Even though memories of driving her adapted car with her feet sprung up in her mind, she decided to walk to work that morning, enjoying the fresh morning air against her naked shoulders. She noticed a few heads turning at her passing and preferred to assume they were admiring her new floral dress. 

Having prepared her employee card in the side pocket of her purse, she rocked her hips towards the sensor and the automatic door let her inside. Just like the previous days, no one seemed to care about her missing limbs. No comments, no weird looks. She even flapped her arm at Silvia, who didn't bat an eye. 

Morning flew by as it always did, and she felt proud at how well she was handling her workload. Keyboard and mouse set on the floor, it's as if her feet had a mind of their own, typing nearly as fast as she usually did with two hands. By scrunching a pen between her arm and ribs, she managed to write a few surprisingly readable notes, leaning against a cushioned leather strip that made the angle of the desk more comfortable.

The unknown caller rang right after lunch.

“How's today going?” He spoke in the same deep voice as before.

She groaned in the mic. “I'm starting to get pretty fed up with all your bullshit, mister.”

“Oh you can't handle a little change in your life?” His laughter rumbled in her ears like tumbling rocks.

“Listen, whoever you are, please just tell me what's going on. Why can't we meet up for a little chat in a cafe?”

“I'd love to see you try to hold a cup with that arm of yours.”

And he hung up.

After work, Amber called her friend Diana and both girls agreed to go out to dinner together. Just like with Marcus and her coworkers, she didn't say a thing about her missing shoulder and arm, nor did she react when Amber leaned over the table to grab her utensils awkwardly.

For the first few days, the hardest part of losing her limbs had been to have to adapt to it all. Navigating her life without hands, without feet… But now, as she was somehow starting to get used to it, it was the reaction of people around her that troubled her the most. How could Mark not notice the vanishing limbs of his own girlfriend? How could Diana, her closest friend, not bat an eye when she showed up at the restaurant missing her two arms?! She took a controlled sip of her drink using her straw and sighed.

Day 7

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Amber jerked in her bed screaming at the top of her lungs, drenched in sweat. Apart from the flashing green light of Marcus' smartwatch on the side table, the room was pitch black. Images ran through her mind like the remnants of a dream, like projected on the darkness that surrounded her. The sleeping figure beside her machinally felt his way to her neck and ran his thumb against her cheek.

"M'you 'kay hon'?" He grumbled.

Slightly out of breath, she took a few seconds to answer. "Yeah.. Just a…” Anxiety was building up inside Amber's mind for a reason she was beginning to understand. “A terrible, terrible nightmare..." 

"Don't worry 'bout ithen." Turning around, he reached over to grab his girlfriend's buttcheek, brushing against her breast. "Come here and get back to sleep…"

As he dragged her between the sheets, she felt them brush against her in the strangest of ways. Marcus kissed his way to her lips, sliding his hands over her hips, dipping at her waist, brushing his hand on her chest and finally let it rest at her left shoulder. Empty. He dragged her against him and confirmed the second one was, too. Of course, shrugging them accomplished nothing at all, but why were her legs…

She let out a panicked gasp, trying to make sense of it. Looking down was no help either, as she couldn't see past her nose. She tried to prop herself on her elbows, even though she knew she couldn’t anymore. Nothing happened. She thought about lifting her legs to kick up the sheets. Nothing happened. She breathed deep and arched her back, looking for a way to anchor herself to the bed and accomplish something. 

Nothing. It was as if her four limbs were still numb from sleep…

“No no no no no no no, not like this, please no…” She muttered in a whisper.

Marcus forced his eyes open even through the dark. "Calm down, Amber, calm down…" He shifted at her side, yawning, reaching for his phone. The flashlight came on. "It's okay, Amber. Tell me about your nightmare." 

She squirmed under his caring gaze, grunting under the effort, and could not figure out how to move her body. “Marcus, what’s happening to me?”

