There were a few sacred things in this world acknowledged by all. Or at least, all those that could be considered people.

Days off were an example of exactly this.

On a normal day, Tedrick would be up at four, using the simple push and twisting motion he’d long since mastered to transfer into his wheelchair before going about his regular morning routine of realizing he had, again, forgotten to lock the wheels despite yesterday's vow to pay more attention to that very thing.

After some very cautious few minutes of doing his best to not fall on his ass, he would make breakfast, do his hour of exercise which included bench pressing a little less than double his body weight, then move on to a much lighter second breakfast by way of a protein shake.

Then, take a quick shower since he now smelled like sweat.

And after all that, he’d head to the computer to get started on what usually ended up being an 18-hour day. He was a little bit of a workaholic. He liked to always feel like he was doing something with his time, earning his success and the future he was determined to have himself.

Today, however, was a day off.

It was around 11 am and he was still happily in bed.

Being productive was great and all, but he couldn’t keep up those long days without being a loaf on his days off. Still, when he eventually groaned enough to get out of bed and into his wheelchair, he still, rather dutifully, went and worked out.

It was part of his routine, and more than that, something he was proud of. He enjoyed working out. It was part of how he rebelled against his disability, rejected it as a weakness. He was one of those sorts of crazy people, though not a crazy morning person - go figure. Tedrick was a grouch at the best of times, nevermind in the mornings.

After the workout and subsequent shower, he hefted himself from chair to couch to zone out and watch tv. Even on a day off, though, he still had to check emails. Check them he did, on his phone, which was slower than on the computer, but doable between the show’s more interesting scenes.

As usual, most of it was junk, but some of it was about business deals he was handling. The normal back and forth that was involved with such things. The overly polite ways of saying go fuck yourself when you were done saying no for the third time in a row.

He had a call Monday that was gonna be annoying. Ugh. Now he was getting too involved in work stuff. He put his phone away with a loud sigh and focused his attention back on the tv.

He had no idea what happened in the last five minutes.

Damn it. That is why he could never enjoy off days. Whenever he wasn’t working he had this persistent feeling he was wasting time.

Maybe he’d go cook some dinner and study. He was still working on his Mandarin.

A few hours later, Tedrick was at his desk clicking through sites instead. For whatever reason, he felt restless. It wasn’t just boredom. It was the sort of restlessness someone gets the night before going to an event. That tension that stopped you from sleeping, even when you really needed it.

That was what he was feeling.

It made it hard to focus on anything, but impossible to relax. Right now even if he wanted to work instead, he couldn’t. He’d get nothing done.

His brain uncooperative, he decided he’d take a stroll outside for a while.

Tedrick’s version of a stroll involved his wheelchair, and a bike-like attachment to the front of it that he could pedal with his hands. It made for a weird looking tricycle, but man could it move. Getting out into the crisp breeze felt amazing. It was always at least a little cold out where he lived. He preferred it that way and helped endurance… though he supposed it was also just what he was used to. Whenever he had to go out somewhere on a business trip to California or Florida or something, it always felt absolutely sweltering to him.

He decided to take the opportunity while he was out to head to a local store. His chair had a bit of storage on it, so he could get some groceries before he headed home. They owned a decent parcel of land, though the house itself was of a modest size. His parents, who were basically not around they were so awkward and busy, were kind of rich. Tedrick had only added to their wealth with his business prowess. Not that they asked for it, but he was determined to use as few of their resources for this as possible, and even worked out an average interest rate for a similar loan. His father would be proud. He assumed.

Because of that, their house was nice, to say the least. He was accustomed to niceties, though he tried his hardest not to get spoiled to them. He’d nearly moved out into an apartment, even, but it was pointed out that his current income would only work for low-income housing. Now, he didn’t mind this, but he was the child of a famous athlete and businessman. He would absolutely get kidnapped for a ransom eventually. Not even he was that stubborn.

It was bright out, but he lived about 40 minutes out of Anchorage Alaska, so even during the day he could see the faint greens in the sky of the aurora borealis through the clouds. It was easy to miss like this if you didn’t know what you were looking for. The sky was always a source of beauty, even on its most dreary of days.

He made it down to the store in short order, his least favorite part of shopping looming - other people.

It wasn’t something he could avoid of course, especially in business. But that was different; the boardroom was a place of competition and struggle. It was a place where someone won or lost, came out on top or bottom. He could do that. More often than not, he came out on top.

However, mutual spaces were different. Coexisting was different. Coexisting was hard. That required tolerance for simple, harmless failures.

He did not have much by way of tolerance. This tended not to go well.

Tedrick had finished several of his seasonings earlier, and he needed to get more. Paprika, thyme, chili powder, garlic, saffron. Just the basics.

The trouble wasn’t really getting on passively; he did that easily enough. He’d not throw a fit at wait staff if his food was wrong or something, though he would get it corrected. He’d even tip extra for the extra effort involved. Everyone made mistakes.

But he’d always had a nasty habit of going for the throat, metaphorically speaking. He just couldn’t help it when he smelled blood in the water and got antagonized.

