“You know,” complained Bruno’s voice as he connected the call and his face popped up in the camera view on Brookie’s laptop, “I really wish they’d change the Skype ring tone. It’s really beginning to hack me off.”
“Dun dun dun du-dun dun!” Brookie teased, pretending to adjust the microphone. “Bruno? Bruno? Can you hear me? Hey, Bruno!”
Bruno smiled tightly and raised his hand into the camera view to give Brookie the finger. “Don’t. I’ve had a f*cking awful day.”
Brookie sobered. “What’s wrong?”
The tight smile became a grimace. “I’m in pain, man. Remember how I could hardly move when I woke up?”
“I thought that was just because you’re weak from spending months in a coma.”
“Brook, I can still barely move.” Bruno waved an airy hand and the camera view jolted. The picture blurred before settling on an aerial view above Bruno, revealing him to be sprawled out on a bed. “Every time I try, it’s like I’m being stabbed. Apparently they screwed up that back operation after they cut me out of the car wreck. I’ve been in hospital all day and doctors have been throwing words like ‘herniated discs’ and ‘spinal fusions’ around. They say I need to have a microdi-something to set it right. Either way, it sounds pretty scary and if they f*cked it up last time I’m not totally sure I want another one.”
Brookie chewed his lip. “Er… in plain English, does that mean you need back surgery?”
“Yeah.” Bruno vanished from the camera to be replaced by a close-up of the orange duvet. Brookie guessed his friend had dropped the camera to the bed.
“Yeouch.” Brookie winced sympathetically. “That really sucks.”
“Heh.” There was a pause. “You know what else really sucks? Today would have been Mum’s birthday. Dad and I were talking about taking her to Italy as a present. She’d never been.” Bruno’s voice cracked. “Y’know, Brookie, sometimes I wish I was you. I wish I had just one sibling. Just one other person who was going through this with me.”
Brookie was about to say something when a choked sob sounded through the speakers.
“I feel like I’m fighting to stay alive, Brook. Why didn’t I die in the crash with them? Couldn’t one of them have survived? But then I feel horrible because it would be one and not both—”
“Bruno,” Brookie interrupted softly, but Bruno didn’t appear to hear him.
“—What’s left for me, anyway? You’re acting for me, my parents are gone, half a year of my life went by without me even conscious for it, fame and the media killed my friends, my back might never be the same again, Aunt Vivian goes to India for two months at the end of this week, so I can’t continue staying with her, I don’t want to live with my cousins in London because they hate me – you know, why am I still alive? Why—?”
“Bruno,” Brookie tried again. “Please. Don’t.”
“Sometimes I think I’d be better off dead,” Bruno sobbed. Brookie’s heart sank. It had been such a long time since he’d last seen the fog of depression on Bruno.
“Please don’t tell me to go see a shrink,” Bruno continued brokenly. “I’ve already been sent to one about the crash. I don’t want to go on the happy pills again. I just want life to go away.”
Don’t tell him to snap out of it. Don’t tell him to snap out of it, Brookie reminded himself. Cr*p, what do I say to him?
YOU ARE READING
Plan B
Teen FictionPlan A might have been just as dangerous as the police insisted it was safe. It involved being locked away, out of sight and communication, and didn't solve the problem that Fran's stalkers seemed to have access to police files and data. Plan B th...
