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Robert held his arm close to his chest. He lay awake in his bed, head spinning with delerium from the pain and lack of sleep.
His mind was fuzzy like his brain was trying to detach itself from the situation and prevent any memories from being made, but right now, pain tore through his arm and engulfed his entire body.
He fought hard not to writhe around. He'd learned when he first hurt his arm that it only made it worse.
He wasn't sure if he got any sleep that night. All he felt was pain.
"Morning, baby," his mother's voice greeted quietly from his doorway. She never woke him up.
Robert couldn't move. He was too scared it would make the already unbearable pain in his arm worse. As long as he was still, he could get used to it.
He felt the bed dip at his feet where his mother sat down. Robert winced and hugged his arm a little tighter. The slight, instinctual increase in pressure sent shockwaves of pain from his forearm to his bicep and chest. His stomach was hit with a violent nausea. He swallowed thickly, not wanting to bother his mother with more vomit.
"Get up," Robert's mother instructed. Her tone was sweet and low, but Robert could hear the subtext. She was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't decipher what.
"Do I have to go to school?" Robert asked hopefully.
"You do, sweetie, you missed school yesterday and the day before," his mother said. Robert slowly lifted himself up to a seated position. Tears pricked in his eyes. Fire shot through his bones.
"Why can't I miss another day?" His mother frowned. She smoothed out her skirt and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Her hair was done up beautifully, neat, crafted waves cascading down her back. Robert had no idea what time it is judging by how she was clearly ready for the day with her outfit on and makeup done.
"Because you're fine," his mother insisted. She stood up, glaring down at her son. "We've been over this. It's a little sprain. We can't have people asking why you're missing so much school."
The mention of his injury made it ache more. He didn't want to look at his arm. It was hot and white and searing. It burned the flesh surrounding his bone. He could feel it consuming his arm, burning his limb and rendering it useless.
"Can dad look at it?" Robert asked quietly. He. could feel tears in his eyes. He spoke quietly to avoid aggravating them.
His mother's glare grew deadly for a moment. His stomach turned.
She smiled, crossing her arms and shifting her weight onto one leg. Robert held his breath. He didn't want to throw up.
"Your father is too busy with work to look at your arm," his mother said. Her tone was almost too kind. Robert didn't know how to feel.
"But he's a doctor," Robert said. His mother chuckled and rolled her eyes playfully. She walked up to her son and placed a manicured hand on his shoulder.
The pressure from her gentle touch disturbed his arm. He tried to stifle his whine, but was unsuccessful. His heart raced as he prayed his mother wouldn't notice.
"I know, sweetie, but he's a different kind of doctor and he's not your doctor, either. It's not his job to look after you, he looks after his patients," his mother explained. Robert nodded sadly. The hand dropped away from his shoulder. It somehow caused another pulse of pain in his arm.
"Why don't you want to go to school?" She asked, straightening out. Robert looked up at her, trying to stop his tears from flowing, but it was no use. He could feel his face beginning to twist up in pain. He did his best to stifle his hiccups and cries. His best had to be better than nothing.
"Because my arm hurts," Robert whined. His mother sighed and shook her head.
"Your arm won't hurt any less at school than it does at home," his mother insisted. "But I suppose I shouldn't send you off if you're whining like a baby. You're doing a poor job hiding this." Her face started to fall. Robert recognized the dread behind her eyes and the frown she wore. His stomach hurt.
"How are we going to hide this from your father?" She muttered under her breath. It was like she didn't want her son to hear. She sounded scared. He didn't like it when his mother got scared.
He perked up, heart racing with a newfound mission. Every heartbeat sent shocks of pain throughout his body as his blood passed over his injured arm, but his mother needed him. He needed to ignore it.
"I can do it," he insisted. Her eyes widened as if she had forgotten her son was in the room.
"You're still crying," his mother said. Her voice was beginning to shake. She shook her head and looked up toward the ceiling, bringing her fingers to her eyes to dab at the dew that was forming.
"Please, Mommy, I can do it," Robert insisted. Suddenly, he forgot he was crying. He was getting better at this.
"Are you sure?" She asked. Her voice was low and serious. Her eyes were watery. "Because he can't know."
Robert nodded. "I promise."
His mother nodded slowly, looking deep into her son's eyes. A smile started to spread across her lips. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on Robert's forehead. He smiled at the warmth.
"Go get your uniform on," she instructed. Her voice was back to her sweet, calming tone. There was no trace on tears in her words. "Wear your long sleeves. Your arm is all blue and purple."
Robert looked down at his arm. His stomach swirled as he saw the mess of blue and purple webbing spreading and consuming his forearm.
He looked back up at his mother, eyes wet with newly formed tears.
She smiled at him from the doorway. She blew him a kiss, red lips pursed and smiling.
She closed the door behind him. Robert tried not to cry.