James wasn’t used to lacking control over his body. He wasn’t the smartest man, but he had always been athletic, and worked with his hands for a living. Though he was still sore, he was healing well, and reaching the physical peak he had been at before the accident was his top priority. It had taken him weeks to get an appointment with a physio therapist, but he was committed to regaining command of his limbs. If nothing else, he was already sick of walking with a limp. He hadn’t expected to be directed to the local pool for his session, but he was rolling with it. He had left his crutches in the changing rooms at the advice of the lifeguard, and hobbled to the water’s edge, clutching the wall where he could and struggling where that was not a possibility. There, he slowly, painfully lowered himself to sit on the edge, legs submerged in the water, and he waited.
