If I thought that getting fitted for a prosthesis would be easy, then I thought wrong. I'd imagined myself stumbling my way into the clinic on crutches, having the artificial leg put on, and then walking out like a pro. Well, that didn't happen. 

Instead, I was fitted with a clear "test" socket, which is the piece that fits over my stump—it's the most important piece of the entire prosthesis. Ben—my prosthetist—would put the thing on, then make adjustments depending on where I felt discomfort or pressure. Once it was shaped to perfection, I was given the dreaded news that it'd be another week or two before the temporary prosthesis would be ready.

By the time my mom and I return home, I'm beat. Whereas a shower might be the place I once found peace, now it was a burden. So rather than bother with the hassle, I just flop down on my bed and let my mom massage the sensitive scar tissue at the end of my stump. She uses a warm soaped-up cloth to give the limb a sponge bath and then wraps a heating pad around the leg to help alleviate some of the phantom pain.

When the bell rings, she glances up at me to read my expression.

"It's probably one of your friends," she tells me in a way that indicates she's unsure if I'm ready for them to see all this.

I glance down at my leg before offering a shrug.

"They're gonna find out eventually; this is basically my new life," I say, hiding my bitterness behind a soft smile. "Might as well let them see."

"You sure?" she asks as she stands from the chair that she's positioned at the end of the bed.

"Yep."

She leaves after giving me one more 'are you sure?' look, and then disappears out my door. I lay back against my pillows, absorbing the heat radiating into my muscles. I'm just beginning to relax when Dillon's familiar voice startles me from my near slumber.

"Hey man," he greets, shoving the door open and strolling into my room.

If I didn't know the guy so well, I'd suspect that he was entirely comfortable with the sight before him. But, clearly, my mom warned him before sending him up and he's just playing it off well. I can see his eyes jumping to my covered stump every once in awhile, but he hurries to return his gaze to my face each time he falters. His smile remains, and though it appears relaxed, I can sense a forcefulness behind it.

"You wanna see it?" I ask, deciding it's best not to pretend everything is normal.

He looks up at me, his brows lifted as if surprised I caught on to his act, and then he smiles—a real, genuine smile. I hear the breath leave his lips as he nods at me.

"Definitely."

A soft laugh leaves my lips as I push myself into a seated position and begin unwrapping the heating pad. Dillon watches intently and I make sure to take a good look at his expression as I pull it away to reveal the truth behind the bandages.

"Whoa," Dillon whispers, taking a step closer. His eyes flicker towards me before settling back on my missing limb. "Does it hurt?"

I run my hand over the scars, proving to him that the skin itself doesn't hurt anymore. "Not really," I tell him. "The weirdest part is that most of the pain is in my calf and ankle."

"Really?" he asks before his mind can comprehend what I've just said. "Wait—what?"

"Yeah," I say, agreeing with his unspoken disbelief. "It's really weird. They say that it can take months or years for your brain to finally understand that there's no leg there. I can close my eyes and I swear I feel my foot. It's only when I try to move it that it gets weird. It's hard to explain, but I'd say it's like having my lower leg in a cast. I can feel it, but I can't move it."

"That... is..." Dillon scratches his head, "strange."

"I know, right?" I laugh at the confusion clouding his face. The sound breaks him from his stupor and he glances up at me with a crooked smile.

"Sorry if I just keep staring," he apologizes. "It's just so weird." He pauses to contemplate his words. "But, like, weird in a good way. I mean, you lost your leg. That's kind of freakin' cool!"

"You think?" I ask, doubtful.

"Oh yeah," he answers, nodding with enthusiasm. "I'm sure it sucks, but once the worst of it is over, it's gonna be totally rad."

"Rad?"

Dillon laughs at the term, before dropping his gaze to the floor, his smile sliding into the background of his features.

"How are you holding up?"

Leave it to Dillon to see the hurt behind my smile.

It's the first time, apart from my mom, that anyone has asked me that question, and I thought I'd hate it... but I don't. I thought I'd dread having to explain my feelings, but somehow, it's as if I've needed this. Dillon is my best friend. If there's one person I can be completely open with, it'd be him.

"Dude," I say, dropping my upper body back down onto my bed, and placing my forearm over my forehead. "Not to bash everything you just said—because I truly appreciate you trying to see the positive in this—but, there's nothing rad about this." I pinch the bridge of my nose and rub the tissue at the corner of my eyes before resting my arm on my stomach. "The pain is absolutely excruciating. I'm addicted to narcotics now because, without them, I wouldn't be able to function. My foot will itch and I can't scratch it because it doesn't exist. I'll want a shower and my mom will have to help me into the bathtub. I'll forget my backpack downstairs and it'll take me ten minutes just to hop down the stairs to get it."

