Pieces of Broken Time by Lorenz Font

understood his reluctance to attend the sessions. Sam had served in the military, too, and as an ex-marine, there was no question he’d been exposed to enough injuries to give him a lifetime of sleepless nights and recurring nightmares. He would know how Blake felt.
    “Good morning, man. Glad you showed up today.” Sam gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Hello there, Drew.” He patted the furry head as Drew passed.
    “Thanks.” Blake sat down with a grunt.
    Just as he had been trained to do, Drew settled in close to him.
    Sam didn’t waste time. “So . . . tell me how you feel today.”
    Why is small talk so awkward?
    Blake adjusted his legs in front of him.
    Sam chortled.
    “Um, let’s see . . . I’m stiff and can’t move in this damn body. I ache everywhere, and I’m bored to death. And how are you today?” Blake smirked and cocked an eyebrow.
    “I’m good. Could be better, could be worse.”
    Same damn answer every time he saw the guy.
    Blake couldn’t help but grin, finding it difficult to dislike Sam. As much as he’d tried to keep his distance from the large man in his late forties with a likeable personality, quick wit, and admirable patience, the two men had hit it off from day one. They spoke the same language and had seen the worst in their stints in the military. Blake liked the guy, but not enough to show up like he should. He abhorred the monster he’d turned into, and being reminded of it every day was too much to bear.
    “Good. Now, can we skip the bullshit and get this session started?”
    Sam chuckled but narrowed his green eyes as he caught Blake flinching. “We’ll start with your hand and arm this morning.”
    Blake knew the drill by heart. He offered his healing hand, and Sam took a tube of moisturizer to the affected areas. Blake closed his eyes as Sam began massaging. The soothing sensation of the cream seeped through his cracked skin and provided a cool relief to the dryness.
    Conscientious massage could be effective in limited areas of scarring. The convenience of having a family member performing the massage would eliminate unnecessary visits. In Blake’s situation, he had to do the massaging himself. Between limited mobility and refusal to stay consistent, he hadn’t had much luck in that particular area. He had refused to get his parents involved, and Katrina was barely more than a distant memory these days. Ideally, the technique should have been performed several times each day. 
    “Are you wearing your compression vest?” Sam was quick to catch every reaction.
    “I forgot,” Blake said, not even bothering to meet the other man’s gaze.
    Sam snorted. “Sure . . . I told you already, compression garments must be worn twenty-four-seven until scarring decreases. It takes twelve to eighteen months after an injury before you can shed them. You’re not taking your well-being seriously.” Sam shook his head, appearing disappointed with Blake’s obvious lack of cooperation.
    Blake had heard all the cautions, and as much as he wanted to disregard Sam’s claim, he realized the man was right. The trouble was his inability to look at his body in the mirror. There were too many changes and damage he couldn’t bear to see.
    “I’ll start wearing the damn vest when I get home.”
    “Tell me, what do you do in your spare time?” Sam acted as if he was oblivious to Blake’s need for silence.
    Blake ground his teeth and tried to choose his words carefully. “Do I have to remind you that I don’t work anymore? Spare time is all I’ve got. I watch sitcoms, soaps, and a lot of those stupid infomercials, if that’s what you want to know.” He gave Sam a clear fuck off warning glare, but the older guy seemed intent on getting under his skin today.
    “Well . . . that doesn’t sound like fun. Why don’t you meet me at The Cage after work today? The place is cool, dark, and no-nonsense. No one pays attention to anyone. Besides, they have a free mic night.