any hypothetical scenario, when even now, after everything he'd put me through, I couldn't.

"Oh, no, I'm not worried about this, babe." Jordon brought me back to the present and the hint of his charming smile that I could guess through the phone, as pathological jealousy was another unfathomable concept for him.

I wasn't sure if I should have been relieved or concerned, though, when he added,

"I'm worried for you."

"Me?"

"Yes, it's a lot to take in, and you have every right to be mad, hurt, and even quit the charity work if it's too much. Whatever you decide, I'm here for you, and if you need, I have Saturday off. I can come to get you or just—"

"No!" The word fired out of my lips like a spurt of a Mentos-Coke mix, which was brewing in my stomach. "There's no need for you to come here. You would only tire yourself with a round trip and see me for barely an hour because... I've already decided. I'm staying."

I let it settle in with a nod, although there was no one to see my determination but my open suitcase.

"For the three weeks, I mean. I can't abandon the kids, and... I've also accepted the doctor's offer to help with Asher's physiotherapy.

***

October 13, 2023.

Door number 15.

I was starting to grow familiar with every shade of green painted on the door and also with the one I would meet on the other side as I knocked softly.

However, the breath I took in was even more shaky than the first time I'd entered this room when a 'it's open' seeped through, and I slowly pushed the door.

"Oh, here you are! Good morning, Althea."

Instead of the jade eyes I'd expected, it was Dr. Rollings' smile that welcomed me, and soon, also the round face of a blond woman I'd never seen.

"Let me introduce you to Mrs. Elmer, who is the specialist in sensory therapy at the clinic, and Althea, here, is—"

"What is she doing here?"

Finally, these penetrating green eyes found mine, tightening the air around until I was almost suffocating. Though it was nothing in comparison with his glare when Dr. Rollings replied,

"She's here for moral support since you've agreed to intensify your physiotherapy."

If looks could have killed, the poor woman would have been dead on the floor.

"I don't remember having a choice since you cornered me here in my room, encroaching on my working hours. But anyway, I don't need moral support to pick up cotton balls in a bowl, or whatever stupid exercise you have planned."

Here was the terrible Mr. Robot everyone was fearing around here.

It was such a contrast with his anime voices and twinkling gaze last night with the kids, and between the cold AI tone and his searing glare, he quickly made Dr. Rollings' cheerful smile crumble down, while the other woman, who must have been barely a few years older than us, looked down at the glass bowl in her hands, probably wanting to disappear in it, or maybe just walk away.

I was considering it too as my ribcage shriveled onto the too-fresh wound here, and with the soreness flaring up with every breath, I wondered why I was even here.

"No need to waste your time, Althea. You should leave."

To think less than 24 hours ago, he'd been begging me to stay.

Which word should I have believed when they all sounded the same through his tablet? 'Thank you for coming'... 'I've never said I didn't want to see you'... 'Just a burden'...

"Who said the moral support was for you?" I retorted, and as his eyes snapped to me, the sound of his quiet chuckle reminded me why I'd accepted the doctor's offer last night. "I'm here to support the doctors, and I've got all my time, but if you are so busy, how about we start?"

Whether he wanted it or not, I was here to help him.

He couldn't push me away this time, as I held his gaze, pulling my lips together in a silent challenge, which he returned with a tug of his lifted eyebrow, and we could have stayed like this for long if the doctor Rollings' claps hadn't snapped us out of our stare.

"Wonderful. I will take this as a yes. So let's start with..."

"A simple exercise to differentiate textures," Mrs. Elmer suggested, putting her bowl away on a rolling cart and grabbing a few other items that didn't get Asher's glare.

Instead, he rolled his eyes as the blond woman continued to explain,

"We'll rub two different items, two different textures on your left arm, and ask you which one is the softest, without you looking, of course."

Still, he did move towards the table, where the pizza boxes we'd left last night had been replaced by the doctors' notepads, pens, and a piece of blue fabric—a sleeping eye mask, I recognized it as Dr. Rollings encouraged me to take one of the two seats with a push of her hand and a whisper.

"Take the chair. I won't stay long anyway. I have to see another patient in a few," she assured, leaning against the desk, while Mrs. Elmer sat on the left of Asher's wheelchair, setting cotton pads, styrofoam squares, sanded wood rectangles, washcloths, and more on the table, and I found myself right in front of him to motivate him like... a cheerleader.

Except that the volunteer uniform was far from sexy, and I didn't chant or do any stunts. In fact, I didn't move my hands from my thighs, nor utter a word, as he needed quietness to focus on his sensations.

At least, it was what the videos I'd watched last night about physiotherapy to recover sensations on YouTube had preached.

However, in person, the physiotherapy was very different.

