Sofia’s POV
I puffed out a quiet breath of air as I slowly and carefully massaged my injured arm with an ointment given to me at the hospital. The pain wasn’t as intense as it was on the first and second day after I had sustained the injury, but nevertheless, it still sent me a little jolt of pain through the veins around the spot where my bone had shifted. I dug my index finger into the ointment and smeared the wetness which had a mild smell that reminded me of a certain Vaseline which I had made use of a lot while growing up.
I massaged the injury some more until the whole part of my arm was glistening and shining due to the almost slippery substance of the ointment. I lifted my arm up and stared at the spot below my elbow, it didn’t look swollen the way it did on the first, second and even third day, which I was extremely grateful for. I tried stretching the arm out and went a couple of milie before a sharp jolt of pain flew into the socket connecting my arm to the sockets of my shoulders.
I winced and mouthed a quiet cry as I carefully cradled my arm to myself once again and slightly massaged the part of my arm that had been stressed when I had stretched my arm out, moments ago. Maybe I wasn’t already completely healed like I had been starting to convince myself, since the start of today when I had waken up with only a little pain throbbing in the spot above my elbow.
I shifted on my spot on the bed and reached forward for my sling which I had discarded, when I had started the daily ritual on my arm. Wrapping the sling around my arm and bucking it together as firmly as they’d have done in the hospital – be I knew damn well that it was for my own good– before making sure it was sling firmly around my neck.
I had never had my arm broken or sprained throughout my whole life, so I had no idea how a sling feels on Someone’s arm, until after I had managed to stupidly fall off the bed and sprain my arm. I could remember when my younger and only brother, Angelo had managed to break his arm while practicing high jump in the garden, with me watching him at the very moment.
It had all happened in slow motion, like a really slow dream. One moment I was laughing along with him and cheering him on as his jumps got more perfect – the most perfect he had ever gotten to land, since the moment he started practicing the whole thing- and the next, he was jumping and fall down the complete wrong way, his arm and neck bending in a really awkward position. I had been really, really scared then because he went into unconsciousness after that dreadful thing happened and I stared at him with terror swimming in my eyes and veins when he didn’t move from his awkward looking position and instead remained in that same position, without a sound leaving his mouth. To think that I had winced after he had landed down in a bad way, thinking it was just one of those tiny slip offs, not knowing it was something extremely serious.
After he still didn’t move from his position a few seconds later, I screamed loudly and went to get the guards who were already coming straight into the garden before I could take five more steps out of the garden in order to go get them.
I had been eleven years old when that dreadful incident, and Angelo had been eight years old– an extremely rough and reckless eight years old boy.
Our two bodyguards had l checked if he was still breathing, and after confirming, the first thing they did was to call my father– to my horror. I was shocked because they hadn’t bothered to even move him into a better position or try to revive him, all they did was to check his pulse and once they were satisfied with what they saw, a call was placed to my father immediately.
I didn’t listen in to the conversation that went down between one of the two guards and my father, all I did was to stand a few feet away from an unconscious Angelo – on the command of the second guard who had ordered me to give Angelo space and not jolt him for his own good. Tears were falling out my eyes and over my cheeks at the moment because I had been a lot scared, coupled with the fact that I was asked to not touch Angelo and give him space by the guard who looked genuinely worried – a look which was extremely rare to cross their faces.
Once the guard was done discussing with my father, they placed a call on an ambulance and we all waited for it to arrive. The guard who had placed the call to the ambulance carefully moved Angelo’s until it wasn’t in a really awkward looking position like the way it had been in for a while then.
The ambulance finally arrived and we all left for the hospital with one of the guards sitting in the ambulance with an unconscious Angelo and I while the other one followed us in one of my father’s cars which was used to drive Angelo and I around. While we were in the ambulance, I watched as they moved Angelo carefully on the bed and inserted a needle into the vein on his right arm before connecting it into a drip bag and I watched, with tears still running quietly down my cheeks as the whitish liquid substance in the drip bag slowly slid down the tiny nose, and into his veins, through the aid of the needle.
Angelo finally came back into a conscious state after some minutes and I felt a deep wave of relief flood into my whole body immediately. The nurse tending to Angelo had glanced up at me at that moment and given me a reassuring smile– a smile which I badly wanted to believe in at all cost, at that very moment.
We finally arrived at the hospital and Angelo got wheeled out of the ambulance carefully, and into the hospital while I stayed behind with the guard who had accompanied us at the back of the ambulance, in the hallway in the premises of the hospital.
I wasn’t completely hoping on my mother to show up in the hospital, but a part of my heart had wished she could show up looking flustered and heartbroken or like someone who cared about her young son undergoing an arm surgery, but she never showed up– as well as our father, to my complete disappointment.
