The Invaders by Karolina Waclawiak

Author:Karolina Waclawiak
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Regan Arts.
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

TEDDY

FUCK THIS FUCKING SHIT. I decided to have all my hair cut off. All of it. I made Cheryl shave my head and I think my dad was pretty pissed off. She did a crap job with her fucked-up hand. Who comes home covered in blood mumbling about an accident with a grocery cart? My father told her she needed stitches and she looked at him like he was from Mars, then wrapped her hand in gauze and Band-Aids.

My father wanted me to get a proper cut at the barber, but this way it was questionable what injuries I really sustained in the crash. I had a scar on the back of my head from when I was a kid and now it was there for everyone to see and to question. It was an indictment of my father in a way that felt good. He was acting weird even when he was being supportive. It pissed me off that he looked at me as some kind of weakling that he had to prop up and cheerlead. Where was he before?

I met with Richard Shepard and he said that unfortunately they had to fill the position with someone else. The workflow could not stop while I was in recovery. Also, no one wanted a crippled person trying to sell them health products. He didn’t say that, but I knew that’s what he meant when he told me spending time on my recovery was the most important thing right now. How would I encourage trust if I was trying to be discreet about my arm? How would I bring anyone into an equation of success when I myself might be a fucked-up gimp forever? I didn’t see what the opportunities were anymore. I only saw fucked-up situations and obstacles. My father wasn’t hearing me and wanted me to go on other interviews. He wanted me to hit the ground running. He wanted my survival skills to kick in. It was an arm, I still had another one, and he had seen plenty of guys out in the field with malformed hands and other unfortunate body parts. They weren’t the best sales guys, but their take-home was pretty okay. I could still do this. Besides, maybe my arm would heal and I could be like new.

I wasn’t hired anywhere. My father pretended to be surprised. My doctor told me to focus on physical therapy. I was focused on the fact that I couldn’t even grab my cock with my right hand anymore. After the latest sad display of trying to squeeze a rubber ball, I sat on the couch in the living room watching guys and girls my age engage in feats of strength on TV. Rope pulls and muddy scrambles up wood-plank walls and fumbled runs through tire obstacle courses for the hope of winning one hundred thousand dollars. Even the women looked tough with their muscled arms and braided pigtails. They were shouting at the guys to run faster, hand them the flag quicker; they muscled one another out of the way trying to reach the goal.

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