Break by Hannah Moskowitz Page B

against the concrete. I brace myself for the real pain—it’ll be awful, but at least I’m used to it.
    But, oh.
    I’m not used to this.
    My entire arm is ripping off, and I feel every tendon and every muscle and every bone and my side’s on fire and my body is crushing my body and it’s orange orange orange hurt and it’s awful, it’s worse than anything’s ever been.
    As soon as I get air I start screaming.
    Her footsteps cascade down the side of the pool and there’s her hand on the back of my neck. “Tell me what hurts.”
    “Get me up! Get me up get me up!”
    “Jonah—”
    I scuffle my legs on the pavement until I can move enough to aim my torso toward Naomi. I grab her stupid coat and hold her, digging my fingers into her sides. I huff air in and out of my nose so I don’t throw up. The nausea comes, but the pain is not gone. I sound like a dog. “My arm—”
    “Jonah, wiggle your toes!”
    I wiggle them all around and kick my feet, and she lets her breath go. She cradles my head and says, “Breathe. Breathe.”
    I whinny. “This is awful.”
    “Shh.”
    “Make it stop.”
    “I will. Shhh.”
    The back of my head explodes, and I’m drowning drowning drowning in the empty pool. I bury my face in Naomi and scream, letting the pain take me away.

fifteen
    JESSE FLIES INTO MY HOSPITAL CUBICLE, SWEAT ON his stubbly upper lip, hands in the air. “What the fuck?”
    I throw my good hand over my face. “I told Naomi not to call you.”
    “Yeah, and I told
you
not to do this. Seriously, Jonah, what the hell? You didn’t get enough ER fun today?”
    I mumble, “Technically that was yesterday.”
    He had to drive almost an hour to get here. This is some grody community clinic just out of state—you’ve got to keep switching hospitals in this life.
    He had to drive almost an hour to get here.
    He paces back and forth, his hands in fists. “This has to stop. Jesus Christ, Jonah. This has got to stop.”
    “I know.”
    He leans against the yellow walls, staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to think of a solution. The drip of the morphine into my IV is excruciating in its slowness.
    Over the intercom, Nurse Glenda’s called to the desk.
    I say, “How you feeling?”
    “I’m
fine
, brother, Jesus Christ, but I’m so fucking . . . God, I’m worried about you.” He sits at the foot of the bed and shrugs off his jacket. “God. Naomi said you were sobbing.”
    I move my arm and sit up, pulling my knees to my chest so I have somewhere to put my shaky chin. “My shoulder’s a fracture-dislocation. Those hurt more than just a break.”
    He reaches out and touches my sling. All my pain and suffering, and I don’t even get a new cast. Just this awkward-ass sling. “And the elbow?”
    “That’s fractured.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Three more ribs.”
    + 1 shoulder + 1 elbow + 3 ribs. Total = 24.
    He squints. “Haven’t you already broken your elbow?”
    “That was the other one.”
    He sighs and leans back, running a hair through his curls. “Mom and Dad are going to be furious.”
    “They don’t have to know. I don’t need a new cast. Just a sling. I’ll just tell them the wrist was sore. They don’t have to know, and Charlotte doesn’t either, or Max and Antonia. Nobody.”
    “Jonah. Your arm will look funny.”
    “I can make it look okay. Look. I can take care of this,” I insist. “I can make this okay.”
    He keeps messing up his hair. “How’s the pain?”
    I shake my head, staring at the quilt.
    “Was it scary?”
    The crash flashes through my mind like an awful Claymation film. I see my body melt into the pavement, into Naomi, see it filling the empty pool.
    He lowers his voice—pitch, not volume. “Brother, you okay?”
    The fourth feeling is worry.
    I say, “Can you sit with me until Naomi comes back? Sh-she’s getting ice chips.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    I scoot to the side of my bed and pat the mattress next to me. He sits beside me, fists on his knees, and