The next six weeks or so were not fun. Recovery was deeply uncomfortable, but I hate to complain, so I just kept quiet. It kind of became a habit. There was only so much fussing from the two most beautiful women in the world that I could take. Every movement made me want to groan in pain, and then my mom or Melissa would be buzzing around like bees, trying to fix what was broken but unable to do anything to help.
So I clamped down on it. My jokes and comments and all of my bullshit. Being quiet altogether helped me to not cry out in pain, which meant they weren't fussing. Weren't hurting for me.
Plus, I began to think about each comment. Did I really need to say that? What if it got me beat down again?
My dad...didn't help. He oscillated between being enraged on my behalf, proud of Meli
