Chapter Six

Chevelle



I’ve been sitting in River’s sparsely furnished living room watching Friends on Netflix and clutching an unopened envelope in my hand for the past hour.

It’s a month after I was released from the hospital and had the bomb dropped on me that my apartment was no longer my own. I have nothing to my name aside from the clothes on my back, thanks to River being generous enough to buy me a few necessities, and the items that I had on me when I was brought into the hospital.

A cell phone that is nothing more than a paperweight, my wallet that has a whopping three dollars and twenty-eight cents inside, a stick of bubblegum, a card for a local tattoo parlor and a piece of paper with a number written on it. And, let’s not forget the envelope that I have yet to open.

The apartment manager, although not much help whatsoever, informed us that apparently the building had gone under new ownership about a year ago but that he did remember seeing an envelope with my name on it and after digging through a few drawers, produced a yellowed envelope with my name sloppily scrawled across the front.

I know I should open it, see what’s inside but I’m too scared to face it alone. I need River here when I open it and until today, I wasn’t ready to face whatever the contents may be.

River surprised me the other day after he came home from work with a new phone that is definitely more than just a paperweight and showed me how to text. I think that I’m finally beginning to get the hang of it.

Deciding that I should get off my rear and suddenly having a hankering for some homemade cookies, I grab my phone and search for a recipe that looks good. I write down everything that I need, pocket the device and head towards the kitchen excited to surprise River with something sweet.

Searching through the cabinets, I find the majority of the ingredients that I need but not all of them…*damn…I’m gonna have to ask him where the white sugar is…*

Leaning back against the counter, I pull my phone from my pocket and then pull up his contact.



** Me: WAYCH?

Me: ICFTWS. AYO?

Me: WAYAM?**



He doesn't get back to me immediately, so as I wait, I tap my phone against my empty hand, a tune from a song that was playing on the radio in the truck the other day when we were coming back from one of my follow up appointments stuck in my head.



**River: …what?

Me: WAYCH? ICFTWS. AYO? WAYAM?**



I reply and watch as the little bubbles pop up, indicating that he’s writing something back.



**River: I have no clue what any of that means, Chevy.**



I love that he calls me Chevy. No one else does, to everyone else I’m Chevelle but not to River. To him, I’m Chevy.



**Me: When are you coming home? I can’t find the white sugar. Are you out? And why aren’t you answering me?

River: HAHAHAHAHHA! OMG! ROTFL! You crack me up!

Me: WDID?

River: Huh?

Me: What did I do?

River: You’re cute! **



I stare at those two words, my heart picking up pace at his confession. *River thinks I’m cute?*

Before I get too far into that thought, another text comes through.



**River: Okay, I know you’re new to this whole texting business, but you can’t just use the first letter of every word and expect everyone to know what it is that you’re trying to say.

Me: Why not? You do.

River: Not exactly, but I see where you’re coming from.

River: How about for now on, we actually write everything out. No abbreviations. Deal?

Me: Deal. Now about that white sugar…**



I want to get the cookies done before he gets home and the instructions call for peanut butter, eggs, vanilla, flour, baking powder, brown sugar, and white sugar, because who would have known that sugar was racist, and the only thing I can’t find is the dang sugar.



**River: Why do you need sugar?**



*Ugh! Must he be so difficult when I’m trying to surprise him? *



**Me: Because. Now, where is it?**

** River: Fine. Look in the container on the counter. It’s a round ceramic one with a blue lid. It should say SUGAR on it. It’s next to the ones that say FLOUR and COFFEE.**



I roll my eyes as I read his text and go in search of the sugar container that’s between the one labeled Flour and Coffee.



**Me: Is it white? Because I’ve already found the brown stuff and apparently there’s a difference.

River: Oh sweet Jesus, you really are too cute!**



* There’s that word again.

Cute.

Do I want River to find me cute? A puppy is cute. A baby is cute. But I’m a grown woman and he is a man. Doesn’t him calling me cute mean that he doesn’t find me actually attractive?*



** River: Yes, it’s white. Find it?

Me: Yes. Smartass! Thanks!