He frowned, unsure. “What do you mean, honey?” Marcus sat in the bed, flicking on the light on the ceiling fan. “Here, let me get you some water…”

A securing hand behind her neck, Marcus pulled Amber into a precarious sitting position before lifting her effortlessly, pushing her backwards so that she could lean back against the headboard. He left the room, unfazed by her girlfriend’s four missing limbs, while she stared at the way the sheets crumpled where her legs should have been. She tried moving her legs again but stayed completely still. Instead, she shifted her weight onto her right buttcheek and twisted her hips to the left to try and see if she had any residual limb…

“Ahhhh! Marcus!”

Like the world’s slowest falling house of cards, she rolled on her side, shoulders shrugged, unable even to catch or slow herself in her fall. Now lying on her stomach, she craned her neck towards the door, contracting all the muscles her body could muster. All she could do was tense herself like a boneless chunk of meat, arching her back, immobile. Marcus appeared again holding a glass of water. He sat her once more, having no problem lifting her with a single hand, and seeing her fall over like this didn't seem to worry him at all. It must be pretty common, she thought.

Against all logic, Amber was starting to get used to it all and didn’t even try to extend a hand to grab the glass, instead craning her neck to allow her a semblance of control over the flow of liquid.

“There. Better?” He said lovingly. "You had one hell of a bad trip last night, I think you still need some time to shed it completely. I'll get some coffee dripping.”

“Wait..” She bit her lower lip. “Can you give me my phone?”

He smiled and set it further down on the mattress, walking out of the room without a second thought. For once, his detached attitude helped Amber calm down. 

She stared down at herself, at the entirety of her body confined inside a t-shirt, and sighed heavily. Pushing back with her head, she toppled herself on purpose, landing on her stomach, her chin a few inches away from her phone’s touchscreen. She plowed the sheets with her head, sending hair across her face, and grinded her hips as if trying to fold herself in half, twisting her torso, squirming her body from side to side, pushing down her shoulders in a useless effort to use them as walking pegs. She stopped after about a minute, slightly out of breath but satisfied with her efforts.

She craned her neck thinking she could reach her phone, but she was wrong. She could easily see the screen, and could probably have read a book at this distance, but her chin and teeth didn’t reach far enough to allow her to grab it. She even stuck out her tongue with no avail. Grunting, she dug her face into the bed for another series of squirms and finally felt her phone tap her forehead. She retrieved her face from the sheets, hair strewn across her eyes.

She bit on the plastic case of her phone to drag it towards her and looked at the locked screen picture. She barely recognized it anymore : both of them posing in front of a sunset on a beach of white sand. That was during their honeymoon three years ago. He was as handsome as the setting sun, sporting an unbuttoned white collared shirt and a few days old beard. He sat in the sand, his right leg raised, his arm casually resting on the knee.

Lovingly snuggled in the other arm, she wore a delicate short coral dress, smiling from ear to ear, sitting in the sand. She knew this photo by heart, but not like this. From the frilled sleeves, no arms came about. They remained empty, slightly bent by the invisible breeze. As for her legs, there were none. The base of the dress crumpled around her hips, dirty with wet sand.

Twisting her hips and pushing down with her face, she couldn’t get past forming a 60 degree angle with the bed and failed to flip on her back. She first had to waddle from side to side a few times to build enough momentum to then be able to initiate a roll. She chained another rotation and managed to bring herself to the edge of the bed. There, she squirmed her rump off the mattress and, again using her chin, pushed herself until her body slid smoothly against the sheets and landed on the nearby floor, ass first. Good thing the bed was set up lower than usual. She straightened herself, taking an extra few seconds to find her balance as she didn’t have any limbs to use as counterbalance. She thought it easier if she bent slightly forward. To hell with her posture for today.

Where to begin, where to begin, where to begin… No legs to stand on, or calves to hook with, or thighs to smudge and waddle with, and no hands to grab with, or forearms to push with, or upper arms to build momentum with. She tensed her core and twisted her shoulders to the left before rapidly swinging them rightward. As she did, she transferred the movement through her torso and flung her hips as hard as she could in the same direction, picturing herself taking a big step with her left leg. The left side of her waist bumped softly into the bedframe. She looked down, frustrated. Stuck. So close yet so far.

