AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“This is my lunch. Get your own.”
I point dramatically at my left arm, wrapped snugly against my chest in the ever-present sling. “You think I’m trying to peel an orange? I’m wearing a cast, Bells. I could have lost my arm.”
That last part’s not true and she knows it, but I can’t help the theatrics. It’s in my nature.
Bellamy’s eyes narrow, but I see the playful spirit behind it. Without saying anything, she steps to the side, opens the fridge, and finds an apple.
“Oh look, a fruit you can eat with one hand,” she says, tossing it my way.
Catching it with my right hand, I narrow my eyes right back. “Little brat.”
“Little shit.”
We stare at each other for a long minute before she returns to her place at the stove and I move to sit at the kitchen island.
“Any chance you wanna make me a grilled cheese?” I take a huge bite from the apple. “I’ll be forever in your debt.”
Bellamy looks at me like she can’t believe I even asked, but when I wriggle my eyes up and down and give her the biggest grin I can manage, the corners of her mouth rise. She flips the finished sandwich onto her plate and turns toward me.
“You’re already forever in my debt.”
She slides the plate across the island between us.
I grin, snagging it. “Sweet.”
My twin sister is my favorite human. As annoying as we can be to each other, we are also best friends, so this kind of poking is how we say I love you. Most of the time.
“How are you feeling, though?” Bellamy tugs out two new slices of bread and glances my way. “Really.”
I shrug, wishing she’d stop asking. “My arm fucking hurts. Other than that, I’m fine.”
“Still a definite no to taking the pain meds? Even just a little bit?”
“Nah. Too many guys get hooked on that shit,” I tell her. “I’m not willing to risk it. Not when I can just suck it up and deal, you know?”
Bellamy gives me a look. “You should at least ask your doctor about other ways—”
“Other ways to minimize the pain? Yeah, I’ve already done that. I’m taking exactly as much Tylenol as I can without ruining my liver. Trust me.”
She sighs then nods. “As long as you’re not being an idiot.” Her eyes flick my way for just a second before returning to where she’s adding a sliver of butter to her pan. “I don’t like when you’re hurt.”
I know the feeling, and I don’t doubt that what she’s not saying is that when I hurt, she hurts, too. It’s one of those weird twin things that can’t be explained by science. As much as Bellamy and I give each other shit, we also baby each other a lot when it comes to how we treat ourselves. When she’s going through something, I am, too, and vice versa.
But she can’t help with this apart from peeling my oranges. I have to deal with this on my own, and I’m just not willing to risk getting addicted to pain meds.
Setting my apple core on the plate, I pick up the grilled cheese and take a big bite.
“How are you other than your arm?”
“You already asked me that. I said I’m fine.”
My answer comes out a bit brisk, but I can only handle so much of her prodding. She’s been asking me a slightly different version of the same question every day since I’ve been home. How are you? How’re you doing? You doing okay?
I know what she really wants. She wants to know how I’m feeling, how I’m doing emotionally, and I get it. Shit has kind of hit the fan in my life when it seemed to be going so well just a few weeks ago. My girlfriend cheated on me. I seriously injured my arm, had to have surgery. Now I’m living with my parents, a useless lump in my childhood home.
I want to go for a run. Or a swim. Or a bike ride. It’s how I normally process things, but all of those are out for at least four weeks—three, now, until they take this stupid cast off. Even then, I’m facing physical therapy and limited use of my left hand and arm until I go through several months of rehabbing it to get the full range of motion back.
Sighing, I scrub at my face. I’m still exhausted, and it’s harder to stay positive when all I want to do is crawl back into bed.
