Misgivings: Day 19

Word Count: 114,014

Summary of Events:

Greyson was feeling bored and restless, so he contacted Raylyn, who agreed to meet him for dinner and to hang out for the evening, which they did. A couple mornings later, Greyson was called by Joe, who needed him to come to work, which brought Greyson into contact with Raylyn's brother Trey, who was visibly displeased by Greyson's friendship with his sister, and believed that Greyson was working out like a bodybuilder in order to woo every girl in the community to him, leaving Trey — who was also single — with no one for himself…

Excerpt of the Day:

“No one has ever compared me to a bodybuilder before, retired or not,” Greyson said. “But, just so you know, that’s not my goal. I just want to stay in shape, and I’m not using any secret injections to do it, I’m just using a medium-intensity workout to maintain what I’ve been keeping developed for several years.”

“Yeah, developed to win all the girls,” Trey snapped.

“Apparently you’re not aware of my prior occupation before I joined this crew,” Greyson said.

“Pfft, you were a bodybuilder,” Trey said.

“I was a firefighter,” Greyson replied. “I built this muscle for firefighting, and I’m simply choosing to maintain it.”

“You weren’t getting enough girls as a firefighter and you had to change jobs?!” Trey exclaimed, clearly incredulous.

“That’s not why I changed jobs,” Greyson replied. “I’d still be firefighting if I could.”

“You don’t look like anything’s wrong with you,” Trey said.

“That’s because it’s in here,” Greyson replied, tapping his head.

“Well then get over it,” Trey said.

“That’s not how it works,” Greyson replied.

Trey swore dismissively. “People could get over all kinds of stuff back in the day, but now all of a sudden everybody has some ‘mental illness’ because you’re a bunch of pansy snowflakes sheltered by helicopter parents from ever knowing how to live life.”

Greyson wanted, on one hand, to burst into tears and shout profanities at Trey, and on the other hand to seize Trey and beat him within inches of his life. He did neither, in part because he saw behind Trey the man door had opened again.

“I can’t believe you’re such a pansy,” Trey said, shaking his head. “You’ve got all this height and brawn and stuff, but your poor widdle bwain is bwoken.”

“Call me when your best friend gets blown up,” Greyson replied. “Then we’ll talk.”

“You were a firefighter, not in the army,” Trey snapped.

“Get out of here,” Greyson said. “I’m pretty sure Joe isn’t paying you to antagonise me like this.”
“Poor widdle pansy,” Trey sneered, but nevertheless turned and walked away with an arrogant air.

Greyson seethed as he stared after Trey. He knew that there were people who didn’t understand how delicate and fragile the brain could be. He wouldn’t consider himself mentally weak, he’d even tried to fight through it, but he simply couldn’t, no different than an amputee couldn’t fight through their loss of a limb and cause it to regenerate, or a quadriplegic couldn’t fight through the nerve damage and make themselves walk again.

Like an amputee being restored to mobility by prosthetics or a quadriplegic by a wheelchair, Greyson had been restored to some semblance of normal function by his medications, and there was — unlike the amputee or quadriplegic — the chance that his brain might even heal and allow him to return to doing what he had wanted to do for so long.

Unfortunately, amputees and quadriplegics had visible injuries that people couldn’t deny either existed or deserved sympathy, his was hidden where it could neither be seen, nor even understood or controlled.