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ïœïœ pt. 5
In the living room, Plankton
sits in his wheelchair, his
leg sticking out, the cast
still a stark white. His
face is a mask of pain, his
eye squinted. He takes a
deep breath, trying to
rein in his frustration as
Sandy and Karen reenter.
Sandy's eyes are red,
but she smiles weakly at him.
"I brought you some water,"
she says, her voice small.
Plankton's antennae droop,
his anger at Sandy still lurking.
Karen notices the
tension immediately. "Why
don't you tell us about the
surgery?" she suggests,
trying to ease the
atmosphere. Plankton looks
up, his eye narrowed. "What's
to tell?" he snaps. Karen
sits beside him, her hand
on his shoulder. "Anything
you remember might help
us understand."
Sandy nods, her voice
gentle. "We're just worried
about you, Plank..."
But Plankton's had enough.
"Sandy, I don't need your pity!" he
snaps.
The room goes still, the
tension thick. Karen's heart
breaks for her friend, and
she can see the hurt in
Sandy's eyes. But she knows
this isn't about pity; it's about
fear and frustration, about
being confined and unable
to do the things he loves.
Sandy takes a deep breath,
wiping at her eyes. "I'm not
just curious," she says,
finding her voice. "I care
about you. Both of you. And
I want to he-"
But Plankton's had enough.
"I don't need your help!"
he snaps, the frustration
boiling over. Karen's eyes
widen at his outburst.
Sandy flinches.
Karen's voice is calm
but firm. "Plankton, she's just
trying to help."
Sandy nods, her eyes
shiny with unshed tears.
"I'm her-" "I KNOW!" Plankton cuts
her off, his voice harsh.
The room is silent, the
air thick with Plankton's
frustration. Karen can see the
pain in Sandy's eyes, but
she knows this is about
his pride, about not
wanting to be seen as weak.
"Look," Sandy starts again,
her voice softer this time.
"I know yo-"
Plankton's antennae
twitch with aggravation.
"I said I don't need
your help!" he snaps, his
voice echoing off the walls.
Karen's eyes fill with
concern as she watches her
friend shrink back, her eyes
glistening with unshed tears.
Sandy opens her mouth
to protest, but Karen
shakes her head almost
imperceptibly. She knows
Plankton's temper, knows that
right now, he's in pain and
not in the mood for talk.
"Okay," Sandy says, her
voice barely a whisper. "I'll
just...go." She turns to leave,
but Karen's hand on her arm
stops her. "Let me talk to you," Karen
says gently. Sandy nods,
wiping at her eyes.
In the kitchen, Karen
explains. "He's just...he's
not used to being so
dependent. He's always
been the one in charge, the
one taking care of things. I
can tell when Plankton's in
pain, even when he doesn't
say anything. He's stubborn,
but he's also scared. But I also
know he just needs a moment,
when he gets like this. It's not
you, Sandy. It's just...his way."
Sandy nods, her eyes
still on the floor. "I get it.
It's just...I want to help."
Karen squeezes her hand.
"And you are. You being here
means the world to me. But
right now, he needs some space."
Sandy nods, wiping at her
cheeks. "Okay."
They return to the living
room, where Plankton sits
silently. "Hey," Karen says softly,
sitting down beside him.
Sandy sits on the edge
of the couch, her hands
in her lap.
"I know this is tough," Karen
says, her voice gentle. "But we're
here for you." Plankton
nods, his antennae still
quivering slightly.
Sandy's eyes are
full of regret, but she
doesn't speak, giving
Plankton space. Plankton
shifts in his chair,
his cast making it
difficult to get comfortable.
Sandy clears her throat. "Is there
anything I can do to help?"
Her voice is tentative, hopeful.
Karen looks at her
gratefully.
"Why don't you help me get
his leg elevated?" Karen
suggests. "It might make
it more comfortable for him."
Sandy nods, eager to do
anything to help. Together,
they manage to get a pillow
under Plankton's leg,
supporting the cast. His
sigh of relief is palpable.
