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    Stitches and Strings
    Stitches and Strings
    Stitches and Strings
    Ebook114 pages1 hour

    Stitches and Strings

    By Rowena Fortuin

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    About this ebook

    He looks for ways to stop feeling. She looks for ways to stop being numb.

     

    Jordan would give anything to be the son his father wants him to be. The son who doesn't flinch. The son who doesn't shed a tear. 

     

    Harper can't feel pain. But on the inside she's anything but numb. 

     

    When their lives collide, they learn the true meaning of healing and that life is about more than fixing broken things.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRowena Fortuin
    Release dateMar 25, 2021
    ISBN9781393134534
    Stitches and Strings
    Author

    Rowena Fortuin

    Rowena Fortuin is the author of Caged, a story about finding silver linings, and Stitches and Strings, a book about learning to embrace your sensitivity. Rowena is passionate about stories and believes that everybody has one to tell. Through words she hopes to evoke a sense of empathy. 

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      Book preview

      Stitches and Strings - Rowena Fortuin

      When I was little, I had these action figures... When they broke, I fixed them. I did everything I could to put them back together. And when I failed to make them whole again, I felt... defeated and broken.

      Harper is quiet. Then she parts her lips. Maybe it was because you were trying to fix yourself, but couldn’t, so fixing those action figures felt like a reassurance to you. That the broken parts of you stood a chance to become complete again?

      Chapter 1

      Jordan

      THE MUSIC STREAMING through my earphones brings a wave of calm over me. Whenever the outside world becomes overwhelming, I can just plug in my earphones and retreat to the soothing place inside my imagination. Doing embroidery has the same effect on me. Creating patterns on a piece of cloth with a needle and thread is a release for me. The gentle power of stitching and making something with my hands provides a sense of satisfaction and contentment. It's a  feeling I don’t get from being on the sports field, playing rugby.

      My dad is the sports fanatic in the family. But that hasn’t stopped him from trying to instil the same fanaticism in me. I'm pretty sure he's been trying it ever since I learned how to walk. He always says: ‘A real man plays sports. And that’s non-negotiable.’ Sternness  embedded in every crease on his face. It's needless to say that my father and I, well... We weren’t exactly cut from the same cloth. We weren’t even cut with the same pair of scissors. When you see our interactions for yourself, you'll have a pretty clear idea of why that’s true.

      A knock on the door startles me. My mother opens it, a concerned expression settled on her face. I remove my yellow and black earphones and place them on the bed, pressing the power button on my iPhone gently.

      I've been calling you for five minutes, Jordan. Dinner's ready, my mom says, a tone of impatience in her voice, but her eyes soften anyway.

      I scratch the back of my head and rise to my feet. Um... Sorry, Mom. I’m right behind you.

      She shakes her head, chuckling.

      Our kitchen is bigger than the rest of the rooms in our house. Ivory cabinets with small, round, black knobs are nailed to the wall. A marble countertop is situated in the middle of the kitchen, where my mom does her chopping and slicing. Aside from sewing, cooking is her forte. Not only is it one of her talents, she says it also relaxes her. The spicy smell of the chicken curry roams straight into my nostrils, causing my stomach to growl with hunger.

      My dad is already seated at the dinner table, waiting for his meal. I seat myself across from him, apprehension evident in my every move. The stony look in his hazel eyes sends a shiver through my back. It's thirty degrees Celsius, but my father's glare makes the room feel below five degrees. Even before the words leave his lips, I know what he's about to ask me.  Demand would be a more accurate word.

      Jordan, have you been attending rugby practice after school? His voice comes out like an accusation.

      Yes, Dad, I have, I assure him. And it's true, because I wouldn’t dare miss rugby practice. Not at the risk of his wrath. I've been playing sports throughout high school. Not because I enjoy it, or even want to enjoy it. I participate in sports for the same reason I keep my emotions in check in front of him. To make him happy. To make my father proud of me. Even though our relationship is rocky, I don’t want him to disapprove of his son.

      Good. That’s my boy, my dad utters, a beam gracing his face. I smile with him, but on the inside, another piece of myself shatters.

      Chapter 2

      Harper

      WHEN I WAS IN PRIMARY school, a little girl I was friends with called me a superhero. I would walk around with bandages and casts, a vibrant beam plastered on my seven-year-old face. At the time, being a superhero sounded appealing. Superheroes got to fly, wear capes, become invisible and save the day. However, none of those powers belonged to me. Why then, do you ask, was I thought of as a superhero?

      Well, the answer is fairly simple. Or complicated. Depending on your perspective. See, the thing is, I can’t feel pain. When I bump my head against a window, or I accidentally slam my finger in the door, you won’t get an ‘ow’ response from me. The concept of being numb to pain might seem like a blessing. People have called me ‘lucky’. But my life is nothing to be envious about.

      I was five months old when I was diagnosed with Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. It's also known as Congenital Analgesia. I just call it CIP for short. It belongs to a group of genetic illnesses known as Hereditary Sensory Autonomic Neuropathy disorders. The part of my brain that tells me something is painful doesn’t register. People who don’t have the condition receive signals that warn them not to do something dangerous that will inflict damage or pain. I don’t get those signals. I can only sense pressure and slight changes in temperature.

      While teething, I chewed on my tongue and fingers until they bled. My dad said he nearly fainted. He and my mom knew there was something wrong, because I didn’t cry. I just went on teething on anything in sight, completely unfazed. I didn’t cry when I was hungry or when my diapers needed changing. My parents took me to the hospital immediately. Several tests were done and the doctor told my parents that I have CIP. They researched it and read stories about other kids who have the disease. Kids like me. Parents like them, going through the same thing.

      There's nothing superhuman about CIP. People look at me, assuming everything’s fine. Little do they know how desperate I am to experience what they do. Pain restrains you. Living without it can make you reckless. And when you’re reckless, it's just a matter of time before it costs you dearly.

      You might guess that my name was inspired by the author of To Kill a Mockingbird, but it wasn’t. My mother used to play the harp and swears that when I was born and she first laid eyes on me, she heard a whimsical, angelic melody. Like someone

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