Chapter Text
On the ninth week, Johnny somehow lost his spark.
Everything was normal when you checked in at the front desk, and Nevaeh didn’t give you any alarming news as she walked you up to Johnny’s room. In fact, you were eager to hear how he would greet you. Was he up to full sentences by now?
When you walked through the door, Johnny was lying on his side and staring at the wall. “Evening, Sergeant,” you called cheerfully, pulling over your chair and dropping your tote.
Something was wrong. It seemed like he’d heard you but he said nothing in response. His lips were drawn in a tight frown, fingers drumming erratically against one arm, heavy purple bags beneath his eyes. Lying on his side as he was, the bullet wound on his forehead drew your eyes, looking particularly wicked beneath the phosphorescent lighting.
You quickly tuned down your perkiness. Although you’d never seen him this glum before, you also knew that emotional vacillations were par for the course. Trying to keep any judgment from your voice, you asked, “Feeling a little down today?”
He blinked slowly as the frown creased his face further. “Disnae matter,” he mumbled.
“What doesn’t matter?”
Johnny lifted one arm and brandished his hand around the room, as though to say, All of it.
“Well, hold on now,” you replied gently. “I think all the work you’ve been doing matters very much. You’re trying really hard and you’re better every time I visit.”
His shoulder lifted in a one-armed shrug. “Talking’s better. But.” Long pause. “Can hardly stand. Cannae walk. Cannae even piss alone.”
How the hell do you answer something like that? You wanted to respond with compassion and encouragement, but your mouth was dry and empty.
“N’ I’m bored,” he added, finally lifting his gaze. “Lonely.”
“That’s why I’m here!” you chimed in, trying to hide your pain. This poor man. Surely he did not want your pity, even if it was welling in your like a geyser. “Did something happen today?” you prompted. No response. “Or should we do something to take your mind off it? I can read you something?”
He zoned out for a long while before repeating, “Disnae matter.”
Gingerly, you took his hand in yours. Though he stiffened at the contact, he did not pull away. “Johnny. Listen to me.” You tried to channel the firm yet gentle tone you’d heard from teachers throughout the years. “It’s okay to be frustrated. It’s okay to be tired. It’s not okay to give up.”
Johnny seemed to soak in your words for a minute, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut. And then, to your relief, he nodded against his pillow.
“Not givin’ up,” he whispered.
“Good. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll stay here with you for the full hour, okay?”
He nodded again. You went to draw your hand back so he could get comfortable in the bed, but to your surprise he tightened his grip to prevent you from pulling away. He took a deep breath and settled into his blankets.
You were quite content to spend the rest of your session holding his hand as he drifted off. Right before sleep took him, Johnny murmured a quiet, “Thank you” that you would replay in your mind for the rest of the week.