Damaged

Hands shaking, I grasped my medicine bag. I’d have to ration pills until I recovered. Nate’s kit consists only of booze. He flatters himself by believing he’s not an alcoholic. After our fight, I shouldn’t have worried about his safety, but I always do.

A mirror showed the red lump and something much worse. My eyes, normally brown, were squid-ink black.

I fumbled with my phone.

Uncle Jim answered on the first ring. “He knows.”

“Not enough. We should finish the story for him.”

“Come on home, boy.”

“Is that wise?”

“Hell no, but I’m not facing his wrath alone.”

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