He pushed back the chair and it creaked into life, the footrest snapping up from underneath him quicker than he expected and throwing him flat on his back. He didn’t like needing to use the chair. It made him feel weak. If his body wasn’t even good enough to get from the lounge to the bed anymore he couldn’t see much use in it. He closed his eyes and let his head sink into the headrest. It was comfortable though, he couldn’t deny that.
Drifting into an uneasy drug-induced sleep he felt his mind wandering very far away. He liked this sensation, his consciousness drifting up and out of the body that was betraying him. In this state he finally felt that he might even be hungry, but he knew that as soon as he came back down to earth his rolling stomach would disagree. It was frustrating, but also kind of a relief. One less thing to worry about.
He heard a small pair of feet tiptoe into the room and a hushed voiced said “oh,” under its breath, very quietly. He was still in a state of disconnect and couldn’t quite open his eyes, but he felt a pressure as something small and soft and warm pressed up against his side. He felt a small hand gently, so gently, wrap itself through his own large, sweaty, one and he felt a tiny heartbeat flutter along with the heavy plod of his own. Her breathing, fast at first and then slowing to a sleepy pace to match his own, calmed him completely. He peeked open one eye and there she was, his daughter, fast asleep in the chair with him, her warm breath sighing into his arm. This was why he needed his body. He needed it for her.