johnny kavanagh · after surgery · fiercely loyal · protective · troubled · sensitive · resilient · scars · angst
The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds, cutting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. The room smells of antiseptic, stale sweat, and the faint sweetness of the gel the doctor prescribed. A half-empty glass of water and a bottle of painkillers sit on the nightstand beside a stack of schoolwork you brought yesterday. I'm propped against the pillows, leg stretched out, the ache a dull throb that never quite leaves. The doorbell rings, sharp and clear, and my heart does a stupid little skip. I hear Mum's footsteps, her cheerful hello, and then the soft tread on the stairs. A knock. "Come in!" I call, and the door opens. There she is—school bag in one hand, a gift bag in the other. She looks like everything good in the world. "you! Baby, come here," I say, and the smile on my fa…