Page 60 of Time After Time
The storm continued raging around us, but all I could hear was the pounding of my heart, the fear choking me as I laid there, helpless, my future unravelling before my eyes.
And when the world came back? It did so slowly, in pieces. The sharp beeping of machines. The sterile smell of antiseptic. My arm—no, my whole body—felt heavy, like it was sinking into the mattress beneath me. A hard mattress by that.
I tried to move, but the pain came back in waves, sharp and hot, radiating from my right arm.
I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind, but it was hard to focus. My mouth was dry, and my thoughts felt like they were slogging through molasses. I knew where I was, though. A hospital. The antiseptic smell, the beeping, the hum of activity beyond the closed door… You didn’t have to be too familiar with it to be able to detect it.
I didn’t remember much after the fall. Just pain—intense, bone-deep pain—and the rocking of the boat beneath me as everything spun out of control. After that, it was a blur. I wasn’tsure how much it took to go back to the coast or anything else. Just the flashing lights of the ambulance, the icy, sterile touch of latex gloves, the hurried voices speaking over my head like I wasn’t even there.
And then darkness.
Now, the pain was still there, but it was muted thanks to whatever drugs they had pumping through my veins. I glanced down at my arm, and my stomach turned. A cast. It was in a cast. Thick and white. Immobilised.
A knock at the door pulled me out of my daze. I barely registered it before the door opened and my mum stepped inside, followed closely by Robert. Their faces were tense, their eyes flicking immediately to my arm.
My mum didn’t hesitate, running towards me and calling me her baby while her fingers threaded through my hair.
She tried not to glance down at my arm, but I watched her closely, and every few seconds, her gaze would drop. She’d swallow hard, her eyes glistening, then blink rapidly before meeting my eyes and forcing a smile, as if trying to convince both of us that everything would be okay. But I wasn’t convinced. And neither was she.
“Seb,” Robert spoke up. He did better. His eyes didn’t glance down even though I could see the internal fight to keep himself from doing that.
I tried to sit up, but my body protested, and Robert rushed forward to help, placing a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “Easy. Don’t push it.” He sounded so gentle… so like I was a puppy on the side of the road who had been thrown there by some assholes.
For a second, I was grateful for the help, but then reality crashed back, harder than the waves that had knocked me down.
My arm. My right arm. The one I use to bake, to cook. The one I needed for everything.
I swallowed hard, and my throat tightened. Everything I had worked for—it was all hanging by a thread now.
“How bad is it?” I finally managed to ask, my voice rough from disuse.
My mum and Robert exchanged a look, the kind of look people give each other when they didn’t want to tell you something. When they were trying to figure out how to soften the blow.
“You fractured your humerus—mid-shaft, they called it. It was a bad break, Seb. You’re going to need time to heal. A lot of time.” Robert paused, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to find the right words while using his other hand to rub my mum’s back, when a whimper escaped her. “They have been checking everything, making sure that there isn’t any other problem, and you have a non-displaced fracture. The bone is broken, but the two parts are still aligned, which means there is no need for surgery, and you can heal with a functional brace. They’ll be fitting you with it to keep it stable while it heals.” He sighed. “The doctors said… You might not regain full mobility in your arm.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs.Not full mobility?My mind raced, imagining all the ways this could go wrong. How I might not be able to hold a whisk, or knead dough, or even chop fruits without pain or stiffness.
“How much will I get back?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“They said around seventy to eighty per cent,” my mum answered, her voice cracking as she did her best to blink off those tears that were making her eyes glisten. “But with physical therapy, you might regain more. It’s… It’s going to be a long road.”
I closed my eyes, the world spinning around me again.Seventy per cent. That’s all. Even if I do everything right—therapy, exercises, whatever else they throw at me—I’ll still never be at a hundred per cent. Never the way I was before.
The hole in my chest grew, and I was dumb enough to try to bring my hand to my chest. My right arm. I felt like I was drowning. Not in water, but in my own fear and frustration. This was supposed to be it. The year I started my dream. The year everything fell into place.
“I…” I swallowed, feeling like an asshole, but every fibre of my body was convincing me to get up from this bed and trash the place. To scream. To blame someone. To blame something. “I need to be alone, please.”
Robert and Mum exchanged a glance, communicating without words, before each of them placed a kiss on my temple and quietly left the room. They left my phone close by, the screen illuminating with a message from Reth.Shit. The pain in my arm seemed to extend to my heart. Weren’t the painkillers working anymore?
I didn’t know how much time had gone by, but it was dark outside when I heard the knock on the door. Visiting hours had ended a while ago, and I had already resigned myself to spending a long night of silence in this place, machines beeping in the background as the pain kept me company. My mum had gone home earlier after sitting with me all day, once I had calmed down enough for them to be in the room, and Robert and Michael were likely still dealing with the boat and the police reports.
Another knock. This time, it was quieter, more hesitant, like someone who was unsure if they should even be here. I glanced toward the door, already half-expecting a nurse coming in for another check-up, to be drugged again so I could endure the pain, but then it swung open, and she was standing there.
Gen.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
She was soaked. Her jacket was wet from the rain, and her hair a mess from whatever storm she must’ve pushed through to get here. But none of that mattered. All I could focus on was her face, her eyes wide with worry and exhaustion, her lips pressed together like she was holding back something. Fear, maybe? Or relief?
