When my eyes opened again, it felt like no time had passed at all, though it was clear that quite a bit had, because the quality of the light outside the bedroom window had completely changed, going from the brightness of afternoon sun to the golden glow that came just before sunset. I blinked to clear the bleariness from my vision, noting that most of the bleariness seemed to have cleared from my head as well, which signaled that the morphine had finally worn off. The low-level burning sensation I felt in my legs confirmed that observation, telling me it was probably time to start taking the pills Rob and I had picked up at the pharmacy. Hopefully they would be able to keep the uncomfortable set of symptoms I’d experienced earlier in the day -- my body’s unconventional reaction to intense pain below my injury level -- at bay.

No sooner had I brought my vision back into focus than I heard a quiet melody coming from our home office -- the ringtone Justin used for all of the reminders he programmed into his phone to make things easier for himself. Even nearly three years later, traumatic brain injury still had quite an effect on Justin’s short-term memory, so he’d become dependent on his phone to keep him from forgetting things. That sound meant Justin was home.

A few seconds later, the doorknob clicked and the door to our bedroom slowly opened and Justin stepped through it.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice flat and strange -- surprise mixed with discomfort, as if he didn’t know what to say. The look on his face was just as odd -- like he felt guilty -- when he reached out and moved the cold pack off of my foot, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

Normally, Justin would have been all over me -- asking if I was okay and probably not believing me when I told him I was, with his anxiety driving his every move and every word that came out of his mouth -- but this time, he just sat there looking awkward, his gaze cast downward, like he didn’t want to make eye contact with me.

“I’m sorry,” he said, still not looking at me. “Sorry I wasn’t here. My phone was in my backpack, and I didn’t hear it. Adam came and got me at my studio and told me what was going on. God, I’m so sorry. I should have been here, but I...” His voice faded into silence, leaving his sentence unfinished as he used his left hand to toy with the fingers on his right.

“It’s okay,” I said, because I’d learned a long time ago not to say sorry was bullshit when Justin was even a little bit anxious, unless I wanted him to freak out on me. In any case, I wasn’t sure if Justin was referring to the afternoon I’d spent sleeping while Rob babysat me, or the morning when I’d fallen and set this god-forsaken chain of dominoes into motion. My voice was still thick from the deep sleep I’d apparently spent the last few hours in, given that I had no recollection of Rob leaving or Justin coming home, or anyone putting on or taking off the ice pack from my foot, though I was sure that with Rob and Justin in charge, it had happened exactly on schedule. I intended to ask Justin how things were going at the studio -- and I still to this day wonder if I’d been able to do that, if Justin’s response would have tipped me off that something was seriously wrong that I wasn’t seeing -- but my body chose that moment to ramp up the pain in my legs, making an abrupt transition from the burning that I could ignore into the sharp, electric shock-like sensation that always demanded my full attention and usually resulted in me being unable to do anything other than curl in on myself and wait for it to pass.

“Shit,” I heard Justin say, though I couldn’t open my eyes at that moment to look at him. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

Of course, I couldn’t respond to him at that moment either -- I had to ride out the pain first. When it had finally faded enough for me to be able to open my eyes, the Justin I saw was no longer in the awkward state he had been when I’d closed them. Instead, his eyes were wide, and I could see in them how desperate he was to make things better for me -- to take away my pain. That was my “normal” Justin. And seeing that, in combination with how distracted I was by the turmoil happening inside my body, was enough to make me not question Justin’s odd behavior when I’d first awakened.

“I’m okay,” I said softly, once I finally felt like I could speak, though my voice was still much weaker and more breathy than I’d prefer. I tried to smile, to give Justin the reassurance I knew he needed in that moment, though I wasn’t sure how convincing it was. “I promise,” I added, just as extra insurance.

Justin swallowed and nodded. “Rob told me you’re supposed to check your skin every few hours tonight,” he said, sounding a little more like himself, although he still looked a bit uncomfortable. “He wasn’t sure you’d remember. Do you want to do it, or do you want me to?”

I did remember -- sort of -- and I was fine with Justin taking care of it for me because he’d have a better view without aggravating my injury (though I did appreciate the fact that he’d been around the block a time or two and knew better than to do anything without asking). However, I had other shit to tend to first -- namely, the tightness in my abdomen that got pretty damn noticeable once the pain had subsided.

“Gotta piss first,” I said, as I furtively checked that my sweatpants and the bed underneath me were still dry. Thankfully, my body hadn’t decided of its own accord to add a bladder spasm to the chaos and really make the day complete. Still, there probably wasn’t any time to waste, so I pushed myself up to a sitting position as quickly as I could, while still being mindful not to just flop my legs over the side of the bed like I usually did, but to carefully place them there, one by one, instead. I hadn’t realized just how little attention I paid to my legs most of the time until I was deliberately trying not to injure one of them any further. The boot was heavy, and I could feel the difference in the weight when I picked up my right leg, but I managed not to bash it on anything on my way into my chair, so that was a victory. Clearly the damn boot was going to take some getting used to.

Justin didn’t step in to help, because he knew better, but I could tell he looked nervous. That wasn’t unusual though, as Justin’s anxiety (another of traumatic brain injury’s many gifts) often led to him running worst-case scenarios in his head any time something was going on with me, no matter how minor.

I pissed for longer than I had at once in a long time -- apparently I hadn’t been far from disaster, so I thanked the god I didn’t believe in that I woke up when I did -- then finally glanced at my watch, which told me it was after six o’clock, and I’d slept for more than three hours. At that point, I still felt a little groggy, but I wasn’t exactly sleepy, which didn’t bode well for the fact that I was sentenced to spending the next few days in bed.

