Overcoming My Limits

At only the age of 11, Blythe Mitchell had been caught up in a terrible situation. One her family recalls as "The Accident." Her right leg was considered paralyzed and all the nerves had died, but Blythe had hope. One doctor she had consulted told her that in several years, she may just walk again.
Now, at the age of 17, Blythe is still wheelchair bound and even more curious about her "accident." It seems as if everyone but her knows what happened those many years ago. Her seemingly over-protective mother keeps silent and no one, not even her loyal maid, Macy Matthews, will tell her a thing. Which lead to another mystery. Why did the Matthews' go bankrupt after her accident? Did it have anything to do with her family?

Questions keep appearing. Can Blythe find the answers? Will she find her past, or will she finally understand the danger she's in?


20. "love is all i got" -feed me

I was awakened by a small ray of light that fell upon my eyes. The brightness was unwelcoming but bearable. I attempted to lift my hand to cover my eyes but it didn't move. I looked down at it to see fingers intertwined with mine, Brandon's fingers. He sat in a chair by my bedside, his head laying on the bed. His hair was swept to the side as he slept, the curls covering his face moving ever so slightly with his even breaths. I tried to smile but my cheeks felt too weak, so I decided to rub small circles into the soft skin of his hand. It didn't take long for his eyes to quickly flutter open.

"Good morning," his raspy voice was quiet as a smile slowly spread across his face.

"Hmm..." was all I could say.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked as he sat up in the chair and stretched, every muscle of his body contracting.

"Yea," my voice was scratchy.

"That's good," he stroked my hair, then placing his hand on my cheek. I leaned into his palm, it's warmth somewhat familiar. His thumb lightly traveled down my face. "You ready to get cleaned up?"

Though I felt a bit humiliated, sitting here covered in vomit didn't seem like the better option.

Brandon carried me into the bathroom, sitting me by the tub so I could test the bathwater. Once I deemed it warm enough, I motioned for him to leave. He did so hesitantly, leaving the door slightly cracked. Undressing, I barely managed to climb into the tub. The hot water felt amazing and the mountains of bubbles tickled my nose. I surprised myself by letting out a faint giggle.

"You okay in there?" Brandon peeked his head in through the door.

I nodded, hoping the bubbles hid the pink in my cheeks.

"Need help?"

My face burned with rosy heat.

"W-With your hair, I mean," he corrected himself, obviously noticing my discomfort.

I debated the offer inside my head; to be completely honest, I probably used most of my energy just getting into the tub. In fact, just sitting here kind of felt tiring.

"I mean, it was just a suggesti--"

"No, that's fine," my voice sounded clearer than before, "I could use some assistance."

He slowly made his way towards me, kneeling down next to the tub. I internally thanked the heavens that there were so many suds.

"So, uh... what do I use first? There's just so many bottles..." he trailed off, picking up my assortment of hair-care products. I instructed him which one to use and how to properly apply it. Before I knew it, he was massaging my scalp with smooth, relaxing movements. I closed my eyes and accepted the foreign pampering.

After about a minute, he asked: "Is it okay to rinse now?"

"Huh? Yeah," I replied, waking up for my short nap. Brandon picked up a pitcher, slowly pouring it over my head being extra careful to avoid my eyes.

He brought me a towel, but stood there looking at me. By now most of the bubbles had diminished and I was left in the lukewarm water, hugging my self both for warmth and to hide my body from him. With pink tinted cheeks, he placed the towel on the toilet lid. As he began walking away, a pang of worry rushed through me.

"Uhm, Brandon?" my voice was shaky.

"Yeah?" he didn't turn around.

"I uhm... I mean, I... I can't get out by myself," I admitted, a bit of self-loathing burning inside of me.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," he rushed over to help me.

"But, can you, uh... not look?" I blushed.

"Uh, sure," he hooked his arms under mine, helping me up as I grabbed my towel. I hurriedly wrapped it around me, but my efforts caused me to slip. We both came crashing down into the bathroom floor. Our legs were tangled together, our faces inches apart. All I could do was stare at him in order not to scream. My hands were on the ground on both sides of his face, his hands wrapped tightly around my waist. His eyes swept across my face before looking at the rest of me, then laying his head on the floor, avoiding my gaze.

"Blythe?" his voice cracked.


"You might want to pull up your towel."

I glanced down at my chest, flames rushing through my body as I tugged the cloth further up. I sat up, straddling him before I began to edge away. This was just not going well, was it?

"I'm really sorry, Blythe. I didn't mean to embarrass you," he sat up across from me, scratching the back of his neck. I didn't have it in me to reply. He scoot closer to me, but I didn't move.

"It was an accident, I swear."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any less humiliating," I replied, avoiding awkward eye contact.

"I already got you some clothes out on your bed. Do you want me to bring them in here?"

"Um, yes please. I'll call for you when I'm done changing. Okay?" I asked.


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