Mrs. Elmer might have used the same gestures as the man in the video, brushing a cotton pad along his forearm before switching to styrofoam, yet Asher was far from a 70-year-old grandma.

He didn't have the patience, even if he did try at first, his features tensing in what I guessed was a focused frown behind his sparkly unicorn mask.

It was quite a sight by the way, with his messy hair and shadowed jaw, and I would have laughed if his piercing gaze hadn't found my pursed lips as he lifted the mask to type his answer.

"The second one."

The wrong answer.

If there remained a tickle of laughter in me, the sarcasm of his next words crushed it.

"Guess I shouldn't play the lottery."

"It's not about winning here. The important is to focus on the feelings and slowly retrain your sensory system," Mrs. Elmer replied with a perfect, encouraging smile, a perfect, calm tone, and all the perfect words to motivate a patient. But not Asher.

'Taking part is for losers.'

He didn't say it, but his glare was loud enough, even as he put his eye mask on again for another try, another wrong answer.

Again and again.

The items went from a metal ruler to a hairbrush, and Mrs. Elmer's encouragements from 'it's okay' to 'keep focus'. Yet every time, I could hear the same echo... 'Taking part is for losers'... as his right hand, which had been so used to lift trophies, clenched around nothing, and he blew sighs heavier than when he would have ended a game with a run around the court.

'Taking part is for losers.'

Even when he got a few right, his jaw didn't loosen for a half-smile, and his blinks between the mask, the tablet, and the three of us were too fast for him to type a victory cry before his next answer—wrong or right? I stopped checking at this point.

It was all the same powerlessness, the same crippling numbness, almost as if I was losing him all over again—half of him.

Was it what he was feeling in his left arm? Or did it resemble more the pins and needles in my empty hands?

Anyway, it wasn't the adrenaline I was supposed to spur in him.

What had I thought though? That me sitting here for moral support would do a miracle?

He was Asher. He needed more; he needed challenges and...

"Can you leave us alone, please?" My fingers reached to his, stopping him before he could type another 'one' or 'two', and getting rid of the pins and needles instantly with a surge of burning tingles as all eyes snapped to me, and I quickly pulled my hand away. "I mean to continue the exercise."

I wasn't sure where I was going with this, but I knew that Asher wouldn't progress on the recovery road this way, no matter how nice and professional Mrs. Elmer and Dr. Rollings were.

Sometimes, there was a longer and steeper path you hadn't noticed at first...

"Of course! It's a splendid idea to switch things up a little," Dr. Rollings exclaimed with another clap, while Mrs. Elmer was more discreet to hide her thankful smile, giving me her paper to track the exercises with a simple nod.

However, it all felt like a big sigh of relief, the sigh of relief Asher let out as soon as the door closed behind the two women.

"Thank you for the excuse. I was about to throw it all through the window."

"Oh, but it wasn't an excuse." I caught the eye mask he was already tossing away, the two golden lines that stood as the unicorn's closed lids contrasting with his widening deadpan stare. "We're gonna continue the exercise, just make it a little bit more challenging..."

Although he tried to hide, I still noticed the faint sparkle that lit up in his green eyes and that not even his frown could shadow, and also the dirty thoughts. Though these, I ignored them as I glanced around the room.

"First, we're gonna use your personal items, so you're less tempted to throw them out the window." Well, I hoped so. "And instead of guessing which one is softer, you're gonna guess what it is, thanks to my clues and your sensations. If you get it right on the first try, it's three points, on the second, two, etc... We'll count your points at the end."

Like a basketball game, something he liked, something challenging and...

"Woo-hoo," he replied, the AI voice magnifying the sarcasm in the two syllables.

"Oh, and by the way, you'll keep the mask on all the time to focus more on your sensations."

"And how will I tell you—"

"We both know you can use your voice when you want," I cut off the robotic voice, literally, with the off button on the side of the tablet. "Aren't you tired of typing anyway?"

Apparently not, as he waited for the tablet to switch on again to answer me.

"I am, but not as much as I would be, just trying to move those lips, thinking about each word to be sure people understand, repeating myself, and searching for synonyms to avoid the consonants I can't pronounce." His long and veiny fingers glided easily on the screen, and it was my tongue that twisted as his ardent jade eyes met mine.

There was so much brewing behind them. There was so much trapped behind them.

I hadn't realized how hard something so natural could become, especially for him, who had always been so eloquent with his speech and body.

"Well, it's just me here... So you don't have to think." I offered him a small smile, weighing the value of each of my words and movements as I slowly inched the mask toward him. "And if I don't understand, I'll make up the words I want."

Besides, words weren't needed sometimes, like at this instant, as he took the velvety cloth. Only his husky chuckle, our twinkling gazes, and... the unicorn mask.

