Jenny woke up slowly, surprisingly comfortable. Her tongue felt like a piece of dried leather in her mouth, and she reached out for her water bottle. She flipped up the straw and took a long drink.
"Dry mouth" didn't cover it, she thought slowly. At least she hadn't woken up with a migraine, like...
Charlie.
She could hear him snoring behind her in bed, and recalled her dream. She hadn't had The Dream in years. Jenny sighed as she concluded the stress of Charlie had flipped the switch again.
Please God she thought quietly not for another couple years, huh? She slowly crawled out of bed. The sofabed was pretty comfortable, but the "mattress" rested on the floor. She had a cheap foam topper, which kept her pretty comfortable, but it was always hard, literally, "getting up" off the floor!
Charlie lay on his back, snoring, dressed in cotton boxers. He looked good, she admitted, he must have been working out. Jenny remembered how shocked a much-younger Charlie had been, to find her deadlifting in the high school gym.
"You'll hurt your... parts!" he'd stammered. She had carefully placed the barbell on the floor before replying.
"Charlie, I can't have kids anyway. How is lifting something going to hurt me? What about the woman in other countries? They carry huge weights all the time and do tons of manual labor - and they have tons of kids." He'd blushed, but gone off and done his chest presses as she finished her deadlifts.
Jenny had actually saved up and bought herself a basic set of free weights, after leaving Charlie and buying the house. She loved to get out there and crank out some reps, the Gospel Metal blasting. Jenny began humming a tune as she changed out of her cotton knit shorts and t-shirt, into a sport bra, baggy t-shirt, and knit shorts.
She sighed quietly as she opened the back door to the house, the porch light illuminating the metal storage container. It had come cheap, she thought. She'd actually bartered some yard work and caregiving and paid the rest in cash.
A lot of caregiving, she thought. And Mr Jones had been rather difficult. A head injury patient, he'd hurt himself driving drunk, paralyzing himself from the chest down. He needed help with bathing and housework, screaming at her if things weren't done to his satisfaction. She'd actually found an online support group, learning quite a bit. He hadn't trusted the Medicaid care providers, instead claiming a "Bible thumping good girl like you won't rob me". No, she hadn't, but she'd sure earned the storage container.
Jenny also, quietly, suspected her race had played a factor. They were both white.
At the time, she'd just wanted to get out the house, but in the long run she was glad she'd done it. She walked up to the door and unlocked the padlock, swinging open the door. A lone light bulb hung from an exension cord. Jenny reached for her MP3 player.
Half an hour later, exhausted and dripping with sweat, she locked the door. Mr Jones had taught her to appreciate the use of her body, like nothing else. She wanted to keep it healthy and working for a long time.
Would Charlie change my diapers? Would he check my blood sugar? Charlie had always hated needles. Would he at least make sure I had a decent caregiver? She wiped a tear away at the thought, opening the back door, to ...
Charlie, in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee. "Hi"
Charlie looked at his wife, sweaty and dishevelled. "You look hot" he replied. She raised an eyebrow, and he leered at her with a grin. "Very hot".
"Get out of here" she muttered, slapping him on the shoulder. "All that medication has gone to your head."
Jenny headed off to take her shower, as Charlie gritted his teeth, at the thought of his wife in that awful shower enclosure.
He had to do something to help.
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