It’s Tommy.
“Oh,” I say. I stare a second before I sniffle and drop my gaze. “Sorry, Tommy. I slipped.” I focus on my leg—it had hurt slotting my swollen stump into the prosthetic this morning, and the constant-low level ache is now a throb. “Mhm.” A muted, pained hum escapes from my throat.
Dark spots dance across my vision. I shut my eyes—a big mistake, because now I’m swaying, or I feel like I am. Am I?
“I’ve got you.” Someone’s arm slips around my waist and locks on. I don’t process my surroundings until my skin cools down, and I register the cool breeze against my face. I realise I’m sitting, have my elbow propped on my good leg, and have my face leaning heavily into it. My head weighs a ton. A familiar hand is rubbing my thigh, placed carefully where he knows there’s no bruising.
I blink until my vision clears and Mark comes into focus.
“Hey.” Mark sounds relieved as he meets my eyes.
“Mhm,” I answer.
“I’ll drive you home,” he says.
I don’t argue, only nodding. I was stubborn this morning about putting the prosthetic on when I should have just stayed in bed under the covers to satisfy both my mental and physical needs.
“Do you have painkillers with you?” Mark asks.
“In my bag.”
Mark is crouched in front of me, and he glances to the side. I hear rustling and turn to see Tommy searching through my rucksack. I have two types of painkillers with me for emergencies, and Tommy finds the strong ones. He offers them to me, then withdraws the pills with a frown. I’m left reaching into empty air.
“You need food to take these,” Tommy says.
“I’ll just do one,” I say.
“No, you—”
“Give them here, Tommy,” Mark says, frigid. I startle at his aggressive tone and look in surprise at the glare he’s fixed on Tommy.
Tommy’s jaw clenches and he glares right back. “My aunt has the same prescription. You take even one without food in your stomach and you’ll be throwing up in ten minutes.”
They stare off, and Mark is tensed as if he’s about to launch at Tommy and take the pill bottle by force. The doctor’s warning comes back to me. “There should be Paracetamol in there, somewhere.” I’ll take the strong ones, following the proper instructions, once I’m home.
Tommy replaces the strong pills in my bag and finds the packet next. I swallow two dry, and lean back. I press my head against the glass at my back. I finally notice that we’re in the walkway between the main building and the cafeteria, and the two doors leading outside are propped open, providing the cool air.
Mark is watching me intently.
“You were nearby?” I ask. Usually I notice Mark the second I walk into a room.
“I was at the coffee station,” Mark answers. He’s rubbing my thigh lightly. It’s soothing. He studies my face at length. “You have a bit more colour now. If you wait here, I’ll bring my car to the door. Is that okay with you?”
I nod.
Mark casts a hard look at Tommy as he leaves. Tommy looks like he wants to knock Mark upside the head in return. I shuffle, gauging the state of my leg, and shiver in acute discomfort as I find out.
Tommy sits next to me. He’s wringing my bag in his hands, casting me side-long looks filled with worry. I meet his eyes and raise an eyebrow. “I’m alright, Tommy,” I tell him.
“I’m not,” he says.
“Oh?”
Tommy swallows and looks away from me. His face goes red, and he looks even more upset. He puts my bag down between his feet and gestures to it. “My aunt has those pills. I know they’re not for short-term injuries. They’re prescribed for chronic pain. So you not joining the sports clubs this year isn’t because you decided we’re not good enough for you; it’s because of whatever reason you’re taking those. Right?”
“Not good enough?” I repeat, confused. But I think about the messages. I had a complete shut-down after the accident and only pulled myself out of it when the next semester was starting. By which point I’d left several heartfelt messages to get in touch with me on read. I know Tommy isn’t ignoring me because he suddenly started hated me. It was the opposite—he’d been worried, and when he saw I was fine, he was angry for the emotional turmoil I’d put him through.
“When I saw you come back after the summer, I…” he gestures to nothing in front of himself. “I don’t know. I guess I thought you were off hiking the world with your brother and hadn’t been bothered to even send a text that you were okay. I’ve been an asshole,” Tommy finishes.
