We both need a break from each other.
Diego’s eyebrows raise, but he walks off. Probably to eat some of my fries. I certainly would if the situation were reversed. With Helga waiting and McDonald’s as my prize, I put my ass in high gear. Working through the pain, the crutch digging into my road rash and hurting like a fucking bitch, I shove it all aside.
Fantasize about drowning my burger in ketchup. He didn’t bring me a milkshake. What I wouldn’t give for one of those. First thing I’m having tomorrow when I get home. Food delivery services are going to get sick of my ass.
By the time we make it back to my room, I’m sweating everywhere. The bag is gone, and Diego’s playing some shit game on his phone. He sits straighter when I collapse on the bed. My dick and balls are all tossed under my gown while trying to get into bed. Helga isn’t any nicer when she shoves me over to raise the bed railing back up and walks out.
“Where’s the food? Bro, I need it. The shit they feed me in here. Mas doesn’t care. He’s too busy jacking off in my room or making out with a hot nurse.”
Diego’s eyebrows raise again, but he stands. Plops the bag on the rolley table that goes over my bed. My mouth waters. I might even cry.
“Massi jerks off in here? With you?” His face squeezes together in confusion.
“Yeah, dude. All the fucking time.”
“That’s weird as fuck.”
“Nah, I’m used to it.”
He shakes his head, goes back to sitting in the chair that is Mas’s throne. I tear into the bag, stuffing fries into my pie hole as fast as I can. The grease melts onto my tongue. It’s the shot of medicine I’ve been needing this whole time. I’m two bites into my Big Mac when Diego starts talking.
“I know you might think this is all bullshit and stuff, but I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this.”
I have a ball of food shoved into both pockets of my mouth. Probably looks like a squirrel hiding nuts in winter. Yeah, I’m that desperate.
“What’s up, D?”
Shit sounds serious. I should stop eating. But it’s fucking Mickey D’s. How can I stop? He doesn’t care. I keep eating. My eyes are glued to his.
“With everything that’s happened to you, it’s brought up some old stuff from the past. My accident. My recovery and what I still live with today.”
Diego’s the sensitive one.
Always, in his feelings. But with my leg mangled and half my skin left on that road, I get it. Not that I haven’t had some thoughts of my own about how messed up this is. How different things could have been if I hadn’t driven drunk. If I wasn’t shit faced in the first place. Meh, I only live once. I don’t want to be a pussy that’s scared of life.
“Yeah? Tell me about it.”
He doesn’t care that I keep chowing down like the starving dude I am. Damn, Jello cups and the nasty crap they try to pass off as food in this place make me grumpy and half-starved. All shit I’m adding to my Yelp review of this place. I’m blasting their ass. All except my sweet angel Sofia. She’s getting all the stars on the review.
“Em, you bullshit a lot, but this is different. This is going to be hard work and lots of recovery. I heard you giving your nurse a hard time about walking the halls. That’s not even PT. That’s just fucking walking, man.”
Another lecture.
My angel gives them to me a lot, every time she’s off her shift. I just stare at her DSLs, wishing I could touch them, almost reaching out, until she slaps my hand away. Her words, along with my brother’s, go in one ear and out the other. More fries get dipped and stuffed into my face as he takes another big breath. His helmet sits on his lap, with his forearm resting on top of it.
“When I wrecked, I thought it was just pain, and then it would be gone. It’s not gone. It never leaves, Em. You learn to live with it. Every morning, every night. Some days are good. Some days, I can barely tie my shoes. And I didn’t even break what you did. Your ribs alone will keep stabbing you for months.”
I nod like I’m listening, only I’m not. I’ve got burger grease running down my wrist, and I’m licking it off before it hits the sheet. He looks at me like I’m supposed to feel bad, but I don’t. I just want fries.
“Pain, months, got it.”
“Em, I’m serious.” His tone hardens. My eyes fly up from the ketchup packet I’m opening to look at him. “This isn’t about being tough. Or having a cool story to tell chicks at parties. This is about whether you’ll walk without a cane by the time you’re twenty-five.”
“Canes can be badass too,” I mumble around a mouthful of bread and meat. “Chicks dig scars. Chicks dig limps. Look at yours. Your chick likes it. We could be matching pirates from the movies. Get me an eye patch, and it’s game over. Sofia would never stand a chance.”
Diego scrubs a hand over his face. Exhaling like he’s had this conversation before with Mas. Maybe he has. I heard them talking on the phone while my brother thought I was asleep.
“You’re not listening. If you fuck around and half-ass this recovery, you’ll feel it for the rest of your life. Every time you climb stairs. Every time you laugh too hard. Every time you try to ride again.”