This was only exemplified when he accidentally rolled his chair out too far, too fast, and whacked someone with his bike attachment to his chair. This was particularly unfortunate as he learned, from prior experience, this was about groin height on people slightly taller than most.

The person he hit was exactly so. Habitually, he sized them up as they began to double over, and became pretty wary. He dropped his groceries, consisting of four cases of beer. Not a good start. Especially since he heard a lot of breaking

The next red flag was much more apparent. All individual signs meaning little and were accountable by a million things in singularity, but nasty in concert.

First was a large balding spot that was poorly covered by a combover. A lot of effort, little success.

Second was a “poor rich man” kind of shirt, the sort made to look fancy but was actually pretty cheap. Moreover, it was very wrinkled, not well cared for.

Third were smaller things; namely, his belt, which looked genuinely high end, but damaged and pulled out to its last wrung. The tan line on his ring finger. Knuckles that looked like they had seen plenty of busting. A necklace that was entirely gaudy.

This man cut a very poor image of who he wanted to be, and if he guessed, he was probably aware of and angry about it.

This analysis took four or five seconds, the time it took the man to recover. He figured his analysis couldn’t be far off, given the absolute fury on the man’s face as he winced, standing back up straight.

“Shit. Sorry man. I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should’ve. If you want to grab more of those, I can get em for you,” Tedrick said in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. But it was a pointless endeavor.

“Goddamn right you weren’t,” the man snapped, face as red as his shabby beard. “The fuck is wrong with you? You think just cause you got money you can be fucking running into people, motherfucker?! Huh?! You think you’re better than me cause you’re rich?!”

Calm down, Tedrick.

Don’t make a scene.

Take the higher road.

“I said sorry, didn’t I? Everybody makes mistakes, guy. Chill.” One last try. Restraint holding. Barely.

“Oh, you sure did fuck up.”

Well, he tried.

“Sure did. Just like she did, right?” Tedrick said with a sneer. The man froze, eyes shifting mode altogether. “I fucked up when I accidentally ran into a REAL big man who was too drunk to do anything more than work a job full of his betters, drink, piss maybe even in the toilet instead of his pants sometimes, and sleep. Nevermind keep a family together. Bet your wife learned better than to interrupt that holy cycle, huh? Nobody keeps this fat, selfish piece of shit from his grand delusio-”

Tedrick was perceptive. This could be unfortunate when you couldn’t act on it.

Just like he was helpless to move as the expected result happened when you antagonize someone like this. Violence. Thankfully, he really did have more fat than muscle, because the over-extended hit over the top of his bike attachment was already a doozie. Self-defense in a wheelchair was a complicated thing. Not impossible, but difficult.

Reeling, Tedrick, rolled his chair back, then touched the spot above his brow that was already bleeding. Shit. It was partially on his scalp. That bled a lot. Not so much he couldn’t see the follow-up though.

Turning and rolling forward, he rammed his chair into the asshole’s shins. “Hah, what was that, big boy? No wonder she left, with a hook that weak. Bet her boyfriend fucked her harder than that punch. You’ll never keep someone in their place with a love tap like that,” he snarled, keeping his bike attachment between the two of them. The man growled in a blind rage, stumbling forward as the pain in his now clearly bleeding shins dizzied him.

He had to pause as he considered his approach to the one hurling insults at him. Giving Tedrick enough time to connive a way out of this mess. “Well? What are you waiting for? That assault charge won’t crank up to attempted murder on its own. And what’s one more assault charge for you?” He said, pointing to someone, a buff someone, nearby who had a phone out and was talking on it. Was it to the police? He didn’t know, but neither did his enemy.

Staring around like a pissed-off hippo finally looking at his surroundings, he saw the crowd that gathered, the number of people calling someone, saw the way they looked at him. His fury only grew, but so did fear of consequences. “Watch your back cripple,” he growled as he speed-walked out of the store.

“Very clever,” Tedrick sighed as he took his shirt off to press to his scalp. One of the people who had gathered around finally stepped forward and offered something, but it was a little late for that.

About ten minutes later he had waved off the crowd, and a manager gave him a towel to wrap his head to keep pressure on the bandage he was also given. He also gave him his spices and a new shirt for free, hoping to avoid expanding on the incident. Tedrick was quick to assure him he wasn’t going to press charges on the store or something; his antagonizing definitely escalated things. He wasn’t quite as in the wrong as the guy who threw the first, albeit only, punch. Had to admit though, the dude could throw a hit. Big talk aside, he was going to go get checked for a concussion.

Calling the driver that stayed at this address, something that took a minute as Tedrick rarely asked for rides and his parents were barely ever here, he went and got checked for a concussion at their family doctor. He got scolded, of course, for starting a fight. They found some concerning signs, so he had a few scans done.

By the time he got home, it was already getting dark. But when he arrived home with totally fine results, something was wrong. He couldn’t place the feeling though, it was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Like a cross between low-level anxiety and the static after a lightning bolt. It only got worse as he advanced through the house. He didn’t want to, but… He couldn’t help it.

This was far from the only thing outside of his control now.