Work Text:
Jaime hunched over the paper, paintbrush clutched clumsily in their left hand as they slowly traced over letters. Their frustration only grew with each stroke, the shakiness visible in their every movement. Encouragement from physical and occupational therapy only went so far, and it did nothing to curb the bitterness they felt at being in the situation at all. Their right hand ached to be used, every muscle firing up with an untouchable itch. Jaime bit down on their lip, refusing to look at the offending limb. Their left hand jerked in the swoop of a cursive capital L, warping the letter beyond recognition and earning a groan. They slammed the brush down, pushing back from the desk and moving over to the kitchen counter top where their occupational therapist had set up a mirror. They slammed both forearms on the counter on either side of the mirror, wincing as their remnant limb shrieked a protest. "Open, close, open, close," they mumbled, shifting so they could see their perfect left hand doing exactly as they commanded. The muscles in their fingers trembled with the tension, but it eased the phantom sensations coming from their lost right hand.