"Thanks," he murmurs,
his eye still half-closed.
Sandy's smile is
genuine. "Anything for you,
Plankton."
Karen notices Sandy's curiosity
still evident. "Why don't
you tell us what you remember
about the surgery?" Karen
prompts him. Sandy's eyes
light up. "Did you feel anyth-"
"SANDY," Plankton snaps,
his antennae standing tall.
But Plankton's not ready
to forgive her. "It's none of
your business," he repeats,
his voice cold.
Sandy's face falls, and
she nods, retreating to the
edge of the couch. Karen
squeezes Plankton's shoulder.
"Remember, love, we're here
to support you. That means
asking questions, too." Plankton
sighs, his antennae
drooping, his frustration
evident. Karen knows
his pride is taking a hit.
"Fine," he says. "They had to give me
some kind of...of glue, I guess,
that makes bones stick
together. And then they put
this cast on." His hand
gestures to his leg,
his voice filled with
resentment.
Sandy's curiosity is
piqued. "How does
it feel to fall asleeâ"
But Plankton's had enough.
"I don't want to talk
about it," he says, cutting
her off. His eye closes
tightly, a tear escaping.
Sandy's face falls, her
words forgotten as she
watches her friend in
pain. Karen squeezes his
hand gently. "It's okay,
love," she whispers. "You don't
have to talk if you don't
want to." Sandy's eyes are
glistening with unshed tears,
and she bites her bottom
lip, looking away. Karen
knows he's trying to
keep a brave face, but it's
clear he's struggling.
Finally, Sandy breaks the
silence. "Why don't we do
something else? Maybe
play some board games?"
Plankton's antennae
perk up slightly, his
eye opening a bit wider.
"That...sounds okay."
Karen smiles. "Great. I'll
get you closer, on the
floor."
They manage to move
the coffee table and
his chair so that
his leg can be propped
up comfortably. Sandy
brings over a board game,
as Karen helps him out
of the wheelchair and onto
the floor.
Plankton's eye lights up
slightly at the sight
of the game, a
tiny spark of his usual
excitement showing
through the pain.
Sandy starts setting
up, her movements
quick and precise,
desperate to make
amends.
Sandy notices him
flinching, his hand
gripping the cast
over his leg. "Do you
need a-" "I'm fine," Plankton
interjects quickly,
his voice strained.
Karen nods,
understanding his
desire for normalcy.
They start playing the
game, Plankton's mind
focused on the
strategy. His eye
twitches with every
move, his antennae
perked with competitive
spirit. Sandy's eyes are on
his face, watching
his every reaction.
They play in a
comfortable silence, the
only sounds the shuffling
of game pieces and
Plankton's occasional
grunts. The game is a
distraction, but not
enough to fully
ease the tension.
Sandy keeps glancing
at him, her movements
slow and careful. Karen
watches them both, her
heart aching for her
husband's pain and her
friend's regret.
As the game goes on,
Plankton's eyelid starts to
droop again, his hand
shaking slightly as he
moves his piece. Karen
notices and stops him.
"Why don't we take a
break?" she suggests.
Sandy nods in
agreement, setting her
piece down. Karen helps
him stand on his
good leg as she reaches
for his crutches, handing
them to him. He takes them
reluctantly, leaning heavily
on them as he hobbles
to the couch.
The room is silent
for a moment before
Sandy speaks. "Can I
get you anything?" she
asks, her voice tentative.
Plankton sighs, his
frustration clear. "Just
leave me alone," he says,
his voice thick with
exhaustion. Karen
swallows hard, feeling
the weight of his words.
Sandy nods, her eyes
shimmering with unshed
tears. "Okay." She stands
up, collecting the game
pieces. Karen watches,
the tension in the room
palpable. Sandy looks at Karen,
her gaze questioning.
Karen nods slightly,
understanding that Plankton
needs a moment.