Chapter Four: Bubblegum and Butterflies by Lynette Ferreira

Charlize sat stiffly on the examination table, her legs swinging slightly as the cold air of the hospital room prickled her skin. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the pale green walls and the unmistakable tang of antiseptic. Her arm throbbed in a dull, persistent rhythm, now carefully supported by a temporary sling the nurse had fitted in the ER.

Her mother paced near the window, heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. "I told you, Charlize. I told you to always watch where you're walking." Mrs. van der Merwe’s voice was high-pitched, frantic, though her fingers trembled as she clutched her designer handbag to her chest.

“Annemarie, she’s hurt,” her father interjected, his tone heavy with restrained anguish as he stood beside the door, arms crossed. “She doesn’t need a lecture right now.”

Charlize winced, partly from the pain but mostly from the tension filling the small room. “Mom, it wasn’t my fault,” she muttered. Her voice was tight, frustrated. “Some idiot on a skateboard—”

“An idiot? More like a delinquent,” Annemarie cut in, her eyes narrowing. “That boy could have killed you, Charlize. He should be expelled. Or arrested.”

Charlize sighed and shifted uncomfortably, wishing the nurse would return so they could get this over with. Her dad ran a hand down his face, his fingers brushing against his neatly trimmed beard, his shoulders slumped.

“This is why I wanted to drop you off,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “Walking to school—” He stopped, shaking his head.

“Charlize, look at your arm,” Annemarie gestured toward the swollen limb in the sling, her voice cracking. “What if it doesn’t heal properly? What if—”

“Mom,” Charlize interrupted, trying to stay calm despite the anxiety clawing at her chest. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a broken arm, not the end of the world.”

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned away, dabbing at her face with a tissue. “You’re my only daughter. I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

The door opened, and the nurse stepped in with a bright, professional smile, followed by a middle-aged doctor holding a clipboard. “Alright, Charlize,” the doctor began, his voice steady and reassuring. “The X-rays confirmed it’s a clean break in your radius. We’ll set the bone and get a cast on. You’ll need to wear it for about six weeks.”

Charlize swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay.”

“Will it heal completely?” her dad asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“Yes, absolutely,” the doctor assured him. “With proper care, there shouldn’t be any long-term issues.”

Mrs. van der Merwe exhaled sharply, crossing her arms but staying silent as the nurse helped Charlize lay her arm on a cushioned surface.

“This might be a little uncomfortable,” the nurse said kindly.

Charlize clenched her teeth as the doctor began the process of aligning the bone, the pain sharp and electric, radiating up her arm. Her mother gasped audibly, covering her mouth, while her dad stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on Charlize’s shoulder.

“You’re so brave, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Yeah, real brave,” Charlize muttered through gritted teeth, her sarcasm masking the pain.

Once the bone was set, the nurse moved quickly, wrapping her arm in soft padding and then the damp strips of plaster that would harden into the cast.

“What colour would you like for the outer layer?” the nurse asked, trying to brighten the mood.

Charlize hesitated, glancing at her mom, whose lips were pressed into a thin line, and then at her dad, who managed a small, encouraging smile.

“Pink,” Charlize said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Pink it is,” the nurse said cheerfully, selecting a roll from the cart.

As the nurse wrapped the pink layer over the cast, her mother spoke up again, her voice trembling. “You’ll need to stay home from school tomorrow, and you won’t be able make it to the Sarah’s party this weekend.”

“What? No,” Charlize protested, her frustration bubbling over. “Mom, I can still go. It’s just my arm.”

“Charlize, don’t argue,” her dad said firmly, though his tone lacked its usual authority. “Your health comes first.”

Charlize slumped against the back of the chair, glaring at the cast as if it had personally offended her. She felt trapped, not just in the stiff pink plaster but in the weight of her parents’ expectations and worry.

Her mom’s gaze fixed on Charlize’s cast as though it symbolized everything she couldn’t protect her daughter from.

Charlize sighed, shifting her focus to the window. She watched the sunlight fade behind the mountains, a deep ache settling in her chest that had little to do with her arm.

Continue reading 5/?

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