I knock softly on the door.

"Come in." There is a yawn followed by a groan. "I'm awake."

A ray of sunlight squeezes in-between the curtains to illuminate the room, allowing me to navigate easily towards the bed. Apart from the tuft of dark brown hair sticking from under the covers, Penny's petite silhouette is completely hidden.

"Good morning." I say gently. "Did you sleep….. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, eep! Sorry for that!" She shrugs and crunches her abs.

"Don't be, Penny. Really, it's nothing."

By pulling the sheets off of her, we quickly realize that her breasts are completely exposed. Her shirt must've bundled up during the night as she unconsciously tossed and turned, making its way up her torso and around her neck. I untangle and lower it back to its resting spot with shaking fingers, unable to erase the view of her erect nipples from my mind.

"Bathroom, clothes, then breakfast?" I sit her up in the bed, a hand on her back.

"See? You're getting the hang of it, just like I said. Yeah, let's do exactly that."

"Okay." I put a knee on the bed and wrap my arms around her waist. "One, two, three."

Pressing us together, I tense my body and lift her off the bed, carrying her over to the bathroom like a sack of potatoes. I slide her panties off with my thumb before setting her on the squat toilet, directly on the ground. I turn around to give her a few seconds of privacy, a wad of toilet paper ready in hand. When she’s done, I pat her dry and stand back up.

"Perfect, thanks." She looks up at me, waiting. "Should I get dressed or…"

I slap my forehead. "Of course, I should've gone to get your stuff while you peed, sorry about that."

"I'm just teasing you, no need to feel bad. You'll get your own routine as you help me with mine."

I turn on my heels and head back in the room, fishing for a fresh pair of panties, short jean shorts, a white and blue crop top and a black laced bra. Meanwhile, Penny has managed to waddle forward off of the toilet. Unable to step over the bathroom mat, her legless hips pushed it together, bundling it in a roll in front of her.

I sit down, cross legged, and angle Penny on my lap to get access to her rump. I stretch the panties around her cheeks and cover them with shorts, their leg holes aligned where she has none. Sitting upwards again, I grab the bottom of her shirt and flip it over her head, messing up her hair even more, exposing her chest once again. I swallow through a dry throat, my eyes glued to hers, as I pick up her bra and clip it around her waist, turn it around, fit her breasts inside the cups, then finally hook the straps over her shoulders.

"Is it comfortable?"

She rolls her left shoulder. "I think this one is twisted." I slide a finger under the strap and run it up and over, down to the band in her back. "Yeah that's good. Thanks."

Her shirt soon follows, the diagonal stripes going from her left shoulder down to her right side. She squirms, relieving an itch on her cheek, her empty sleeve flapping like a flag in the breeze.

“Give me a few minutes to brush my hair and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Okay, sure. Need me to set something up?”

“I should be fine, thanks.” She flips her hair away from her face and starts waddling again towards the cupboard, where a hairbrush has been screwed on tightly.

“Coffee this morning?”

“Yes. Black.” She smirks, looking up at me between two shuffles.

I promptly leave the room, certain that her last look has made me blush completely. My face feels hot, sweat runs down my back and I need to take a deep breath to calm myself down. Hands on the counter, I try to fight against my breathing and get us a pot of coffee going before picking up my phone. I machinally open the surveillance camera app and zoom in on the bathroom. Set up in the corner behind the toilet, the camera focuses mainly on the mirror and cabinet.

Penny is still only halfway towards her destination. Back straight, left hip forward, she shakes her head to remove the hair out of her eyes. Before long, she starts again, shifting her weight to the left side, twisting her core muscles and throwing herself the opposite way. Her right hip takes a tiny step forward. She repeats the motion. Another tiny step forward. This time leaning on her right side, she mirrors her movements to throw her left hip forward. With each effort, her head bobs from one side to the other, the short sleeves of her shirt dangling at her sides, her wide yet empty hips sagging ever so slightly under her weight. By oscillating like a pendulum, she progresses. Slowly.

