'I'll fucking decide what sort of day I need. The sort of day I need is one where I wake up and my fucking leg's where it ought to be and I don't get ...ssholes asking me to choose the prosthesis I like best. Now fuck off and die.' I threw the phone at the wall and felt ashamed of myself almost immediately. She was only doing her job. The hell with it. It was time to fall over in the shower again.I twisted awkwardly, fumbling for the crutches that stood by the bed, and a wave of self-loathing. My voice sounded mechanical to my ears, almost monotone, as I answered the officer. I drank the coffee and tried to feel something, but all the emotion seemed to have bled out of me like the blood-soaked, sheet-draped body lying beside my car. With minimal curiosity, I watched a uniformed cop give the passenger seat a cursory look before moving my car out of the road."Don't you need to tow my car to search for evidence?" I asked the detective.He shook his head. "If the officer had seen anything. More

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