Justin knew being wheeled through the stables would cause him to reek like a smelly horse. But he had decided to grin and bear it anyway. Anything was better than being trapped inside the house all day, laid out on that bench. Karen had been hesitant to let him go outside at first, stating that he hadn’t been cooperative enough to enjoy the outdoors. But Sheridan had defended him, telling her that if he were allowed to experience the outdoors for an hour or so, he might be more motivated to try his stretches again later on. Justin had fully expected Karen to simply say no, but she hadn’t. She had only sighed and given into her daughters request, not without shooting him that displeased look she was so famous for.

He had forgotten how good it felt to be outside. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the sound of birds chirping, the sun warm on his face as he looked up at the sky, or the scent of honeysuckle drifting on the breeze. Back home he hadn’t wanted to do anything except drown himself in his sorrows. He had been so depressed, that he would hole himself up inside his room and shroud himself in darkness for hours on end. His mother had tried to get him to stop this, but to no avail. Justin figured, it was just another reason why she had brought him to this place. He was still angry at her for doing that. So angry in fact, that he was afraid to make that first phone call to her later in the week. He was afraid he was going to blow up at her over the telephone. He didn’t want to do that to her. He knew she was dealing with enough pain as it was.

Sheridan had given him the grand tour of the stables, introducing him to each and every horse as if it were a distinguished member of the staff. She had shown him where the food was kept, and how he should go about feeding the horses, cautioning him that sometimes they could get snippy when they were really hungry. She urged him to reach out and pet the horses, or give them a carrot. She said it would help them get a feel for him, so they would trust him. He refused. He was afraid of them.

It had been years since he had been around a horse. The last time had been back in ninety seven, when he and the guys had been filming a music video overseas. Justin remembered being nervous about the shoot to begin with because they had been told they would be riding horses up and down the beach. He hadn’t ridden a horse in his life, with the exception of a pony at his fifth birthday party. The moment he had noticed how comfortable the rest of the guys were with the idea though, he hadn’t been able to express his fear. He had known the guys would laugh at him, and constantly harass him about how he was afraid of the big bad horse every day there after. So he had gotten on the horse. At first it hadn’t been so bad. It was a nice calm trot along the beach. There was even a riding instructor running along side him to show him what to do. Justin was able to relax, and had even started to laugh at himself for being so nervous.

Then they started to blast the song over the speakers.

The horse hadn’t taken that well. It had rose up on its hind legs, causing Justin to fall off , and land hard on his right arm. Chaos ensued. The camera crew ended up chasing the frightened horse down the beach, while the other guys and the rest of the people on the set had been frantic, thinking that Justin was seriously injured. He hadn’t been seriously injured of course. But he had broken his arm. After that, he vowed to never deal with another horse again, and he hadn’t up until this point.

Up until he had been stupid, and gotten Trace killed.

“I don’t know what you’re so afraid of,” Sheridan sighed, as she stroked the majestic black stallion’s nose.

“I haven’t had much luck with horses,” he said, toying with the padding on the arm of his chair.

“Horses aren’t mean spirited animals. They react to how you treat them. If you love them, they’ll love you back. If you scream at them and hit them, they’ll throw a fit every time somebody tries to get close to them,” she paused, and flashed him a small smile. “Sorta like you.”

He glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on Justin,” she huffed, shoving another carrot in the horse’s mouth. “I saw you in there with my mom. You practically shut down when she tried to help you.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” he muttered. “You try to do that shit without any feeling in your legs, Sheridan. Then maybe you’ll be able to understand.”

“You have an excuse for everything don’t you?”

“Smart girl,” Trace had entered the stable, a fresh pack of cigarettes in hand. “She only just met you, and she already knows the kind of person you are,” he shook his head and leaned against the wall.

The horse whinnied loudly, and shifted its body slightly as if it were trying to get away from something. Justin’s eyes widened. Was that a coincidence? Of course it was. He shot Trace a warning glance. “Stop.”

“Well it’s true,” Sheridan pointed out. “You have an excuse as to why you can’t help yourself. You have an excuse as to why you can’t touch the horses. Hell, you probably have an excuse as to why you crashed…like it was somebody else’s fault.”

“Oh shit,” Trace shook his head. “That was shady.”

He shot her a cold look. “What did you say?” he seethed.

“It was the other guys fault right?” she smirked. “I mean, it couldn’t have been your fault that you were too busy paying attention to something else other than the road.”

His face began to burn. He looked to Trace for guidance. He wanted him to calm him down. But he wasn’t there. He wanted to kill that girl. Strangle her for bringing what had happened that night into this. She didn’t even know. She didn’t know that they had both been drunk. She didn’t know that Trace had knocked the bottle out of his hand. And she certainly didn’t know that Trace had died because he was too worried about his car interior getting ruined to pay attention to the road. “Fuck you!” he yelled. “You don’t fucking know shit!” He felt it now. Tears running down his face. He didn’t care. “How…how can you just talk about me…my life, like you know. You weren’t there when it happened. You don’t know! Everybody thinks they know!”

Sheridan’s smile had faded long ago. Justin knew she hadn’t known that what she said would effect him so greatly. How could she? She didn’t know the real story. He was sure she had concocted this stupid story about how he had been speeding along talking on his cell phone, and had crashed into somebody because of it. He wished that had been the case.

“Justin…I. Geez. I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Just bring me back to the house,” he sobbed. “Now.”

