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“What happened to your hand, Bruce?” Steve asked, pointing at Bruce’s base of the left thumb that had just healed from a flare-up. The skin looked weird… like always.
He instinctively covered his left hand with the right. The problem is that his right hand isn’t much better, so he hid them both behind his back.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Bruce said with an awkward smile. He hated when people noticed his hands.
That was Bruce’s standard answer to questions like this. He always hoped that the person asking would drop it.
“No, really, what is it? Have you got a burn? Was it a lab accident?”
Why can’t he stop asking? It’s none of his business. Why can’t he get that I don’t want to talk about this?
Bruce took a deep breath.
Be nice, Bruce, be nice.
“Just my skin is dry, it sometimes happens” Not the lie, not the whole truth either.
If he says something about using cream, I will explo-
“Have you tried using some cream for it? Maybe that would help.”
Cream? I never heard of it. You are telling me that a condition that I have been living with my whole life can be solved by a cream? WTF! Why haven’t I heard about it!
He wanted to say it. All the pain and misunderstood that had accumulated in him for years. The guilt that he had felt during all his flare-ups. He always felt that there was something wrong with him, that he didn’t take enough care of his hand, that he could do more to prevent this.
Maybe that was caused by the new shampoo that he used? Maybe he should change his sheets more often, vacuum more, take showers often, or less often?
It was always guessing.
Deep breaths, Bruce, deep breaths.
He just nodded to Steve’s words and walked away. He didn’t have the willpower to argue with Steve.
He was tired.