I Hate My Brother (editing!)

46.

A/N: I published a new book, again! It was spontaneous, and something I planned for only 10 chapters or so. The title, Insatiable, is rated 18+ and involves mature contents, so be warned before you click into it ;)
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Three months later

It's finally summer. Probably the best time of the year for most students, huh? Everybody loves a good, long break; showing off their beach bods, partying and just doing whatever the hell they want without a care like how young people are.

Yet I can't help but shudder at the thought of how this summer break is going be for us.

Truth be told, Wayne hasn't been the same ever since he gotten discharged from the hospital two weeks after his accident. He is a whole different person and I tried to tell everyone that. Nobody believed me.

They kept telling me it's just a phase, and that it'll pass. Drew, being my brother's best friend, assured me that he'd seen this before when he broke up with his ex-girlfriend and it was quick before he bounced back. He said that Wayne went into a downward spiral, shutting people out and behaved in the most unpredictably, obnoxious way; and he had seen him recover even from that. He didn't believe me when I told him I could feel that this was so much more, so much deeper than a dumb hoe breaking his heart.

So when slightly more than a month passed and Wayne was nowhere near to getting his shit together, they began to really worry.

I could see that he was in a lot of pain. He had undoubtably broken several parts of his body and movements—even basic things like changing clothes or showering—were hurting him. He often popped painkillers every few hours together with his heap of medicine, despite the doctor discouraging him from doing so.

He was also angry. He directed most of his anger to the people around him. During the first few days, he needed our help for the simplest things and he hated it. He hated not being able to climb the stairs in his own house; instead needing two of his friends to help lift him every single time. He probably hated feeling weak, useless and most of all—broken.

It wasn't until the fifth day or so that he started cooping himself up. He wouldn't care to open the door anymore and never left his room for food. Most of us had to return back to college, especially since it is Drew and Zac's graduating year; so we really try to schedule our time around to cater to Wayne.

Because of his injuries, he was granted two months of medical leave to stay home and rest. That would essentially mean he'd miss his finals. But according to him, he could give less fucks about it. He claimed that his future had ended the day he broke his left arm and hip.

I guess, in a way, I could understand why he was acting this way. For God's sake, even I knew my brother was crazy about boxing. He picked up boxing during high school and trained ever since, making him almost training for a decade.  He even came to EVU on a martial arts scholarship simply because he was that good in what he did. Until one day, he woke up only to be told that he could never do the one thing he loved so much again.

I wanted to sympathize with him, I really did. In fact, all of us endured with the nasty things he'd say to us when he was in a mood.

It started when we would drive him to his check-ups and physical therapy which happened twice a week. His car was crashed beyond salvation and was already scraped at the workshop. That was the least of our concern though. It was the fact that we didn't know if he could be able to drive again. I should know this better. I mean, I was the one who had a minor accident before and was traumatized to drive for awhile.

So each time he had to get into our one of our cars and be chauffered to the hospital, he would throw a huge tantrum about it. It was better when he was willing to sit on the wheelchair. But after a couple sessions of therapy and him adapting to crutches, he started finding ways to refuse our ride.