The room is silent for a moment and I can see Dillon struggling with the right words. Instead of waiting for him to say something useless like 'I'm sorry, man', I keep going.

"I have to do leg exercises three times a day so that the muscles don't contract. If I go too long without using my hip or thigh muscles, or if I leave them flexed for too long, they can shorten and become stiff—which I've been told can make fitting a prosthesis very difficult."

"What happens if the muscles do become stiff?" Dillon asks, his face reflecting his interest.

"If it gets too bad, I might need a walker until my physical therapist is able to work the muscles out," I explain.

"Gosh." Dillon runs a hand over his mouth, pulling the skin of his face down with the movement. I can see that the severity of all this is finally sinking in.

"Don't worry," I console. "As long as I stay active, it shouldn't be a problem."

"That's good," Dillon says, his face relaxing. "At least you're good at being active."

We continue chatting for another half an hour and then I notice Dillon's posture change. It's the kind of reaction you notice in someone who is growing anxious or bored. It's like he's just ready to escape. The sad thing is, I know this feeling all too well because it's how I feel around Clarice most of the time. It's like her personality just suffocates me. Unfortunately, it seems I'm the one doing the suffocating this time.

I can't really blame the guy. I'm not the best of company. My depression is bound to affect the people around me at some point, and it seems Dillon has reached his limit. I can honestly say, I'm surprised he lasted this long.

"You okay?" I ask, sensing his unease.

"Yeah," he nods, standing from the chair my mom was occupying earlier.

I laugh without humor as I watch his mind work to express himself.

"Dude," I say, a chuckle escaping my lips with annoyance. "Just say it."

Dillon nods, as he runs a hand through his hair. "I uh..." he pauses, unsure. "I came over to see if you'd be up for hanging out with the gang tonight?"

"But you've changed your mind?" I suggest, silently hoping I'm wrong.

"No!" he's quick to deny. "No, of course not. I'd love if you could come, but I guess I was in some kind of denial before coming here. I didn't realize how much time and work went into all..." he motions to my leg, "this."

"So..." I hold the word out longer, waiting for him to fill me in on what his plans are.

"Well, we were wanting to go on an evening hike," he says, shame woven into his expression. He peers up at me beneath his brows, a sad smile on his lips.

"Oh." I don't know what else to say. I guess ignorance really is bliss. Had I not known their plans, I'd never have had a reason to care, but now I'll have to reject his invitation all while knowing that they'll be enjoying nature without me.

"I'm sorry, man," Dillon says, his voice soft. "I wouldn't have said anything—or even agreed to it—if I'd realized."

"Don't worry about it," I assure him. "You guys just go have fun. I'll probably be heading to bed early tonight anyway."

"You sure?"

"Look," I say, rolling onto my side to give Dillon a straight look. "Just because I'm miserable doesn't mean the rest of my friends have to be." I offer him a half smile. "Please, just go have fun."

"This just feels wrong," Dillon mutters, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

"It's fine," I tell him, growing anxious for him to just leave already. "Don't make a big deal about it. As soon as I've got my new leg, I'll be out there with the four of you again. Until then, there's absolutely no sense in you guys suffering just to make me feel better... because, truthfully, that will only make me feel worse." I shoot him a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "I've got enough guilt to deal with."

Finally, after much convincing, Dillon agrees to not let my condition keep the rest of the group from enjoying life. He leaves my room, glancing back once as if to gain assurance from me that this really is okay, and then he's gone.

My mom returns a minutes later to continue with massage and ointment. It's not until she's stretching the shrinker sock over my stump that my emotions unleash themselves. A single tear escapes its prison, sliding down my temple and into my hairline. My mom remains silent until she's rolled the sock up my entire thigh, and then she wordlessly rounds to the side of the bed and pulls me into her arms.

I tremble in her grasp, my world shaking as loneliness drowns me in its oceans of misery. My mom soothes a hand over my back as she whispers incoherent encouragements into my ear. Her warmth surrounds me in a physical display of unconditional love, and yet, I feel as cold as ever.

And as I withdraw deeper into the shadows of desolation, I begin to wonder if my world will ever shine again.

---

Sorta gets you in the feels, huh? Poor Jamie... :'(

How do you feel about Dillon's reaction to Jamie's stump?

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Hope you're still enjoying the story. Please share any thoughts you have on it about the characters, the pace, the plot, the emotions...etc. I'd love to know what you're thinking. <3