The Unbroken

III

Her gorgeous features have been dragged down by panic and unnecessary concern, causing lines to appear on her olive skin. Her frown has dug a deep ditch between her eyebrows while the corners of her pink lips are pointing to her shoulders. A major contradiction to her entire demeanour is a gentleman with slumped shoulders and relaxed expression.

How he deals with her on a daily basis is a mystery. Sometimes I can barely tolerate her for more than an hour. I don't get how he's managing not to laugh at the rambles of his mad wife. Her frantic ideas of never again leaving the house for my sake amuses us both since she can't sit in the same room for more than an hour.

The smell of her instant coffee makes my mouth drool with a thirst for the bitter drink. The beautiful scent even has my stomach rumbling for something more than proteins provided via the intravenous therapy. Hospital sustenance is probably one of the worst meals in existence, it's only a touch more tolerable than aeroplane food.

My face of hunger is caught by my Father, making him smirk and snigger at my desperately starved pout. Whilst my Mother continues her argument about life choices, he winks with a particular reassurance that he'll take care of her current panic. The message also eases my nerves about being here, I inherited my distaste for clinical buildings from him.

It doesn't take long for her to pick up on his playful smile. The sight of happiness must bother her as she grows in aggravation before following his gaze to me. She's such a fuss pot. Honestly, you'd think I died with the look of relief on her face.

"Hello, Parental Units. Such lovely weather we are having." The sarcasm drips from every word as the rain splashes against the ajar window. The simplicity of each word doesn't help to mask the scratch of clearly damaged vocal chords.

"Oh Heavens above, My Baby Girl!" She's not even religious. It doesn't take her another second to dart over and force me into her open arms. Before she's even engulfed me, I know how much it is going to hurt.

Her arms snake around my shoulders, dragging a groan out of my lips as she squashes me in her forlorn show of affection. The unexpected jolting of my body leaves wounds burning and irritated from rubbing against the fabric protecting them. I can't even move away because she'll only cling tighter.

Father Dearest is far more classic. Instead of breaking my spine, he stands at our side to ruffle my hair. He is kind enough to remain gentle and not jar my neck with the large bandage wrapped around it whilst also avoiding the tight patch on the back of my skull.

I got my lack of emotional control from her, so it isn't surprising when icy tears start dripping onto my shoulder from her scrunched eyes. I pat her back while she sobs, that is until it starts getting too much for me to withstand.

"Mum, I love you and all, but this really fucking hurts." I grunt with as little pain as possible. "Don't start with me, and watch your tongue."

"If you continue squeezing me, you're going to cut off my airways and restrict my air flow. You're also pushing my arms into my rib cage quite violently, it will stop my lungs from being able to expand properly and I will suffocate." I also inherited her sass, but definitely Dad's brain. "Quit throwing facts at me."

Though reluctant she does release her firm grip, allowing me to sink back into the rocky pillows. Her eyes remain on me while running her fingers over my cheek, I pay the treatment no mind, instead try to make the bed less stony.

"What do you expect me to do with my knowledge if I can't share it?" Her tears dry to make way for a displeased scowl. "Shut your gob and not be snarky is one option."

"Yes, Ma'am." Normally, I would salute at the end also but the clothes and wires make that kind of difficult. She rolls her eyes, knowing what I would prefer to have done.