River: I get off at 5 today.

River: What sounds good for supper?**



Glancing at the clock, I notice that I still have about an hour and a half before he gets home from work. Which is just enough time to finish up the cookies and have them cooled by the time that he walks in the door.

I may even take another shower and make myself look good.

I mean, apparently he doesn’t see me in that way since he thinks I'm just cute, and that’s totally cool, I guess. But honestly, sometimes it’s just nice to see that light in a guy’s eyes when you catch them off guard, ya know?

Besides, putting a little more effort into my appearance may make me feel better too. Not everything has to be about a boy.

I’m not going to say that I’m depressed, although I very well may be and I’m just in denial about it. Apparently, depression is completely normal in coma patients, but I just prefer to think of it as though I have yet to adjust to a life that I know nothing about.

I’m a twenty-three-year-old who is figuring out what life means to her all over again, if I ever had it figured out in the first place. I don’t know what my purpose in life is. I don’t know what I want to do in life, did I ever? All I know is that I want to do more than sit on River’s couch, binging on Netflix and popcorn.

I want to do something that makes a difference. But what can I do? I’ve found that I like to draw, and that I’m pretty good at it but not something that I’d make a career out of.

Deciding to shelf those thoughts for a later time, I put all of the ingredients into a bowl and begin making the cookies.

Once the cookie sheets are loaded down and the preheat timer has gone off, I slide the trays into the oven, set the timer according to the recipe directions and then make my way into the bathroom, beyond thrilled that I was finally able to ditch the damned crutches last week.

I turn on the shower to as hot as I can stand it and shut the shower door instead of entering. Making my way across the hall to the room that I’ve been staying in, I finger through the few articles of clothing hung in my closet, finally settling on a pair of Olive-Green skinny jeans, along with a black, tight fitting button up shirt and a pair of black boots.

Then, stepping beneath the spray, I utter a low moan at the relief that the shower brings as it begins to work out the tension that has built up over the past few days with the constant use of my previously inhibited muscles. After rinsing my hair of the strawberry scented shampoo and conditioner, I step out of the shower into the steam-filled bathroom.

Swiping away some of the condensation, I stare at the bleary image that stares back at me, trying to figure out who the girl in the mirror is. Is she someone who can be wanted? Is she someone who is witty, and everyone loves to be around? I can’t help but want to feel wanted, to be needed. Desired? I want that too. But who would want me? The girl that was in a coma?

I’ve heard whispers from the towns’ people about me when I’ve gone out with River. People are always commenting about *Coma Girl*, as if I’m some sort of contagious disease or something. It hurts more than I will ever admit to anyone, but River isn’t stupid, he’s seen the unshed tears over their words.

Glancing at the clock I see that I still have about forty-five minutes to blowout my hair and attempt to fix my face.

Before I get the chance to do either, the timer on the oven goes off. I rush to the kitchen, afraid of burning the cookies and pull them out to cool as thoughts of River run rampant through my head.

As stupid as it sounds, and I know that I’m probably setting myself up to get hurt, but it’s River that I want to find me beautiful, not just cute.

Ugh! That word will forever put a sour taste in my mouth now.

If I’m being totally honest with myself, I want him to look at me the way those guys were looking at the main character in the movie that we were watching last night. Like she was the only girl they saw, the only person they saw.

The desire for her that showed in the depths of their eyes had my hands sweating and my heart racing. I want to see that kind of desire from a man when he looks at me, but not just any man. I want to see it when River looks at me.

Is that weird? I mean the man has practically taken care of me as though I’m an invalid, and I want him to want me?

I want to believe that there’s some kind of something between us. I just don’t know what it is yet, some kind of connection. It could just be wishful thinking and he sees me as nothing more than a friend. But I can’t help but feel drawn to him.

I felt it before I had even opened my eyes and saw him for the first time.

Maybe I’m just infatuated because aside from Jack, who I’m pretty sure hates my guts. Knohl, the guy that helped with my physical therapy and Dr. Khan, I haven’t had any interactions with any other men. *That is unless you count the weird looks that I get from the towns people.

But I don’t, so yea…
*