Damaged

It doesn't look broken. Sometimes it doesn't even feel broken. But I know better than that. It's broken. 

I've managed to hide my limp for some time now. But it's taking its toll. My muscles ache and my leg is getting worse. At night, when I finally reach the safety and solitude of my bedroom, the pain is overwhelming and the blood flows. The pain has defeated my fatigue for three nights in a row. I can't do this much longer.

I know what I need to do but I can't afford for you to see me like this. A cast would reveal my secret. I could fake it during the day and nurse my wounds in the dark.

I don't want medical assistance, I just need a crutch. I can lean on the crutch until the pain subsides and is manageable again. Maybe I'll abandon the crutch when the pain is gone. And if someone questions my health, I can pass it off as a sprain or the like; a sprain or a twisted ankle is always better than being broken.

Too bad nobody likes being a crutch.