A Thirst for More - Chapter Five

"Yeah, Dad. I'm okay, promise. It's all set and everything. No need to worry."

Not that you ever worried much about me before, I almost mutter into the phone. Not that you would have cared if I'd broken my damned ankle at home while you were away on those long-distance hauls of yours. I know. You just want to make sure you're not gonna get slapped with a giant medical bill, huh?

"Yeah, no, it's okay. The university health plan covers pretty much everything, they said. Shouldn't be more than forty or fifty bucks out of pocket."

Even over this crappy cell connection I can hear the subtle shift in his voice that tells me he's relieved. Of course he is. And let me guess; now that he's made sure he's not gonna be stuck with a massive bill, and that I'm still alive-

"Yep, yeah, sure. Okay, then. Thanks for calling back. Yep, okay. Bye."

I sigh and lean back onto my pillow, letting my eyes slip closed. Might still be the effect of the pain killers - or the fatigue from having rushed to the hospital at 3 am. Whatever. But at least Dad called back. At least I don't have to worry about him cussing me out now.

He still didn't seem too thrilled, of course. Honestly, I bet the worst part of it for him was hearing how it happened. 'Cause if I had to break a bone, knowing him he definitely would have preferred that it happen while doing something manly - like football. Not something any little girly wuss could do: like tripping on an old staircase while getting up at night to pee...

Yeah, about that.

I grimace and squeeze my eyes closed, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks even as I try to shut out the humiliating memory. But it's not so easy to shut out the remembered sensation of staring up at your landlady from a puddle of your own piss. It's even harder to forget how Mrs. Fenoli helped me up, and fetched a towel to put under my butt, and finally drove me herself to the hospital - all with my pajamas still soaked through from my stupid bladder...

I force my eyes open, looking about desperately for something to take my mind off the unpleasant memories. There lies my leg, propped stiffly up on the bed in front of me, and around it the massive bulk of the fresh, green-clad cast. Stretching from my toes to just below my knee, it is impossible to forget. I'm not supposed to put any weight on it - which naturally made the trip up the stairs to my room a few hours ago quite the challenge. Geez, those damned stairs-

A knock sounds on my door. "Moind if I come in?" Mrs. Fenoli's face is businesslike and kind as ever as she enters. "How ya doin'?" she inquires, her hand slipping down to rest, cool and oddly comforting, on my forehead. "Ya got much pain?" I sigh and shake my head. "No, not really. Just tired, I guess..." She smiles and pulls the chair from the corner close, then settles down on it. "Yeah, betcha it's them pain killahs. They shuah can do a numbah on yah."

She pauses, glances over my prone form with its cast-bound left leg. "So I ran ovah to the university just now. Checked with the medical people there. Coase they couldn't tell me too much, yah know - I'm not yah family or nothing. But they told me who yah can email tah get pahmission ta take class on the computah, if yah want. It's no prahblem. So that's some good news, anyways..."

I nod. "Um, thanks. I mean, I hope I can still walk around, right? Just gotta get the hang of those crutches." "Well, of coase," she agrees companionably, with a sidelong glance at the grey-and-silver things in the corner. "But it's gonna take some time tah get used tah them, yah know. And it's not like you can make it all the way from heah tah campus on crutches, deah. Coase I'll droive yah when I can..." She shrugs. "Anyways. At least yah got options, roight?"

And then she says it. "But there's something else we gotta figure out, Adrian. See, they told yah that yah gonna be in that thing fah what? Six weeks at least, roight? " "Six to eight, they said," I assent, fidgeting with the tassel of the blanket beside me. "Said it was a pretty bad break." "Okay, six tah eight," she repeats. "That's a long time, Adrian. And I don' know about you, but I'm not gonna be aroun' all day long to help you up an' down these staiyahs. So we gotta figure out something fah yah."

I raise my eyebrows. "Um, okay? Like- Ohh..." "Yeah, yah gonna need the bathroom, of coase," she nods, patting my leg in motherly fashion. "But hones'ly, I jus' don't see how yah gonna get up an' down the staiyahs on ya own. Don' wanna fall a second time and break the other leg, would we?"

Her short chuckle, though well-meaning, fails to bring a smile to my face. "Um, okay," I venture. "So should I just lay on the couch downstairs?" "Yah mean sleep there? I'm afraid that's gonna be way too small an' old an' creaky fah yah," she apologizes. "Not tah mention noisy when yah trying to study and take class durin' the day, too. But then I thought maybe we could swap rooms, yah know - give yah my bedroom-"

Visions of me trying to sleep in my landlady's own bedroom - this lady who was nice enough to take care of me through all of this craziness - well up before my eyes. It probably smells like her, and it's likely decorated like an old lady's room- "No, no, no," I hastily interject. "No, I can't do that. I really can't, but thanks. I'll just stay here. I like this room a lot, you know..."

She shrugs and gives me an apologetic smile. "Well, then! That's sweet of yah, deah. But then we jus' gotta figyah out what tah do about the staiyahs." She pauses, lost in reflection. "Okay, I got it. Coase, I din't wanna out and say it befoah. But seeing as I can't magic up a bathroom up heah, an' seeing as yah gonna need one at night-"

"We'll jus' go and get yah some kinda protection tah weah."

Protection? But- but- Wait, she couldn't be serious- "Umm, like-" "Like a diapah oah somethin'," she responds in a matter-of-fact tone. "Coase most folks don' like tah call 'em that. An' I get that it sounds kinda embarrassin', but-"

"Kind of embarrassing? Kind of embarrassing?" Maybe it's the painkillers still, but suddenly my pulse is pounding in my ears, tears are stinging my eyes, my fingers are clenching into fists. I've had enough. This is all her fault. Everything: my stupid fall, that humiliating puddle of mine on the floor, my broken ankle, the humiliating visit to the hospital, that stupid call with my dad, missing class with Blair-

I may be just her tenant, true. But I swear, I'm not going to let her treat me like some invalid - like some stupid baby. Not without a fight!

(To be continued!)