Trapped

Chloe stared forlornly outside, all her hopes vanishing. The smell of damp earth washed over her, making her shoulders slump. The drip, drip, drip surrounding her slowly driving her mad.

Why today of all days?

Today was supposed to be the first day of her freedom. It was supposed to be the start of a new life. A brand new her. But the rain was scuttling those lofty plans.

Her stomach churning, her arms stiff, she stood in her front doorway determined to step outside, even if it meant getting soaked. Who cared? It wasn’t as if things could get any worse.

Well, of course they could. She could be laid up in bed with the flu, or worse, if she went outside in this weather. But right now, she wanted to ignore all that was sensible, all that was cautious and reasonable. They had no part in what she needed, in what she wanted.

Unfortunately, the rain that had been hanging around hadn’t abated overnight as she’d hoped. It hadn’t disappeared. It continued to fall. Relentlessly. The gutters were so full they were overflowing, causing that mind-bending dripping sound. Seeing anything other than a watery outline for more than a short distance was difficult. And the damp, depressing atmosphere made her isolation even worse.

She just wanted to get outside. To leave. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask. Especially as she’d been so patient, had done her best to stay positive over the eternal weeks of her enforced isolation.

But obviously, her freedom was not going to be granted today.

It was all the rain’s fault.

She thought about stamping her feet like a two-year-old, screaming obscenities to the heavens, all to relieve her frustration. She shook her head. The stamping was impossible right now anyhow. And she wasn’t usually like that anyway. Everyone she knew thought she was calm, cool and unrufflable. But she wasn’t. Not really. Not inside. Right now, she was one huge cauldron of unexpressed emotion just waiting to explode. Something she’d never allow. Not usually. So why did she need to contain herself now?

Old habits die hard it seemed.

Of course, it wasn’t the rain’s fault her freedom would be delayed. If she was honest, it was entirely her own responsibility that she was stuck inside. But it was so much easier to blame something that couldn’t fight back – the rain – instead of beating herself up over her one moment of inattention. She’d done enough of that already.

And hadn’t she promised herself only last night that today would be better than yesterday? That she’d see all the possibilities her situation gave her, instead of negatives. That, from today, she become a glass-half-full person.

So much for good intentions. How quickly they went out the window when faced with the destruction of all her hopes of freedom.

A freedom she’d always taken for granted, before.

She stood there, balanced precariously, watching the rain. Studying the steps outside her front door. Ones she’d have to negotiate to gain her freedom. Steps that loomed larger and more dangerously the longer she looked. Ones that had gotten her into this predicament in the first place. They glistened with threatening intent. Her shoulders curled forward, her limbs heavy, her cold fingers clutched her crutches in a white-knuckled hold.

Her vision narrowed as she relived once more that small, infinitesimal moment that changed everything. A moment where her whole world had shrunk. Where things she took for granted, like walking, moving about with ease, going wherever she wanted, without thought, vanished. Like driving her car – now stuck in her garage practically in mothballs. Like going to the shops, or out for dinner with friends. Another thing that had almost disappeared completely.

That moment when she fell, late at night, as she returned home from a night out haunted her. And she couldn’t stop thinking about it, reliving every painful second.

And it was hell.

Coming to terms with her limitations was much, much harder than she’d ever thought possible. Sure, most people probably thought being stuck inside would turn out to be a long, welcome holiday. Who wouldn’t dream of having all the time in the world to indulge in everything you’ve always wanted to do? Who wouldn’t take the chance to sleep in and read all those stories, watch all those movies, catch up on all the Netflix series’ that awaited their pleasure?

Not Chloe. She loved being busy.

Besides, sitting around doing nothing but the occasional physio exercises was not her idea of heaven. Because all those fantasies of doing whatever you wanted, lazing around, never included being disabled. Mobility impaired. Or whatever the hell the politically correct term was these days.

Instead, she’d done everything she’d been told. She’d kept calm, and, outwardly at least, seemed to be happy and content. All her doctors said she was an ideal patient and doing extremely well. But inside, in that secret, hidden place inside her, she’d been chomping at the bit. Waiting, counting down the days, the hours, until she was supposed to be free. Until she could get back to living life like everyone else.

And today was supposed to be that day.

Only now, her freedom was once more denied. Put off until other day. Because of the rain.

She shuddered, thinking about navigating those steps, in the rain, on crutches. Her breathing increased, her muscles tensed even further, and she began to wobble.

She’d attempted those steps when she’d just begun to get the hang of the crutches. She’d managed the first one, and the second, no problem. Feeling brave and confident, she’d continued onwards with grim determination. And ended up face down, sprawled across the pavement. For more than a minute, she’d laid there, not moving, blinking back tears, her palms, knees and chin throbbing while her thoughts flew all over the place. Then, for the second time in her whole life, she’d had to crawl back up the steps and through her front door. Crawl. On hands that ached. On knees that stung.

At least that time, her ankle was encased in a moon boot and not painfully twisted at an odd angle. And it hadn’t been raining. Not the first time. Nor the second.

But it was now.

So, there was no way she’d tackle those steps today. Not in the rain. Not for anything.

She pressed her lips together and took a careful swinging step backwards. She was a glass-half-full person. She would stay positive, no matter how difficult the obstacles still in front of her. She’d survive. And she had plenty of things to keep her occupied inside her house. She’d be fine.

So what if her freedom wouldn’t happen today? There was always tomorrow. And tomorrow was definitely going to be better than today. Way better. And all this would become but a memory. And experience she’d lived through. Something she’d overcome, triumphantly. She’d be stronger, better, more emphatic because of these experiences. A better person. A newer, nicer her.

Slowly, reluctantly, she closed her front door. The damp earth smell gone, the dripping sound a faint echo. The rain hidden from view, ignored and forgotten.

Tomorrow couldn’t come quickly enough.