glass sliding door. He upended the coffee table, sending an iPad, a newspaper and a coaster flying, and only when he wanted to kick the living crap out of the sofa and swung back a leg did the pain in his groin kick in along with his senses.
He slumped down beside the sofa, his eyes filled with tears. He touched a hand to the wound in his pubic area to make sure he hadn’t torn open the skin during his outrage, but it was fine, just as before: a florid swelling that would disappear in time. He wondered whether mentally the damage would last a lot longer.
The painkillers had knocked him out good and proper up until now, and today was the first day he had really been able to think straight, to let his emotions try to untangle themselves, but combined with the diagnosis only an hour ago, it was a lethal combination.
He wondered what Maddie was doing right now. He’d sent her a text the first night he was home, to say he was sleeping an unhealthy amount and felt like a bear going into hibernation. They had been firing jokey words back and forth for the last couple of days too even though at times he had barely had the energy to think of anything to say. He knew she was waiting for him to tell her to come and see him, but he hadn’t banked on feeling so bloody useless once he wasn’t so spaced out on painkillers. And now he shied away from contacting her because he didn’t want the girl whom he was trying to impress to see him as less of a man, wincing in pain when he moved or falling asleep at the drop of a hat.
Evan checked the window for damage before he picked up the larger pieces of glass from the carpet. Thankfully his momentary loss of control hadn’t caused any further damage other than breaking the glass and creating a mess. He pulled the vacuum cleaner out from the laundry room at the back of the bathroom to get the tiny splinters that had embedded themselves in the thick fawn pile.
Holly had been over yesterday and filled the fridge, basing her assumptions about what he ate on most men rather than the healthier foods he enjoyed – usually it was muesli or porridge for breakfast, a plain sandwich for lunch, meat and vegetables for dinner – but today he had reached new depths of despair, and when he finished cleaning up he took out eggs, bacon and a fistful of mushrooms. He couldn’t train anyway – no running for at least six weeks – so before long the scent of a fry-up filled the apartment, and he took his plate outside to enjoy it on the balcony.
The food barely touched the sides as it went down; amazing how much of an appetite you could build-up with a cancer diagnosis and a good old-fashioned violent outburst.
When he had slept next to Maddie the other night, she’d suggested using flexible ice packs after the operation, for comfort, and so he had asked Ben to pick some up from the sports clinic in the city. He retrieved one from the freezer now, wrapped it in a tea towel, and pressed it against the wound. He knew he was lucky he hadn’t ripped it open with the little stunt he pulled earlier, and his hand reached for his phone because this was one of those little things he wanted to tell Maddie. It had happened yesterday, and the day before. He couldn’t remember what had been the reason now, but like today, he had stopped himself just in time, before he showed weakness, asked for her pity.
He propped up his iPad on the table – luckily it had survived its unplanned trip through the air – and skimmed through The Age. He flicked past stories of doom and gloom, and settled instead on the sport section to read about the build-up of footy fever now that they had hit winter. He’d only made one match this season what with everything going on.
When the phone rang Evan ignored it, pulling a fleece tighter around himself as he skimmed through Facebook’s News Feed before checking his emails. This had become his daily morning routine in the absence of being able to go for a run. His body felt tight, unused. All he wanted to do was get out there into the big wide world, taking