Everyone knew this, you were a blunt, direct person. You said things how they were, and you didn't like sugar coating anything. If something was one way, then you would say that outright.
You were holding out for Joaquin.
You knew he was struggling, and you knew that he just needed sometime before he found himself back on his feet (literally, and metaphorically). He had gone through something terrifying and, regardless of your past, you knew that somethings needed to be put off for a little while longer.
But you only had so much patience, and Joaquin was refusing to do anything to get better.
He wasn't going to get any better, was his argument. You could have sworn your blood boiled every time you heard it.
You tried to be optimistic and kind, trying assure Joaquin that it was only a matter of time before he got to the stage he was at before the accident.
But you only had so much patience.
It got to a point where you had simply had enough. You couldn’t watch Joaquin do this to himself. He was upright refusing to get better, lounging around all day, half-arsing his physical therapy if he did it at all.
He was really not going to get better if he kept it up like this.
“Get up.” You commanded, coming into the bedroom when he hadn’t gotten up for hours, even though you heard that he was awake.
“What?” He questioned, looking up at you with baggy eyes and a downright depressing expression.
You repeated yourself, pulling the covers off of him. “Get up.”
“What are you doing?” He asked, tone getting sharper now that he realised that yours was going to stay harsh.
"I'm making you get up." You said simply, hands grasping his arms. "I'm not watching you do this. Get up. You're doing the physical therapy you were told to do."
"I don't want to do it!" Joaquin swiftly argued back. "It's not working!"
"It's not working because you're not doing it." You hissed back, pulling him to his feet. "Joaquin, I love you, and I'm being harsh because there's nothing else I can do for you!"
"<<Reader>>, I swear to God, can you leave me alone?!" He tried to argue, but you weren't having any of it.
"Do you want to get better?" You questioned. "Do you want to be the Falcon again? Fucking hell, Joaquin, then you need to do everything the doctors' been telling you to do!"
His jaw clenched, he looked as if he was going to open his mouth to keep going.
"Do you want to sit here and make your own pity party? Fucking go for it, but there's going to be a time where I pull your sorry ass out of bed!" You turned around and started getting fresh clothes for him. "Now, are you going to get changed or am I going to have to do that for you too?"
When you turned around, Joaquin was staring at you with an expression that had been directed at you way too much recently. You held out the folded clothes in front of you, but he did not take them from you.
"Joaquin." You said with a warning tone.
"You're not my fucking mother." He spat out, "What makes you think you need to bother me like this? Can't all of this be my decision?"
"You will get a decision, when you're not being an idiot and putting your own recovery at risk." You responded swiftly. "C'mon."
You sighed heavily when he still refused to move. You shoved the pile of clothes into his chest and ushered him away into the bathroom without another word.
You were prepared to go down in a shouted, heated mess if it meant that Joaquin would actually listen to you. You just needed him to listen and, in turn, get better.
