Recovery was painful. And stupid.
And very, very boring.
My mother had brought me a stack of books from the library. But with the frequent interruptions from the nurses taking my vitals, not to mention the constant pinging and hissing and electronic beeping that filled the air like birdsong, I was finding it impossible to sustain my train of thought for too long. I gave up on reading after twenty minutes of staring at the same page and logged onto Facebook for some mindless scrolling. Which worked to distract me for a few minutes spent reading through the well-wishes posted on my wall. But I had to close it when the wedding questions started. Oh yeah...uh...
I dropped my phone like it scalded me and groaned for so long that Chrissi - who I was starting to suspect actually lived here - popped in looking concerned. "How's your pain level, honey?" She tapped the chart on the wall by my whiteboard.
I considered the grimacing faces as they moved on the scale from mildly constipated looking to smoke coming out of their ears. Seven seemed right but awfully dramatic looking. "Four?" I ventured.
She nodded and came over to tap a few buttons on one of the machines I was tethered to. I felt coolness seep into my veins and sighed. "Thank you."
"You need to tell me when you get uncomfortable, honey." She fixed me with a serious look. "I don't want you thinking you need to suffer in silence."
I nodded as she left, and then looked at the clock on the wall. Then on my phone. It was three thirty-two in the afternoon.
That whole interaction had only taken up two minutes.
I was going to lose my mind.
With the painkillers now singing through my bloodstream, I tried closing my eyes, hoping that sleep would help pass the time. But for the first time in my life, I felt like I'd actually gotten enough sleep. Too much sleep, actually. I didn't even know that was possible.
Frustrated, I gave up and opened my eyes again. Then snuck another look at my clock. Three thirty-five. Feeling mildly panicked, I started to amuse myself by counting the different types of beeps I was hearing. I was at five "boops," seventeen "dings," and twelve "bzzpts" when I heard a distinctive half-running tread on the hallway floor.
I sat up smiling, almost gasping with relief. "Jakey?" I called.
My little brother peered nervously into the room and my heart swelled with overjoyed pride to see his tentative, gap-toothed smile. "It's so good to see you!" I called. "I missed you!"
At only eight years old, my little brother was already almost as tall as me. Shooting up like a weed had sucked out all the sweet little baby fat that had rounded his features so adorably when he was a baby. Now he was all angles - sharp elbows, knobby knees - even his hair stood up in jagged spikes. Usually. But today it was lying flat against his head - which meant my mother had probably just attacked him with a comb in the car because it never stayed that way for long. I was impressed with how my mother had managed to get his cowlick to stay down like that until he turned his head and noticed a clump of straight brown hair sticking out from the back of his head, hovering parallel to the ground. But still, that was better than usual. The rest was pinned down by a lot of water and, I suspected a little hairspray too.
"You look so handsome, buddy!" I called.
His good hand zoomed up to his hair. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" my mom begged as she followed in behind him and saw the mess he was making of her work. Then she sighed and threw up her hands. "Well, I tried."
I was smiling so hard that my face hurt, all my boredom and pain forgotten. "What are you guys doing here?" I glanced worriedly at my mother. "Why aren't you at work?"
"Even an asshole like Cal Finch wouldn't make me stay late when my daughter is laid up in the hospital." She waved away my silent, wincing reminder to stop swearing in front of Jakey. "I asked Dawn to cover me so I could grab Jake after school."
Jake was approaching me slowly. His face screwed up as he inspected the lines and IVs, then darkened as he took in my cast and the bandage on my head. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
I took a deep breath, weighing how much to tell him. Jake was a sensitive kid, prone to nightmares. I used to stay up all night soothing him when he had trouble sleeping as a toddler, then fall asleep in first period English without fail, relying on Claire to pass her meticulous notes to me in order to do my homework that night before starting the cycle all over again when he'd wake up crying and screaming. I pressed my lips together. I knew he wasn't a baby anymore, but I still didn't want to scare him.
"A little bit, buddy," I conceded. "But I'm working really hard on getting better." I tried a grin. "How are you? How's school? Did you have your field trip? Wasn't that happening this week?"
Jakey didn't answer. He was still staring at the IV with his brow furrowed. “Buddy?" I prompted. "I asked you a question -"
"You should sue them!" he shouted with sudden vehemence.
"What?" I looked at my mom for an explanation, but she looked equally lost. "Sue who?"
"The people that did this to you!"
"Well yeah, bud, I'd like to. But I don't know who it was."
Jake shook his head so hard his cowlick sprang free. "They should find out!'
I held up my good hand. "Hey bud, it's okay. The police are working on it..."
"They need to work faster!" Jake's voice rose higher. "They hurt you, it's not fair, they need to go to jail!" His face was reddening alarmingly.
My heart broke. I reached for my brother, but he was too far gone. So far gone, that when I reached out for him, he swatted my hand away with his left one instead of his right.
It was only a moment, but I swore I could feel every ripple of scar tissue. And the clubbed curve of the fingers he'd never be able to fully straighten hit me harder than any fist could.
Icy cold gripped my chest. I choked on the guilt that closed my throat. Fuck, Jakey, no. No, you shouldn't be here. It's not safe for you.
"You need to take him home," I told my mother.
She seemed confused by my sudden change of heart. "He's fine, Willa. He's just adjusting. Let him have his feelings."
I hadn't realized I was shaking my head. Every cell in my body was revolting at once at the sight of my brother's distress. "No." I shook my head again, and panic made my voice harsh and guttural. "No, this is too much. You shouldn't have brought him to let him see me this way. Bad idea, Mom. Really bad idea."
My mother's nostrils flared. "I thought you'd want to see your brother," she said tightly. "And he wanted to see you."
"Not here. When the time is right. When I can be sure that... this, won't happen." I angrily pointed, indicating his flood of rage-filled tears.
My mother closed her mouth. Without a word, she put her hand on Jake's shoulder. My stomach twisted when he curled into her, burying his face against her chest. She led him from the room this way, without a look backward, without saying goodbye.
And I was glad of it. She should have never brought him. It was too much to ask of him. It was too scary for him to see.
Poor Jake.
I leaned back and closed my eyes again, only this time it was to keep the tears from slipping out. I was too jacked up on painkillers, too numbed to my senses to be able to properly cry though. I picked up my phone.
Four oh two. I let my head fall back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
Chapter