I shake my head and detach my stare from the feed, quickly gathering cups, plates, utensils, bread and jam to fill the kitchen table. I turn her chair on and park it at an angle, throw slices of bread in the toaster, then push the living room’s curtains aside. With the subtle hum of the percolator as background noise, I run back to my phone.



She’s doing it, she’s actually doing it. Her head tilted to the side, she needs to use her entire body to brush her hair. She bends forwards and rotates her head simultaneously, then stretches away from it before starting again. And again, and again. She waddles where she sits, rotating to reach the other side, mirroring her movements. Instead of bumping against the cupboard, her sleeves crumple where the width of her shoulders fall short. I lock my phone and walk back to her room.

“Breakfast is almost ready, I thought I’d come around and see if you were.” Hands joined, I’m playing with my fingers, nervous.

“I was, actually.” She leans her head back, throwing her hair down to her kidneys. She raises her shoulders and jerks her chin towards me. “I’m starving!”

“Yes, of course, I am as well.” I slide my hand under her left butt cheek and count to three. “Theeere we go.”

Now set in her chair, I secure the belt around her waist and position the joystick in range of her chin, to the great displeasure of the chair's articulated arm.

"I think it could use some oil." She chuckles.

"I'll see what I can do before I leave for the day."

"No no no, you don't have to do this." She leans forwards to drive her chair ever so slightly closer to the table. "I'll ask my dad to call tech support."

"Okay then."  I loop around the table and tie her hair in a low pony. I know I could get in trouble for fiddling with her wheelchair, but making her happy could be worth the risk. "Strawberry jam?"

"And butter." She giggles.

"And butter." I smile too, facing away from her while I pour us coffees and grab the toasts. "Are there specific things you wanted me to help you with after breakfast before I leave?"

No answer. I cut a jammed slice of bread and set it before her without any reaction. I sit, respecting the silence, for a while, before trying again.

I clear my throat. "Penny?"

Her eyes come back into focus. "...Yeah. Totally." She exhales loudly, fighting against mental fog. "Listen, um.." She fidgets with her chair's joystick, stretching the skin of her bony shoulder. "I won't.." She moistens her lips, not knowing where to look. "I won't.. tell anybody. If you stay later I mean. You don't… um.. You know what, never mind." She leans forwards to take a sip to shut herself up. "Forget what I said."

"I can stay if you want…" Getting a good hint of interest on her side as well, I shoot my shot. "For the chair… right?" I put a little dose of sarcasm in my voice.

She chokes on her coffee and, coughing like her life depends on it, bangs her head against her plate, sticking a square piece of toast to her left cheek. I jump out of my chair.

"Are you okay?!" I gently inspect her face, framing it with my hands.

"Ow shhhhhhhh.." Breathing through her teeth, she moves her brows up and down, as if trying to chafe the muscles herself.

"There, there."

I push away a few strands of hair before plucking the piece of toast from her face. I quickly grab a napkin to clean it off but stop halfway through my work. Penny's staring, head tilted, mouth slightly open. Her heavy breathing fills my ears like it's the only remaining sound in the universe. I swipe the remaining jam with my finger and slide it between her lips. Our contact is warm, moist, the jam being nothing more than an excuse. She suckles on it and teases me with the tip of her tongue, using it like a makeshift appendage. Writhing behind her restraints, I can feel us long for the other when I remember where we are. I kneel beside her, arm extended, with the wheelchair a barrier more than a tool.

"Hold me in your arms, Conan."

She sighs these words in a whisper, as if they'd burn her throat if spoken louder. I run my thumb against my wet index finger, pondering, and push two fingers back into her mouth. Her chest swells in response, accepting them, relishing their taste. She moans, neck muscles tensed, then starts moving her head back and forth, eyes closed, lavishly running her tongue across my fingers, slithering around them, forcing them apart. Her breathing quickens still as she tightens her lips. I shove them deeper into her throat and move my other hand under her shirt to grab her breasts through her bra, unsure if I should venture around it.

She mumbles through my fingers and looks up at me with screaming eyes. I give up.

I undo the seatbelt and scoop her into my arms, wrapping my body around hers, unable to return the favor. She cranes her neck to kiss me, forcing her tongue inside my mouth this time, fighting with my own, pressing her face against mine so hard our teeth clink, but I don’t mind.