“Maybe if you would talk about it…” she began.

“I’m not telling you shit. I don’t need to, seeing as how you already know everything about me anyway.”

The silence was deafening. Almost as deafening as it had been when the beeping on Trace’s monitor had given out.

Sheridan spoke first. “It’s going to drive you even more crazy if you don’t talk about it, you know.“

Why couldn’t she just do as he asked? Sheridan was so…different. She didn’t care if somebody yelled at her, or said terrible things to her. She would still carry on a normal conversation as if nothing had happened. He hated it. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Why can’t everybody just leave me the hell alone,” he said, more to himself than to her.

“Because you have a chance to get your life back, and it’s our job to help you get there.”

“I don’t want it back,” he said, staring straight ahead. “I just want to die.”

She positioned herself behind him and wheeled him out of the stable. “Shit happens Justin. Even to people like yourself. There‘s no sense in dwelling on what you should have done to prevent it from happening. You should only try to do what you can to make it right again.”

“Fuckin’ preacher’s talk,” he sniffled. “I don’t need it.”

“You’re going to need somebody to talk to eventually,” she said. “You can’t keep your emotions bottled up inside you forever. Nobody can.”

“Watch me,” he snarled. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need her trying to play psychiatrist with him. He had been through that with Bilbo, and that hadn’t done him any good. Why did she expect him to break down and tell her about everything? Did she assume he was some sort of wimp that couldn’t handle the emotional trauma he was going through? Christ, he was paralyzed. If he could put up with that, he could put up with anything. There was no reason for him to dig deep and find the strength to tell her the story of how it was his fault his best friend was dead.

“You know, maybe she’s got a point.”

Trace had returned. Where had he been a few moments ago when he had wanted him there? “There’s no point,” he whispered.

“Yeah there is,” Trace replied. “Look at you. Your like this big old bag of misery. Yeah Justin, a shitty thing happened. A really shitty thing. But look…you survived. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Nothing matters,” he told him.

“Stop being so negative Justin,” Sheridan said. “It’s really depressing.”

“You have a chance to get back to your life J,” Trace told him with a sigh. “Do me a favor and just do it alright?”

“I can’t,” Justin whispered, trying to prevent the next rush of tears from escaping him. “You’re dead.”

“Who’s dead?” Sheridan asked him.

Trace shook his head sadly, and faded away.

Justin looked up at her. “Nobody.”

She shot him a confused glance, but didn’t ask anymore questions. “You hungry?”

Justin was glad she had gotten off the subject of himself. “No.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she sighed.

He ignored her comment, and closed his eyes. Here in the darkness, he felt secure. Sheridan couldn’t try to pry his secrets out of him now. Maybe he would get lucky, and he would simply fade away like Trace always did.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. He looked around him. The surroundings were so familiar, yet he knew there was no possible way he could have been here, inside his Escalade…Trace at his side. There was no wheelchair. His legs…he could feel them.

“Look Justin, I’m sorry okay?”

He was bewildered by all of this. “For what?”

“Elisha and I …we just hit it off. Can‘t you understand that?”

For a moment, he wondered if he had gone crazy. But then, he remembered. Elisha. Oh how he had wanted a piece of that. But Trace had asked her out, knowing that he had wanted to. It had been one of the biggest fights they had ever had. And Justin had never been able to forgive himself for some of the things he had said to him that day. It had been…a day like this. In the car. Him screaming at him. Screaming at him for something so stupid…

He had always wished he could take all of it back. He smiled at him. “It’s okay.”

Trace continued, as if he hadn‘t heard him. “I’m the asshole? You were just gonna fuck her and toss ‘er to the side!”

“Trace I…”

“No Justin. Fuck you.”

Justin realized Trace wasn’t hearing him. It was as if everything that was coming out of his own mouth was being perceived by Trace as it had the day of the fight. He couldn’t change it, because it was just a memory. A memory that had come back to haunt him. But it was crazy how real it seemed. “I know,” he whispered, beginning to sob. “I deserve that.”

“It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore. Mr. fucking Justified. Mr. Personality. I’m fucking sick of this shit,” Trace barked. “Sometimes I wish I were dead…”

“No!” He yelled. He was sweating. He wasn’t in the car anymore. The wheelchair was back…the paralysis was more apparent than ever. There were trees…fences. A big house loomed before him. Right. The doctor’s. He was at Doctor Williams‘.

“Justin?”

He heard that voice. Her sweet voice. “Huh?” She was kneeled in front of him. She looked worried.

“You alright?” She asked him. “You were shaking.”

He took a deep breath. Nothing like that had ever happened in broad day light before. It was like he had blacked out, and hadn’t known it. He was scared. He would never admit that to her. “I’m fine,” he managed.

He watched as she rose from the ground. Moments later he felt her behind him, as his chair began rolling toward the house. He gripped the arms of his wheelchair tightly. He felt sick. That dream, or whatever it had been, had seemed so real Justin felt he could have reached out and touched Trace if he had wanted to. What was going on? He was afraid that if this had happened once, it was going to happen again, but be worse the next time around. How many painful experiences had his lifetime of friendship with Trace contained? He knew there were too many to bother thinking about. And he didn’t want to be reminded of them. It was bad enough Trace was dead. He didn’t want to be relieving everything else he had gone through with him as well.

But maybe that was why he was being forced to.