Chapter 20

ODETTE

I glared at the piece of paper before me with my molars clamped painfully shut. The pen I was using slipped through my tired, trembling fingers and landed with a clang on the wooden table. Physical therapy was going as well as it could be but the nerve damage on my hands was irreversible. No amount of physical therapy would be able to help my situation. I just needed to get used to it. The ugly scrawl of my handwriting only had hatred simmering in my gut. No matter how much I wanted to feel bad or guilty for what had happened to Parker, it was times like this I was grateful he was dead. He couldn't do to anyone else what he had done to me.

"You're getting better," the nurse placed another sheet of paper in front of me—it was the first time I had attempted writing again since the accident, "there is a vast improvement between the two."

I analyzed both sheets of paper, acknowledging how one was barely legible while the other resembled the work of a first grader. Neither was good