She leaned towards the bed, using her face as an anchor point to rotate her hips away from the wooden base and did so with relative success, before remembering she had to stand up again. She had pushed her hips so far from her center of gravity that she had begun to slide. If she stayed immobile, the floor would get her slowly but surely. She hooked her chin on the mattress once again, annoyed at the extremely limited options her body offered to her in terms of mobility. Her core muscles tensed to pull her hips closer to the bed frame and, without warning, the skin of her rump hit a wet spot. She had become sweaty after all these maneuvers and must’ve streaked a few drops of sweat on the wooden floor by mistake. Her hips jerked forward and before she knew it, Amber had fallen on her back.

That was the last drop. In silence, she cried. Shoulders shrugged towards the ceiling, unable even to wipe the tears off the corner of her eyes. Unable even to move a single limb. In all her anger and desperation, her bladder gave way, adding insult to injury.

Back in the room for a routine checkup, Marcus noticed his girlfriend’s distress and leaped into action. Without a word, he lifted and brought her up in the bathroom and set her on the countertop, effortlessly removing her shirt, loose around her shoulders, and pushed her panties down her hips. They collapsed a few inches down, visibly wet, but Marcus didn’t seem to care. Wearing only his boxers, he carried her over in the shower and set her on a cushioned seat she didn’t know they had, keeping her upright without effort. Then, he washed her meticulously, like an artisan putting the finishing touches on a piece of polished metal. She cried when her hair fell across her face and she couldn’t push them away. She cried when Marcus’ hands ran over her shoulders and hips and confirmed that there wasn’t even an inch of limbs left on her body. He was so gentle with her, but his touch was brutally honest. She cried when he lifted her ass to clean it, secured in his arms, yet terribly imbalanced. Vulnerable.

Amber called in sick that morning. This whole thing had taken a serious toll on her and between Marcus not reacting and trying to cope with it herself, she didn't have the energy to try and figure out how to do her job looking like this. 

She didn’t need to plead to Marcus for him to stay home that day. While he worked in their “new” home office, she slacked off on the couch under two thick blankets to drown her brain into mindless television, drifting in and out of sleep for most of the day. She ignored her phone’s buzzes, even the expected phone call and let it ring until it hit voicemail. Later that night, when Marcus was done with his work, she nibbled at her chicken nuggets without too much interest. She felt no motivation to strain her entire body just for a few bites of fast food, and didn’t feel like asking for help. She faked not being hungry.

Two Office episodes later, after the credits had finished rolling, Marcus turned off the television and as he was cleaning the living room, she stared at herself in the screen's black mirror. She could see her puffy eyes from across the distance, even in the dark, and the shape of her shoulders against the background left nothing to the imagination. The blankets around her hips had fallen flat, showing a similar effect.

She let Marcus guide her through their nighttime routine. Being carried this and that way, needing his help to wipe after peeing, being changed and fitted into a freshly washed nightgown. After he had put her toothbrush on a bracket fixed at the side of the cabinet, Amber resigned to brush her teeth herself, waddling like a toddler in an oversized winter coat, but still needed help to spit in the sink or else she would’ve fallen over. Will this day ever end.. She thought.

She closed her eyes when her back finally hit the bed, twisting her body every way trying to make herself comfortable. Like another cruel way of being tortured, sleep eluded her for hours.

Day 8

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!"

Amber sprung up on the bed screaming at the top of her lungs, drenched in sweat. Apart from the flashing green light of her smartwatch on the side table, the room was pitch black. Images ran through her mind like the remnants of a dream, like projected on the darkness that surrounded her. The sleeping figure beside her machinally felt his way to her thigh and gave it a little squeeze.

"M'you 'kay hon'?" He grumbled.

She ran her hands through her hair, pushing them away from her face, and began crying. She hugged herself, hands on opposing shoulders. For a brief moment, she was convinced to be the happiest woman in the world.

He sat up and pulled her closer without a word, allowing her a moment to digest whatever was going through her mind. After a minute or two, he spoke.

“I'll throw away the pills, Amber.”

