I started at a very young age to work in design, my mom said I was taking things apart and more importantly putting them back together from around age three. I KNEW what I was going to do from the start you see, I was going to rebuild the world. Quite conceited, I guess but in ways very true.After the accident, for all kinds of reasons I never needed to work again.My cash needs where lavishly taken care of by the insurgence settlements. And for a long time just learning what the limits of my body imposed on me kept me busy. I still had the itch though and soon worked out some very primitive work-a-rounds that allowed me to go back to design work. Without the needs that once forced me into some semblance of normality, I soon was working 20 plus hours a day.The products for assisting some one who was physically unable to care for him or her self, where in my opinion just junk. I soon came out with new designs for whole body wheelchairs, walkers, vocorders that allowed speech to those. As we headed down the deserted corridor towards our room, the tears started. I didn’t speak; I was so angry with her, I couldn’t trust myself to hold back if my mouth opened.I opened the door and pushed her inside. As it slammed behind us, Beth stood swaying a little before she turned and crawled onto the bed. I went into the bathroom to get her a glass of water but by the time I came back out she was passed out on the bed.I sat on the chair and looked at her. I watched her for what seemed like ages, trying to decide what I wanted. Finally, I stood up.“Whatever,” I whispered, half to myself and lifted the key and left her lying there.Back downstairs, no one seemed to have noticed. The reception was in full swing. I’d missed Cath and Hannah leaving, but just because the Brides had left, that was no reason for the party to finish.I slid onto a stool by the bar and without really looking up, asked for a gin and tonic.“What the fuck was I doing with Beth?” I thought to myself.“Do you.
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