Intruder
By the time I get it halfway on, I’m sweating like I’ve run a marathon.
I slump back into the wheelchair, chest heaving, frustration burning in my gut.
Defeat. Again.
No. Not defeat. Not today.
I rub a hand over my face, force the tightness in my chest to ease. Maybe if I distract myself, it’ll help. A movie. Anything but this silence. Anything but this room that feels more and more like a cage.
I scroll through the library of titles, the colours flashing past too quickly to matter. Horror, maybe? Something sharp enough to jolt me out of this fog. I don’t even bother reading the description—I just hit play.
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