I watched Caleb and Dalton walk Ben through his physio in the pool. It's warm and relaxing and his muscles will get stronger and he will regain some of the coordination he lost. He does this every single day, rain or shine and I've got a couple of people coming to give me quotes on glassing the whole pool in so it will truly be year round. I'd like drop lights and maybe those super huge circumference ceiling fans in it too. And a lock on the door, of course. It isn't a lap pool, however and so in order to maintain the aesthetic around the pool with space for chairs and such this could wind up costing as much as the boathouse did.
Not like I care, exactly. Ben's rehabilitation comes first and Caleb can pay whatever I tell him it costs.
(His soul is on the bill, trust me. That shit's mine, so I can kick it like a soccer ball. Right into the sea where it will bloat up, blackened, rotted and unrecognizable. Kind of like it is now.)
After he showers and gets dressed Ben has promised me a trip up the road to the coffee shop for a fall drink and maybe a drive to see the leaves as they begin to change. Then fifteen minutes later he snapped at me for being selfish when he's too tired and can't drive anyway (it was his...idea...and PJ had offered to drive?) and once again I'm struggling with not taking any of this personally, as I was struggling before with this exact issue when it came to him using.
Probably why it's the same. Because it's the same. He's been clean for five days and not without struggle. He was told to take the pills if he had headaches. The headaches continue, and he's trying to weather them with ice packs and biofeedback. A lot of naps. Coffee. Slow walks in the cold air. Whatever works, we're doing it but it feels like nothing when he yells at me.