“It's not the pills it's just…” She wiped her tears and sniffed. “The last few days have been so hard and I'm just happy to have hands again.”

“You hallucinated pretty hard yesterday, I have to admit. Come on, let's get back to sleep.”

A chill crept up her spine. “I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep but…” She wondered what would happen if she were to sleep again, even for a short nap.. “..but I won’t say no to snuggling.”

Being of slightly smaller frame than her boyfriend, she spooned him as best she could and pressed her chest against his back, stretching her left leg to hook it over his own. Her left leg brushed against the sheets in familiar, yet incomplete ways and she sighed. Reaching down, she didn’t feel anything abhorrently out of the ordinary apart from her missing left foot. She shrugged it off for now.

In a state of hyper awareness, she let her fingers wander on her boyfriend’s skin, quickly remembering how it felt to have arms and hands. The weight of her limbs at her sides, even when lying down, how elbows have a bunch of weird angles and bones that poked her ribs when in a specific position. Somehow, it felt foreign and comforting all at once. She sighed, content.

When Markus’ alarm clock went off, he kissed her good morning again and left her alone between the sheets, enjoying the bed’s warmth for another few minutes. She turned and looked at the time on her cell phone. She should also get up. She sat in the bed and stretched her arms, enjoying their return, then hugged herself. 

Amber had folded her legs beneath her without any afterthought and only now realized how she was sitting. Her lower legs had been swallowed in the thickness of the mattress in ways she knew were unnatural. As she extended them, she confirmed her suspicions. Both of her legs were missing somewhere past her knees. Almost down at the ankle for the right, and further up near the knee for her left. She hooked them in the sheets to bring herself closer to the edge of the bed in a series of movements that chained naturally, without her thinking too much about them.

After slipping her watch on, her eyes fell on the pièce de résistance. Two carbon fiber, flowery, state of the art, prosthetic legs laid against her night stand. Their fittings were different. The left was taller, wider, accepting of the width of what was now her calf. The right one, shorter, was narrower, as was her shin and leg as it stretched towards her inexistent ankle. On top of them, someone, probably her in a forgotten dream, has laid an intricate series of socks and liners destined to protect her stumps before she put on her legs.

She took the pile and displayed its elements on her lap. This seemed so foreign, so complicated. One large white sock, one liner made of a silicon-like plastic, another sock, shorter this time… She took a deep breath and looked inside her mind. She knew how to do this, Or, at least, a version of herself knew how to do this. A version of herself had done it a thousand times over, eyes closed, half asleep, hungover, and for as long as she couldn’t remember.

When she opened her eyes, she let her hands do the work. Mind empty, anxiety gone, they seemed to move on their own, flipping the liner inside out and stretching it over her limb like a second skin, adjusting the sock over her stump, and finally sliding it inside the prosthetic where it clicked softly. She lifted her left leg and the artificial foot followed up. She nodded approvingly. The second one followed suit even quicker than the first, Amber’s fingers warmed up to the motions.

She had worn the same dress two days ago when she only had a pickle of an arm, but who would notice? Slipping up a pair of gym shorts for protection, she twirled before her mirror and smiled. 

Work had been as frantic as it could be. Sylvia being nowhere to be seen, Amber was back at doing her job by herself, which was a challenge in and of itself. Her legs, if a little uncomfortable, didn’t slow her down at all and the morning flew by like it often did.

“Eastern General Clinic, this is Amber, how may I be of service?”

“A lot easier with two hands isn’t it Amber?”

She sighed, a lot more irritated than angry. “Look, I’m in a bit of a rush today, I don’t have time to chat. Can we catch up tomorrow?”

“Careful, Amber, You never know what will happen tomorrow.”

“While we’re on the subject,” she crossed her legs, settling them in a very precise position where the rim of her prosthetic leg didn’t pinch the delicate skin of her thigh. “I think I’m done with Monday. Can we do Tuesday tomorrow? Because I’ve been watching the same Office episodes with my boyfriend for a week now and if I have to sit through Scott’s Tots one more time I swear to God…”

The line clicked.