I sighed and stretched, savoring the opportunity to be upright, even though I knew it would be short lived. Then I went back into the bedroom to prepare for an evening in bed, which wasn’t my favorite thing unless there was sex involved. And I knew there wouldn’t be -- not that night, anyway.

Justin brought me dinner -- chicken parmesan he'd apparently ordered from Monetti's -- but instead of staying in the room with me while we both ate, he left right after he brought me the tray. Not that I needed him to stay or some other clingy shit like that, but I did actually like his company, so it felt odd to eat alone. But I knew Justin had a lot on his mind as he prepared for his show, so I told myself he was just sketching or brainstorming while he ate. No big deal.

He came in about thirty minutes later to retrieve the tray and ask me if I needed anything else, but he didn't stay, which again, was strange, but I tried not to think anything of it. For the rest of the evening, he only made brief appearances to check on me, never staying for more than a minute or two, and always seeming preoccupied. That continued until after midnight, when he finally showered and came to bed.

I was still awake, of course, because instead of making me tired, my new pain meds had apparently given me a raging case of insomnia.

I'd been to the bathroom more than a few times that evening, finished the book I'd been reading for the past month but hadn't had much time for, caught up on email, and even watched a couple of episodes of "Tales of the City" on Netflix, which Michael had told me on multiple occasions that I needed to watch. (And, surprise, I was actually enjoying it.) But I had yet to fall asleep again after my three-hour morphine-induced nap.

Justin's phone rang at some point while he was in our home office, probably working on something on his computer. It sounded like he was talking to Daphne, based on what was said, but the animated, joking, smiling-with-his-voice Justin that I usually heard when he talked to his childhood best friend was conspicuously absent, replaced with one whose intonation sounded flat and almost annoyed at times. But I had reasons in my head to explain that too, and at the time, they felt valid -- Justin was really focused on his work, that was all.

Justin came to bed right after his shower, his hair and skin still a little damp because he was the absolute worst at drying himself off. He kissed me goodnight, told me he loved me, then rolled over and let out a long sigh, which was followed not even a minute later by the deep, even breathing that signified my husband was asleep.

There was a space between us in the bed that I tried not to read too much into. Justin probably hadn't snuggled up to me because he didn't want to make me uncomfortable, I told myself. I didn't normally sleep on my back, and with the pillow fort my legs were propped up on, I was definitely in a bit of an awkward position. So cuddling with my husband was probably out for the next however-the-fuck-long. I tried not to get too pissed off about that, but it was hard, and the longer the night went on with me still awake, the harder it got, simply because I was uncomfortable and I really was tired because it was three in the goddamned morning but I couldn't manage to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.

I spent the rest of the night doing as much tossing and turning as I could while keeping my foot elevated, feeling like every time I would finally fall asleep, some uncomfortable sensation in my body would wake me up again. My alarm went off at seven, telling me it was time to drag myself out of bed so I could get ready for my appointment at the orthopedist, which I was dreading because I didn't really want to hear any bad news. Justin barely even stirred when my alarm sounded, instead rolling over and letting out another one of those long sighs, clearly still asleep.

I sighed too, mostly because I didn't want to get up, but I knew I had to. I pushed myself up into a sitting position, then slowly and carefully got myself up and into my chair so I could start getting ready. When I'd completed the first few tasks of my morning routine and was ready to get into the shower, I started the process of taking off the boot and inspecting my skin, although it was hard to tell much of anything with the mottled color of my foot, which was somehow even more bruised than it had been the previous day. Less swollen, yes, but still fucked up.

I was more careful than I'd ever been in my life as I transferred in and out of the shower, because the last thing I wanted was a repeat performance. But everything went as planned, without incident, and soon I was fully dressed and ready for my appointment, while Justin was still sleeping soundly in our bed.

Briefly, I wondered if I should wake him up, because I knew if he had been awake he would want to go with me, but in the end, I didn't because I figured he could use the sleep, and I really didn't need a chaperone. So I let him sleep and called for a ride, grabbing a protein bar in the kitchen on my way out the door.

This time, Martin was the one who picked me up, and though he was concerned when he saw my new accessory, I was in a much better state to deflect that concern now that I wasn't in as much pain. My body still wasn't happy by any means, but what I felt that morning was much more tolerable than what I’d endured the day before.

The orthopedist had good news for me too -- thank god -- and after taking a look at my x-rays and evaluating my situation, told me to continue wearing the boot and scheduled me a follow-up appointment in two weeks. While I would have rather not worn the boot at all, I knew it was a necessary evil, and if I did as I was told, I'd be able to leave it behind soon enough. In the meantime, I was just going to have to be a little less than fashionable.

As that thought crossed my mind while I sat in the back seat of a town car on my way home, I wished Justin would have been beside me, so I could have told him that and he could have teased me about it. I missed that Justin -- the one who laughed with me, and sometimes at me, and could brighten my day just by giving me that sunshine smile he'd always been famous for. I don't think I had realized until that moment how few and far between those laughs and smiles had become. Justin was so damn distant, and he'd been even more distant the night before. It was obvious that something was off, but I had no idea what to say or ask to try to figure it out without potentially making things worse. Maybe Justin was feeling guilty about being so busy lately and how much time we'd spent apart, but the last thing I wanted to do was make assumptions or come at Justin with anything that might sound like an accusation, especially if it turned out to be off-base. I also didn't want to call attention to his anxiety, which I already knew he was sensitive about, if it was underlying all of his odd behavior. Still, I felt like I was missing something, although I had no idea where to begin in figuring it out.

As I looked out the window at the cityscape slowly rolling by, I hoped Justin might still be sleeping when I got home, because I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed alongside him and feel his body against mine, in whatever way we could manage it. But my imagination hadn't run very far with that fantasy when my phone started to ring, and Justin's picture popped up on the screen.