Chapter 2 - The Battle

Phraser shoved back the thick covers on his bed and crawled inside. He was just a shell of the man he'd been. So pathetic that he might have reached for the bottle of sleeping pills sitting on his nightstand and put an end to it all if that hadn't been even more pathetic. If that wasn't the chickenshit way out and he did not remember what kind of guy he was.

He had never taken the chicken way out of anything. He hated weakness, which was one of the reasons he hated having those three babysitters around, taking his pulse, checking his medication, pushing his wheelchair, and driving him to places. Fuck, he couldn't even get to the shower on the first two weeks after surgery and that had pissed him off.