She grinds her lower belly against my own to force out my erection, allowing her to get a feel of it even through our clothes. I set her on the living room floor where an intricate pattern of foam squares have been jigsawed together, a softer texture for her during her daily activities. As I'm about to close the curtains again, she clicks her tongue loudly.

"Forget that, no one's going to see us." She bites her lower lip, squirming, waiting. I look back at the curtains, then at her. She nods slowly, whispers : "Conan.."

I walk back to kneel before her, my knees almost touching her rump.  "Should I take off your shorts?"

"Drop your pants first." She orders softly. I comply, throwing them to the side. "Now mine."

Her jaw quivers when my fingers reach in to unbutton the shorts. She takes a deep, trembling breath and holds it in as I tug them off, exposing the underwear I've helped her put on just a few minutes ago. At this angle, in this instant, it's like I'm noticing them for the first time. Dark blue, soft, satin-like almost. Apart from the small pink bow centered up front, nothing comes to disturb the pristine appearance it gives to her groin. I look up at her, making sure I’m not crossing any unwanted boundaries, before running a finger across her genitals, still hidden away.

“Touch my breasts, Conan.” Anxiety and arousal quickens her breathing. Writhing, she rolls back her shoulders, limbless, helpless. My hand sneaks under her top, brushing my fingertips across her skin, but she clicks her tongue again. “No, not like this.” Her face reddens as she collects her thoughts. She raises her chin proudly. “I want to watch. Take off my shirt too.”

Without her arms, I never had any difficulty getting Penny in or out of clothes. Her shirt simply slips right over her head without the need to get her arms through the sleeves first, revealing the laced bra I had chosen for her. I am ready to make a move, yet I could swear that something is still bothering her. I grab the bottom of my shirt, thinking she wants me naked, but she shakes her head. I stop, confused.

“Can I take off your bra?” My voice sounds formal, like I’ve just asked to buy a train ticket. 

Almost panting, she sighs out of relief. “Please, please, please.”

One hand on her shoulder, the other wedged under her, I pivot her impossible body on its side and unclasp her bra, then meticulously set her back against the foamed floor. She cranes her neck to catch my passing lips, wolfing down on me, devouring the kiss I force upon her in return. I bury my fingers in her hair and effortlessly slide her bra off of her skin before cupping a breast in the palm of my hand. Warm, hot even, I find the other and push them together, barely able to continue kissing her at the same time. Feeling in my hands are fading away.

“Touch me however you want.” I whisper in his mouth. The words resonate inside my head, spoken outside of the rules of my game. “Take off everything, do it, I'm begging you.”

The illusion is gone, shattered in a million pieces. No more playing. I’m back in my own body, looking down at Conan, who is painstakingly taking off my panties one millimeter at a time. My heart is beating so hard in my chest it’s making me breathe in spurts and I feel like I’m going to explode. The curtain has fallen over my little scenario, I’m no longer in control of anything. Instead, like a fisherman with his lure, I need to resort to entice him to take me whole, worming my groin his way, pushing my shoulders into the foam.

“Quick now! I want you inside me!” As he lobs my underwear away, it dissolves into a puff of smoke. I gasp and take a look at the clock. “I’m all yours now, there’s no one to stop us.” I check the clock again and curse under my breath. “Take my shoulders and pull me until I fit on your cock like a sleeve, please, fuck me as hard as you can, at least let me have this!”

The room is shaking now. Paint is peeling off the ceiling, swinging lights draw dancing shadows across the room, plates have fallen down the table and crashed onto the floor, ceramic pots are burping out their plants, pipes rupture inside the walls, water spills on the furniture, and on us. Conan thinks nothing of this impending apocalypse. Towering over me, thumbs inside his boxers, he strips while torrents of water splash across his face. Almost purposefully slow, he kneels and swipes a single finger across my clit. I shrug and moan loudly, rocking my hips to one side, hoping I can be lucky enough to catch a stray finger between my lips. He leans over me as I’m about to faint from hyperventilation.