"Don't laugh."

Even though it was clear, I already ignored the first part of his warning.

I couldn't help it. The deep rasp of his voice and the clench of his sharp jaw under the sparkly eye mask was a magical combination, and neither the clasp of my teeth, nor the heaviness in the air could hold back the snicker escaping my lips.

In fact, the tensions of the past days were even fueling the laugh, sparking and fusing into a different kind of relief, so unexpected that even Asher let out a chuckle, peeking at me in disbelief.

"Hey! Keep your mask. You can't look." I got up, adjusting the fabric over his eyes and trying to clear mine as I searched around for special objects.

Well, I didn't have to look too far as a small piece of orange fabric caught my gaze and my breath on his nightstand.

"You've still got it?"

"What?"

"Nothing. I just found the first item to guess." I shook my head and the many memories invading me with the familiar texture under my fingers, though the first one remained like the design stitched in the middle.

Zigzag stitch, it was the best to stand the test of time.

I could still feel the softness of his lips on my warm cheeks when he'd thanked me before and after opening the gift wrap as I took the left chair, the one closer to him. See the orange fabric that had fitted perfectly his tanned skin when he used his right hand to settle his arm on the table, and hear the smooth syllables that had rolled out of his lips 'it'll look good with my Lakers outfit' as I counted down to three, and he breathed out a shaky 'ready'.

"First, focus on the sensations." I rubbed the fabric along the downside of his forearm, imitating Mrs. Elmer's gestures. "How does it feel?"

"So-t? Cottony?"

"Yes, soft... and used." I smiled as he straightened, pushing out a steady exhale, and as I seemed to have his full attention, I slid the square of fabric toward one of his extended fingers, trying to make him trace the peach design before I gave another clue.

"It's something you can wear. Some call it even a fashion statement, or... a lucky charm."

"The sweat b-and?" He didn't even wait for my reply, already lifting the mask as his eyes traveled between mine, the wristband, and in the middle, the memory.

"Three points. Next quarter?"

"'Kay, then, I need luck," he replied, with his voice, and not the tablet, as his right hand was busy putting the band on his left wrist, and this already felt like a small victory.

There were so many tiny victories from the tensions easing off his shoulders to his growing half-smile as he won two other three-points with a bristol paper and a M&M's packet, and most importantly, the fact that he was really concentrating.

I knew he wouldn't recover his sensations instantly, but I hoped he could at least feel, in his left arm, a hundredth of the adrenaline tickling my skin from my proud grin to my fingertips every time he guessed the item between us. Could he?

Or did I have to make him feel too?

Glancing between his lopsided grimace and my empty hands, I got an idea for the last quarter.

"Ready?" I inhaled slowly, bracing myself too, as I leaned closer, my heart rate as unsure as my bare fingers hovering over his forearm. "Remember to focus on the sensations. How it feels..."

Heat, smoothness, and... too many flashbacks, it was what I felt under my fingertip as I slowly traced along the veins and tense muscles, all my instincts screaming me to run like I'd done the other night.

But I didn't, my touch only becoming more intent as I tried to convey all these tingles of adrenaline before opening my dry lips for the next clue—

"You," he breathed out before I could utter a word, making me jump away—my hand and my heart again.

"What?! How did you do? Can you see through?" I waved my hand in front of his mask, as I didn't believe he could have guessed so easily, even with a surge of adrenaline.

However, some things were beyond belief, like the light tingling remaining in my fingertip even as I shook it again and again, or how transparent his jade eyes could be while shining with mischief, the golden sequins on the mask only highlighting it.

"I swear I didn't. Now, what do I win?" If his words were slightly slurred, the green shades were unequivocal, and I instantly recognized the famous lift of his eyebrow as his gaze flickered one quick and discreet time to my lips before coming back to my eyes.

It wasn't the progress we'd been aiming for, but he had recovered his cockiness. So I let my lips stretch slowly into a victorious grin until he gazed at it again, and I replied,

"Another physiotherapy session with me."

What a prize! lol 😂

More seriously, what did you think of this physiotherapy? Adrenaline and sparks are flying? 😏🤭

Should Jordon be worried? 🤔

Tell me all your thoughts in the comments! And don't forget to vote ⭐ if you liked this chapter!

Once again, I'm sorry for posting it this late. 🥺 I don't like making you wait and rushing a chapter at the last minute. I want to catch up and go back to the regular Tuesday updates, so for this, I won't post next week, and the next chapter will be on Tuesday 31st October (which is perfect for this one... A terrific 1st date flashback 🤭🤫).

Thank you for your patience! I love you my little peaches, and prepare your best costume for Halloween! 😘✨🍑💗🎃