Reminiscing the Padded Cage

Chapter Five

The cushioned corners of the coffee table were the first things I set my eyes on every morning.

Those corners were covered in thick brown foam, like the one used for toddlers learning to walk in an environment replete with sharp glass and marble. But this was not done to cater for children since there were none in the house. There was only me.

I sat on the edge of our expensive Italian leader chair, while my left leg was extended out on the velvet stool. Looking outside through the tall glass windows, the city was active in a haze of morning fog and distant traffic hums. Looking down from the sixty-fifth floor, the cars outside looked very tiny like the size of a cockroach crawling around in a dark place. Three years ago, I used to study those streets, see grid systems, and structural designs. This is because I used to be an architect.

Unfortunately now, I remained a full time patient in a sanctuary established by my husband out of guilt.

While sitting there on the cushion, the heavy master bedroom door clicked open. The rhythmic sound of thick-soled slippers was heard from the floor. I didn't need any confirmation to know it was Julian coming to me as his daily routine was. His routine was as sure as death.

“You're awake so early today," Julian said. His voice was calm, cool, and perfect, revealing the special composure of a man who was in charge of a multi-billion-dollar corporate empire before breakfast.

He stepped into the living room with a silver tray in his hand. On it was a glass of warm water, a small porcelain cup bearing two anti-inflammatory tablets, and an ice pack wrapped in a soft microfiber cloth.

"I was awakened around five by the pain,” I replied calmly, adjusting the wool blanket on my lap. "There is a change in the weather condition. The barometer dropped.”

Julian carefully put the tray down on the foam cushioned coffee table. He sat down on the low stool beside my ottoman, his well tailored trousers forming neat wrinkles. He usually pulled the stool out to sit on anytime he came into the room. He didn't look into my eyes immediately. His attention was on my left leg.

“You should have called my attention, Eleanor," he said softly, removing the wool blanket and folding it to reveal my lower leg. “Remember you are not expected to be without cold therapy whenever the weather changes like this. There will be a swelling of the nerve sheath if we delay."

“I decided not to disturb your sleep," I replied, observing his hands reach out for the ice pack. “Your meeting with the board members took a long time last night, and you needed to rest well enough."

“Attending to you when you are in pain matters to me more than any board meeting, Eleanor,” he said softly.

That sounded much like a memorized line from a romantic novel but his tone was deficient in true heat. The tone was not different from a dedicated doctor addressing a long-term patient.

He tried to lift my calf through the soft texture of my oversized lounge pants, his touch caused a sharp pain on my thigh. I held my breath, gripping the sofa cushions with my hands.

“Take it easy," Julian said, placing the ice pack over the thick scar tissue that ran from my knee down to my ankle. Then he said, "breathe now. Four seconds in, and four seconds out.”

I followed his counting, closing my eyes as the cold began to dull the burning sensation in my nerves.

Just three years ago, nothing was wrong with my left leg. It was strong enough to hold my weight as I climbed high-rise construction scaffolding in steel-toed boots. As a twenty-three year old woman, I had just won the National Young Architect Award for my eco conscious museum design. My future had been very bright and promising.

Then the highway obstacle surfaced. The twisted metal. The poisonous smell of leaking gasoline and burning rubber on my body. The sight of Julian passing out behind the wheel of his somersaulted sports car, with his forehead bruised and bleeding over the leather seats, fully unconscious as the engine bay caught fire.

No thinking twice. I never hesitated. I had crept through the broken passenger window, put my arms around him, and pulled him with all the strength left in me. I had dragged him out of the car across thirty feet of gravel just a few seconds before the outbreak of fire from the fuel tank.

The effect of that incident was heartbreaking. Julian bled and was unconscious, and a heavy shot from the explosion had shattered my leg, parting nerves and crushing my bone. Julian had been discharged from the hospital forty-eight hours later with a minor shock and some bruises. For me, I had been discharged six months later with a permanent limp walk with a metal rod in my tibia, deep rough scars, and panic attacks that made me feel like collapsing whenever I heard the sound of a car horn.

“It's fine now," Julian said, breaking the long silence. He spread the towel down over my shin. "That should lower the swelling before the morning staff comes around.”

"Thank you, Julian," I said softly.

He finally looked up at my face with his dark striking eyes, surrounded by thick lashes and a sharp uncommon jawline. Julian was an unusually handsome man, who drew attention whenever he entered a place like a boardroom or restaurant.

However, when he looked at me, his stare always seemed to be covered by a very heavy, unseen veil.

He was doing all of that because of guilt. Pure, unadulterated, suffocating guilt, not love.

"How are your anxiety levels this morning?" he asked, picking up the pill cup and handing it to me along with the glass of water. "Did you have the dream again?"

"No," I lied, taking the pills and swallowing them with a sip of water. "No dreams last night."

I didn't tell him that I had dreamed of falling from a glass building, screaming for help while he stood on the roof, watching me with a clipboard, taking notes on my descent.