“Conan, just…” He interrupts me.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” Mouth open wide, he yells in my face at the top of his lungs, showering me with spit.

“What the hell?!” The shaking around me intensifies. “No no no please!! I almost had him, I was almost there! Just one more minute!” I close my eyes to try and control the dream just a little bit longer. “Breathe, Pen, breathe…”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” He sounds like a creature from the abyss, like the fog horn on a transatlantic carrier ship. There’s no way I’m coming back from this now. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

“Shut up!! SHUT UP!!!”

I give up. Eyes wide open, I can’t help but stare down his throat while he wails, almost expecting the gates of Hell to open from inside his body. His jaw stretches further and further until it snaps, sending bits of bones and soggy flesh flying across the room, his head curling backwards against itself. The foam squares against my back are turning to ash, the floor splitting open to reveal bottomless chasms, endless pits of eternal punishment. But what punishment could be worse than having to live like this?

Squirming as if I was laying on hot coals, hoping to, if by a miracle, hold on to something, my hips tilt me into a gaping hole and I fall, engulfed in the infinite darkness just as much as in Conan’s hellish screams.

—-----------

Mr Morrow's screams stir me awake. A nurse comes running through the corridor and I hear a small commotion, so nothing out of the ordinary. He gets blood work done every Tuesday.

I yawn and stretch out my back, pressing the emergency button with the tip of my nose and after what feels like forever, the line clicks twice. They're short-staffed again today. They always are.  I writhe under the thin sheets, still undisturbed for the most part.

Reality hits me like a ton of bricks. I look around and blink quickly to clear the gunk out of my eyes, reminding myself of where I am. I push my head down on the mattress to reposition my shoulders, rock my hips on the slippery hospital sheets. Rotating to the left, I manage to reach the controls and tilt the bed upwards, allowing me to sit at a 45° angle.

Mrs Wheatley is awake, too. The curtain between our halves of the room blocks nothing of her constant mumbling. As for the occasional yelps when the nurses come to check on her, I've started to expect them. I don't get startled like I used to.

Shadows are passing by in the other direction now that the Morrow crisis has been controlled. I take a look at the clock and the knot in my stomach twists and tightens. Today is Wednesday. If my calculations are correct, Conan should be here from 7 to 4, considering that he doesn't work this weekend. I rub my hair against my pillow in a vain attempt to tame them.

"Penny!!" Élise appears in the doorway, hands in the air. "It's so nice to see you!"

"Hi Élise." I smile unconvincingly. "How's my favorite Frenchie doing?"

"Not so bad, not so bad!" Mrs Wheatley shrieks when she enters the room. "Non mais calmez vous, bon sang…" She sits on the side of my bed and places a lock of hair behind my ear. "Not who you were expecting this morning, huh?"

"I gotta say I am very disappointed to see you."

She taps my cheek gently. "But…" she continues talking as she brings the wheelchair closer. "I do 'ave some good and bad news."

"Let's start with the bad one…" I tense my body as she transfers me.

"Bad news is I'm leaving in an hour, wahhhh." Her French accent is killing me. "Poor little Penny, Élise is done with her overtime and is going home to drink a big glass of rosé."

She sits me on the toilet, underwear off. "And the good news?" I frown.

She leans forward and whispers in my ear. "It's your bath day and Conan's on bath duty."

"Really? Oh well.." My face betrays the emotions that surge through my mind faster than I can stop them.

She slaps me gently on the shoulder, preventively shrugged. "Hey hey hey, don't try that with me, I know you now, you know? You can't stay 5 months in the hospital before making at least one friend!"

"Stop it, I'm sure you say that to all your patients." She fixes my panties and brings me over to the easy chair.

"All my patients are older than me for like three times… no, no, wait. They.. are.. like three times my age, yeah that makes more sense." She says, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "And you are nice, and kind, and so cuuuuuuuuute! Look at you!"

She squishes my cheeks and drops a big wet smooch on my forehead. "That's very kind thank you." I know I can only reach up to my cheekbones with my shoulders but try to wipe her kiss anyway, missing it by a long shot. "Can you at least help me eat now? I'm starving."

—----

"Hi Miss Winslow, is this a good time?"

