LISA
The pudgy doctor's glasses are hanging from the bridge of his nose, and I can practically smell the judgment radiating off him. I assume he's still mad that I flew off the handle after being asked "Are you sure you hit a wall?" for the tenth time. I know what he's thinking, and he can fuck off.
"You have a metacarpal fracture," he informs me.
"English, please?" I mumble. I've calmed, for the most part, but I'm still beyond pissed-off by his questioning and hard stares. Working in the busiest clinic in Thailand, he has surely seen worse than me, but he still glares at me every chance he gets.
"Bro-ken," he says in a slow voice. "Your hand is broken, and you'll need to wear a cast for a few weeks. I'll give you a prescription to help manage the pain, but you'll just have to wait it out, wait for the bones to knit back together."
I don't know which is more laughable, the idea of wearing a cast or that he seems to think I need help managing my pain. There's nothing that any pharmacist can dole out that'll help with my pain. Unless they've got a selfless brunette with brown eyes on their shelves, they've got nothing for me.
AN HOUR LATER my hand and wrist are covered in a thick plaster. I tried not to laugh in the old man's face when he asked me what color cast I wanted.
I remember being young and wishing to have a cast for all my friends to sign their names and draw stupid pictures in permanent marker across; too bad I didn't have any friends until I found my place with Mark and James.
Those two are so different now than they were as teens. I mean, Mark is still a dipshit, his brain fried from too many drugs. Nothing will reverse that. But the changes in both men are quite evident. James is pussy-whipped by some med student, which is something I would never have expected. Mark is still wild, still living in a world without consequence, but he's softer now, more relaxed, and comfortable with living the way he is. Sometime in the last three years they both lost the hardness that used to cover them like a blanket. No, like a shield. I don't know what caused that change in them, but given my current situation, I don't welcome it. I expected the same assholes from three years ago, but those blokes are nowhere to be found.
Yes, they still do more drugs than humanly possible, but they're not the same malicious delinquents they were when I left Thailand years ago.
"Stop by the chemist, and you'll be good to go." The doctor gives me a quick nod and leaves me alone in the exam room.
"Fuck." I tap on the hard surface of the stupid cast. This is such bullshit. Will I be able to drive? To write?
Fuck no, I don't need to write anything anyway. That shit needs to stop now; it has gone on long enough, and my sober mind keeps fucking with me, slipping thoughts and memories in when I'm too distracted to keep them out.
Karma keeps fucking with me, and true to her bitchy reputation, she continues the mockery as I pull my phone from my pocket to find Jisoo's name across the screen. I ignore the call and shove the thing back into my jeans.
What a fucking mess I've made.