I haven’t been completely hoping for them to show up, but a part of my mind had been wishing they had shown up or acted like they cared a little by showing up and offering emotional conformity at that very moment at least, but none of them showed up. I could still understand the fact that my father was a busy man and wouldn’t be able to squeeze out time to come see his dumb son at the hospital, but I couldn’t quite understand my mother’s own.
She wasn’t doing anything, she was a complete house wife but I had no idea what it could be that she wouldn’t even be able to squeeze out a little bit of time to shower her kids with a little bit of love, at least.
That had been the final straw on Angelo and had also made him hate our mother so much. I’ve always tried to make excuses for her to him but he had ignored all my lame excuses I made for our mother, like I knew he would.
After the arm operation, the doctor said he had broken his arm and had almost sprained his neck in the same process. And so he had to also have his neck be shifted into place, and at the end of the day– had to have a sling on his arm and a neck supporting collar on his throat and shoulders.
He had to spend a few days at the hospital, and the guards had to return him home on the first night after Angelo had been successfully out of surgery and was still in an unconscious state. I couldn’t stomach any of my dinner and had ended up vomiting all that I had eaten that night, the moment I got to my room that night, after exiting the dining room.
Mother had only asked me if Angelo was fine that night before forcing me to finish up my dinner. I had been irritated at her question because I started to ask myself again what it was that kept her so busy that she couldn’t come to the hospital herself to come check up on her son by herself. And with that, I had told her he was fine before forcing myself to eat all of my dinner, before puking everything back out once I got to my bedroom.
Father had been disappointed in me like it was my fault for Angelo breaking his arm and hadn’t bothered trying to hide his feelings as usual. He had stated that I had acted irresponsible again like I always do by watching Angelo injure himself without doing a thing, like there was something I could do to stop him from getting injured at the moment when it had happened.
It was awful. I had felt really awful after the whole encounter I faced with both my parents that night and had ended up crying myself to sleep that night because of the amount of guilt that ate up the inside of my stomach and chest that night, thanks to the words my father had managed to instill into my head.
The next day, I had to attend school alone and I felt like crying again as I sat alone at the back of the car as I got driven to school by the guards. The whole activities I had contributed and participated in, went by in a blur until school period got over and I had to sit in the car all alone again as I got driven home that afternoon.
I did my homework as soon as I got home, arranged my bedroom and some other things I was supposed to do before asking for permission from my mother if I could get driven to the hospital to go check on Angelo – whom had been at the hospital all alone throughout last night, and the start of today to this very moment, because my parents still didn’t it would my eight year old brother a lot of good if they show up there in the hospital.
Mother had agreed for me to go, thankfully, and I got driven over to the hospital. Angelo was awake and glaring into nothing when I had made my way into his room – after knocking quietly on his door for a few seconds and receiving nothing in reply.
His face had lit up immediately he sighted who it was that had made their way into the hospital room and I had hugged him as carefully as I could without jolting him as tears slid down my cheeks. He had reached up with his good arm and stroked his fingers through my wet cheeks, before whining for me to dab my tears away since he was perfectly fine and wouldn’t die on me. I had puffed out a small chuckle at his last words and sniffed while wiping at my cheeks and eyes with a handkerchief from my pocket.
I went to see him everyday in the hospital until he got discharged. One of the nurses who changed his bandages and cleaned him up had asked me why I was the only one coming to see Angelo on the third day. I shrugged with an embarrassed chuckle as I told her that our parents were both too busy to make time to come to the hospital.
She had stared at me quietly with something that looked so much like pity in the depths of her eyes before leaning down to give me a hug. I had stood stiffly in her embrace for a few seconds before sinking into it and squeezing her tight despite the fact that she smelled so much like a hospital, a smell that made me really anxious and nervous each time it drifted into my nose and curled around in my stomach.
I hadn’t hugged anyone else that way, except my brother and a friend of mine in high school, which was why I had accepted and sank into the hug immediately.
Father had nodded at Angelo after taking a long glance at him before asking him how he was feeling. Angelo had pursed his lips and hadn’t bothered replying to father’s question until he had repeated himself a second time. He hadn’t bothered answering mum’s question about how he was feeling and had ignored all of her questions until she had breathed out a frustrated sigh and left him to himself on the dining table.
I had accompanied him to his bedroom and assisted him with the taking off of his clothes and had helped him into bed the way the nurse had been kind and thoughtful enough to think of showing me after breaking our relaxing hug. I had listened carefully as she showed me a few ways in which his arm injury could get worse and made sure to take notes of ways in which I was going to be taking care of his injury without hurting him further.
“I love you, Sofia.” Angelo had signed out after I had tucked him into his bed that night. I leaned down and pressed my lips lightly against his cheek while squeezing his fingers tight on my hand.
“I love you too, Angelo.”