I detach my stare from the oak tree outside my window and look back at him. "Yes, sure." I shift my weight to my left, tossing my shoulder back to fix my hair. "Wha…"

He sighs, unenthusiastically gathering his stuff on my side of the room. "Bath time, Miss." He interrupts me without skipping a beat, yanking on the drapes. He looks down, as if taking notice of me for the first time since entering the room. "Miss Winslow, right, right, right, right…."

The knot in my stomach is back, for real this time. I desperately want to play it cool but he's obviously already uncomfortable. "Is everything alright?" I shrug instinctively, showcasing my bony shoulders atop my shirt.

He looks around. "Give me a minute."

Without another word, he flies out of the room. How I wish I could be just another patient on his list. Unconscious, intubated, or even so severely out of shape that I'd need assistance for my daily hygiene. Just for a couple of weeks, then we could laugh it off and they'd send me home with warm wishes and a slap in the back. Yeah, right... I get to be an amputee instead. Armless, legless, unable to live by myself. There's never a point where I'm gonna get better. I'm always going to be dependent on Conans and Élises, numbered employees of a public healthcare system that's literally falling apart.

Speaking of the devil, Conan enters again, fighting back another sigh. Wearing a mask indoors had its drawbacks, but it could at least hide others' reactions. Now I can read him like an open book. For a moment I wonder if he's going to address the awkwardness in the room. It's so thick I could cut it with a knife. If I had arms, of course.

"Okayy." He tosses a washcloth in a wash bin of soapy warm water, like mentally preparing himself. "Let's do this.." He whispers under his breath, not caring if I heard him or not. "Let's get you cleaned up."

The intonation in his voice flexes downward, revealing his uneasiness, although he doesn't need to open his mouth to reveal it.

"Close your eyes and mouth so I.." I do as I am told, startled by the lukewarm cloth that scrubs around my face and down my neck, reaching slightly inside my collar. "Shirt's coming off my dear."

I notice him reaching for my sleeves, retracting his hands, hovering in-between, holding his breath, before finally grabbing my baggy shirt and fitting me out of it. Lips pressed together, his eyes came on and away from my breasts, both of us visibly uncomfortable. Why was I looking forward to this? It's unbearable. None of us are having any sort of fun, like at all.

He dunks his washcloth before bringing it back on my chest with a loud splat. I squirm, shoulders up, wishing I could disappear inside my mattress. Close to my ears, I can catch some of Conan's forced breaths as he works on me. He runs it across my sides, my stomach, my breasts, slowing down when cleaning on the latter. From discomfort or kindness? That is the question.

Covered from head to rump in a dry towel, I can’t help but follow his every move. Down the chute goes the dirty cloth and in the wash bin comes a clean one, each one tossed casually, no more important than a half eaten apple core. Conan unceremoniously exposes my hips, pressing his palm against my rounded pelvis to wipe down the legless cheeks that encircle yet another part of my body that can't be kept private.

"Excuse me.." I whimper. "Could you get some warmer water?"

A service bell rings as I speak, completely covering my voice. He hears none of it and presses on, dunking, wringing, washing. The cold washcloth runs over my genitals and my entire body tenses with a terribly comedic timing. Conan's lips stretch into a thin line. How lowly he must think of me. The bedridden handicapped girl getting off during her routine washes in the hospital. I try to shrug it off naturally, waddling back on the slanted backrest of my bed, but what is done is done. I wish I couldn't care what he thought of me, but that's all I have. Had I had legs, I would've welded them shut. And to think I was looking forward to seeing him today, such an embarrassment…

We both acknowledge the awkwardness in the air, silent words exchanged during an eye contact as brief as a light flash. Eager to be done with this, he quickly dries me off before grabbing a pair of my own panties, much more comfortable than the stretched one-size-fits-all hospital ones. He slides his fingers under my cheeks before looping them around my sides and covering my genitals with the pale blue fabric. He pulls me upwards and fits me inside an oversized shirt, allowing me to hide most of myself inside it. He mumbles as he leaves, asking if I need anything else. I shake my head, but my brain is begging for vodka.