Three-hundred-and-sixty-five-stories

I’m sorry about this one. I am tired and exhausted and I’ve written 300 other ones so ner ner ner I deserve a night off!

Word count: 564

Jack held his ribs delicately as he waved goodbye to the nurses in A&E. Two nights in hospital: three broken ribs, but Ian was now somewhere locked up and Gail had ran back into Tom’s arms for support so Jack could hardly say it wasn’t worth it.

It was homewards now. Four weeks of rest and relaxation. Four weeks of recuperation and of Tom popping round every five minutes with beer and pizza to make sure he was alright and to thank him endlessly for what he had done; at least that’s what he had promised Jack. Despite the pain, Jack was going to make the most of his time off. He was going to catch up on films he hadn’t seen, computer games he hadn’t yet completed and make sure that he left an imprint on the sofa that would never go away.
Tom shuffled him into the backseat of his car, continually apologising with every step. It was raining lightly.
“Tell you those nurses – I’m going to miss them!” Jack closed his eyes and remembered all their faces. “Jane was my favourite. In a cougar kind of way.”
“I’m so sorry, Jack, you know I am.”
“Fear not, friend. I am at one with my inner hatred.”

The drive home didn’t take long and soon Jack was being helped in the door by Tom and Gail. They plonked him on the sofa. Gail turned on the TV and Tom arranged Jack drinks and nibbles. Jack just sat there with a smile on his face, quite happy to be waited on like this.
“What do you want on, Jack?” Gail asked, looking confused at the TV remote.
“Er anything, I’m not fussed. Listen guys, you don’t have to do all this – I’m quite capable of doing things myself,” Jack couldn’t help but face up to the guilt festering inside of him.
Tom and Gail looked concerned.
“Please, you’ve been great, now go home and rekindle that forty year old love or whatever it is you kids get up to these days.”
Tom and Gail apologised once more and made sure Jack had everything he needed – once more – before leaving. Peace transcended across the house. As nice as being in hospital with lovely nurses had been, this was better: by a million light years. He sat back and flicked the TV on to some mindless sports channel and let his eyes slowly close. When he woke in the morning he was going to regret this. The painkillers would have ran out by then. He’d be sleeping in some foetal position. It was going to be agony.
Jack was adjusting himself on the sofa when there was a knock at the door. It was probably Tom come back to make sure that Jack was alright.
“The door’s open!” he shouted.
The door opened and there was a kafuffle of things entering his house; it sounded like scrunched bags and books falling off a shelf. What on earth was Tom doing? But when Jack turned around to see who it was a fourth rib cracked with the depression that instantly washed over him. It was not Tom. If it had been Ian himself with a loaded shotgun, Jack thought he might have preferred it to the fate that was in store for him.
“Jack!”
“Jackie!”
Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, Mr and Mrs had arrived back from honeymoon.

~ by S.G. Mark on August 2, 2012.

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