Paralyzed

Coma

When Javier arrived back home, he immediately checked Andrés' wound. He disinfected it, applied a fresh bandage to his shoulder, and wrapped it up securely. Then he assessed the bruises on his son's body; Andrés had several broken ribs, and his right hip was fractured. Aside from those serious injuries, he only had minor ones—the black eye and split lip were healing.

Javier gently placed Andrés in his bed. For the next couple of weeks, Andrés remained in a coma. Sergio visited him as often as possible, filling the silence with updates about school, sharing how hard he had been studying, and recounting the wild things he dreamed of doing.

As three weeks passed, Sergio grew increasingly worried. His brother should have woken up by now. Taking Andrés' hand, he gently squeezed it, tears welling in his eyes as he looked at his unconscious brother, who was fighting for his life. A wave of guilt washed over him—guilt for not being there when Andrés needed him, guilt for not calming him down when he had first shared the news about their mother's illness.

Sergio sniffed and slipped in beside Andrés, resting his head on his brother's chest. He closed his eyes, and before drifting off to sleep, he whispered, "Andrés, I know you think you don't have any family or friends, but not only are you my big brother, you're also my best friend. You were there when I was sick and when our dad died, and I know you'll always be there for me. I know that when we play together, you always let me win just to make me happy, and I pretend not to notice just to see you smile. Seeing you happy makes me happy.

"I promise you I'll make it up to you. I'll always be there when you're in trouble, and if you ever feel alone, I'll be right there with you. Ask me for anything, and I'll be there. I love you, Andrés. Don't forget it."

The next morning, Sergio felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Andrés—he was awake. Andrés coughed, opened his eyes, and looked around the room. Then he realized Sergio was beside him.

"Sergio?"

"Hey, Andrés."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you."

"What happened?"

"You were in a coma."

"How long?"

"Three weeks."

"Fucking hell," Andrés whispered.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Andrés gulped. "Yes."

"Then what happened?" Sergio asked, concern etched on his face.

"I...was...tortured...by my father." Tears welled in Andrés' eyes as he looked at Sergio. "At first, he fought me, then he hit me, and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, my hands and feet were bound. There was a rope around my neck too. I remember hanging and choking, being beaten up and electrocuted... I remember being left there in that basement, alone in the dark..." He paused, crying. Sergio gently squeezed his hand. Andrés sniffed and continued recounting his horrific experience. "I just remember the pain and the fear." He looked at his brother. "I thought I was going to die, Sergio."

"But you're alive. Everything is going to be okay."

"Not until I get out of this shit hole. I won't say everything is okay until I escape this place."

His bedroom door opened, and his father entered with a tray, smiling. When Andrés saw him, he instinctively put his arm in front of Sergio, trying to shield him. He shot a threatening look at his father.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Javier sighed and, with a hint of sarcasm, replied, "I see the Serbians did a good job with you. Maybe you should've stayed a little longer down there." Andrés attempted to mask his fear, but his father laughed and playfully tapped his face. Andrés recoiled from his dad's hand. Javier's expression darkened as he noticed Sergio had tucked his head into Andrés' chest, seeking comfort. He wanted to speak with Andrés privately, knowing that Sergio didn't deserve to witness this.