Interlude 1

 The rhythmic clinking of weights and the hum of treadmills filled the space, mingling with the occasional laughter of children. The vibrant hues of anthropomorphic characters playing around adorned the walls, lifting people's spirits. The subtle fragrance of lavender, meant to soothe and calm, offered a brief escape from the struggle, though it felt like a cruel reminder of the peace I couldn't find.

The environment was designed to be uplifting, but for me, it was just a constant reminder of what I had lost. Feeling the cold metal against my skin, I sat in a wheelchair as Nurse Josephine pushed me through the center. The wheels squeaked softly with each turn, a reminder of my current limitations. Joy's perpetual smile and unyielding optimism were almost infectious. Almost. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor, immune to her cheer.

"How're you feeling today, Ellis?" she asked, her voice warm and inviting. The concern in her tone was genuine, but my throat felt tight, and I couldn't muster the energy to respond.

The smooth, polished tiles reflected the overhead lights, creating a dizzying pattern that seemed to mock my inability to escape. Each squeak of the wheels punctuated my thoughts, a constant reminder of my confinement and the freedom I had lost. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface as I wondered just how pointless this was.

“Let’s just get this over with.” The words felt heavy because this place would always be a reminder of what I'd lost.

Joy kept talking, her stories about other kids blending into the background. My world had shrunk to this wheelchair; nothing she said could change that. The weight of my own thoughts was suffocating. We arrived at the handrail exercise area, a daunting stretch of parallel bars that seemed to mock my weakness. The bars gleamed under the fluorescent lights, their cold, unyielding surface a stark contrast to the warmth of Joy's encouragement. She positioned the wheelchair close to the bars and knelt beside me, her encouraging smile never wavering.

"Alright, Ellis, let's give it another try. Just take it one step at a time," she encouraged, her hands ready to support me.

I gripped the bars, my knuckles turning white against the cool, unforgiving metal, the faint scent of disinfectant lingering in the air. My legs felt like lead. With a grunt, I tried to lift myself. Pain shot through my muscles, sweat beading on my forehead and trickling down my temples, mingling with the sterile scent of the rehabilitation center. Frustration bubbled up, anger rising like a tide threatening to drown me.

Each movement felt monumental, a battle against my own body. The pain was a sharp reminder of my limitations, each attempt to stand a cruel joke played by my own body, the ache in my legs a constant, mocking presence.

"Come on, Ellis, you can do it. I'm right here," Joy said, her voice steady and reassuring.

But her words only fueled my frustration, each syllable a spark igniting the fire of my anger. "I want to go back to my bed," I muttered, my voice shaking with suppressed rage. Bitterness lingered on my tongue, a constant reminder of my helplessness. Why did she keep pushing me? Couldn't she see it was pointless?

"Let's just try a little longer," Joy persisted, her hands gently guiding me.

"No! I can't do it!" I shouted, my anger spilling over. I lashed out, hitting Joy with weak, futile blows. "Screw you, old hag! It's impossible, I'll never walk again!"

Joy didn't flinch. She waited, calm and patient. She knew this was part of the process. The anger, the tears, the despair—it all had to come out before healing could begin. Her presence was like a rock in a storm, unyielding and steadfast.

"You're stronger than you think, Ellis. We'll get through this together," she said softly, her hand resting gently on my shoulder.