“The accident broke your foot in four places. You have a trimalleolar fracture in your ankle, your fibula is shattered, and you have two separate breaks on your tibia.” He rattles it off in a monotone, like he’s been memorizing it, repeating it to himself over and over, because he knew it’d be the first thing I asked when I woke up.
The accident broke my foot. Not “You broke your foot.” The subtext in his words says that it’s not my fault. Or his. His eyes plead with me not to blame him for what he told me. I don’t think I could ever blame him.
Unless the accident was his fault, but I’ve been riding shotgun with him for years. Despite owning fun cars, he’s never driven recklessly, and he keeps on top of servicing his vehicles. I can’t see how it could be his fault, yet from the pain written clearly across his brown eyes, he blames himself.
“That doesn’t sound good,” I choke out through my still-falling tears. Maybe I don’t want to know what happened. Maybe I don’t want to know the full extent of my injuries. Maybe if he doesn’t say it, it won’t be true.
He rolls his lips between his teeth, and a sob escapes me as my body starts to tremble. That’s his tell. That’s hisreallybad news tell. That’s hisEdith, you might not dance againtell.
Something inside me breaks.
“They took you to surgery for your foot right away. Your wrist is broken in two places but should heal on its own.” It’s as though he added the last bit as a consolation prize. Your foot is mangled, but your wrist isn’t quite so fucked up.
“Edie...”
“Don’t. Don’t say it, Apollo. Please, please don’t say it.” I scrunch my eyes closed and shake my head, willing my best friend not to destroy my dreams.
“It’s bad,princesa. I’m so fucking sorry. If I could take these injuries from you I would.”
“Please don’t say it.”
“I have to. You need to know the full extent of your injuries. Out loud. We’re always honest with each other, remember?” His voice softens. “Even when the truth hurts.”
I already know what he’s going to say. It’s cruel of him to put me through listening to the words, even if he feels like he has a reason to crush my soul in this moment. Perhaps he’s trying to punish himself by absorbing my pain, or maybe he’s trying to spare the doctors from having to tell me themselves. Either way, a teeny tiny piece of me hates him right now.
His hands cup my cheeks, turning me to face him. “They need to wait for the inflammation to go down before they can fully diagnose you. But it’s possible you might never dance again, Edith. They say chances are slim. Your injuries are too extensive.”
Apollo’s face pales as my chest cracks open, baring my anguish for both of them to see as a grief-charged wail rips from my body. I knew what he was going to say, but somehow hearing it out loud shreds my insides.
His grip on me tightens as I fall apart. “It’s going to be okay,princesa.” His voice is firm, full of conviction I doubt either of us are feeling. “We’re going to get through this, together. You and me.”
Only one of us needs to get through anything, and it’s not Mr. Both-my-legs-are-working-just-fine. The room spins, my chest constricts, and I can’t keep up with my sobs and tears. This can’t be happening to me.
“Edith.” Apollo’s sharp voice pulls me back to him. “Whatever it takes. We’ll get nurses to come and stay at the apartment. We’ll get you through PT.”
He’s saying “we” to make it seem like I’m not alone in this. But the more he talks the more I want to punch his perfect fucking face. There is no “we” here and now. There’s only me. I’m the one with the fucked-up leg, I’m the one whose career is slipping through her fingers like grains of sand fall through a timer.
Rationally speaking, that's a big jump without any doctor or nurse to back up this claim, so I hold on to that. Until the doctor comes in and reemphasizes Apollo’s words. It’s early days, he tells me, but to keep things realistic, it’s not looking good. Apollo wasn’t simply lowering the bar for my expectation, he was keeping it real.
Before I woke up I was destined for spotlights and critical acclaim.
Now, I need to learn how to walk all over again.
CHAPTER5
Edith
(JANUARY 3RD – DAY 7 POST OP)
“Where’s Apollo?” My best girlfriend, Penelope, peeks her head around the door to my hospital room. “Did you send him away?” She steps into the room, smiling when her eyes land on me. I’m dressed—if you can call it that—and ready to be discharged from this clinical prison.
I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to manage around my apartment, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out. I nod at her. “Yeah. He was starting to stink up the place.”
She snorts.
“And Movember was months ago. There was no charity benefiting from his wild and unruly facial hair. He was approaching mountain man-level beard. I was afraid woodland creatures would take refuge in there...” I try to shift my weight, but everything’s heavy. “He, uh, left for Belfast yesterday.”
Her eyes widen, jaw dropping just enough to register her surprise before she snaps it shut. “He left?”
