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Ignoring them, I look at Mario and say once more, "Touch my leg, my feet, something. Just touch me." My voice shrills as hysteria takes hold of me. "Do it! Do it! Touch my legs!"
The moment Mario obeys, and his hands land on my lower legs, panic sets in. I feel nothing.
"What's going on?" Enzo furrows his brows in confusion. "Little dancer, what's wrong?"
"I-I-I can't f-feel it." My voice sounds foreign to me. I don't recognize it, and I doubt the men do because the heartbreak drenching my words is more than I can handle. "Enzo, I..." I lift my gaze to his. Concern is etched on his face.
"Get the fucking doctor in here now," his order to Mario is filled with the same fear that's currently clogging my throat. The lump of emotion threatening to choke me is all-consuming. I can't do this. I can't lose one of the things that keeps me sane.
"I-I... This is..."
"Shh," Enzo coos, but I can't focus on anything other than the fact that my legs don't work. I can't move them. I can't feel anything in them. Not even pins and needles that come after being still for so long. "It's going to be okay. They'll fix it."
His words settle in my mind, but anger takes over and I pin my glare on him. "Fix it? This isn't something you can fix, Enzo." He stays silent, and I continue. "You can't just pay someone or threaten someone with their life and expect them to make me feel my legs again."
"I know, Luna," he whispers into my hair as he holds me close. I don't fight him. Not right now. My heart is slowly shattering into a million pieces and the only thing holding me together is the man I'm meant to walk down the aisle with, in a few weeks.
"What if I can't dance again?" I croak out. "What if I can't walk down the aisle?" Questions dance in my mind, taunting me as I attempt to consider my future.
The doctor walks in before Enzo can respond. I take the man in. He looks to be in his forties perhaps. Dark hair with a smattering of silver, small round spectacles, and a white coat. Has he come to lock me up in a padded room, or tell me my diagnosis?
"Ms. Cavallone," he greets, his gaze flitting between me and the bloodied man standing beside me. The doctor clears his throat. "I'm doctor Peterson, and I'll be taking care of you while you're here. I've had a look at your charts, and I know you're concerned about the feeling in your legs. At this point, we will need to do more—"
Enzo releases me, rounds the bed and is in the doctor's face before he can continue. "You run every fucking test there is and you make her well again," he hisses. The doctor looks as shell shocked at the outburst as I am.
"Y-y-yes, of course, Mr. De Rossi," he says easily. But the stutter is apparent, the fear in his gaze is enough to make me shiver.
"Fix this," Enzo says once more.
Weariness overtakes me and I have to fight to keep my eyes open. "Doctor, please do the tests."
"I'll set it all up now. But you need to rest," Dr. Peterson says before leaving us. With Enzo needing medical attention, I'm sure they'll be busy for a while.
He comes to me, leans over, and presses his lips to mine. "It's going to be okay," he says confidently. Once they're gone, I lie back and allow the tears I'd been holding back to fall. They trickle as the pain of what I could face slams right into my chest, stealing my breath.
I just don't know if it is going to be okay.
Chapter 31
Luna
Panic.
It's all I feel.
It's as if I'm being held down, being pushed underwater, and my lungs struggle to work. There isn't a moment in my life that I didn't believe I would dance. Since I was a child, ballet has been my life, it's meant more to me than anything else, and now, it may be something I have to give up.
Enzo walks into the room, showered and bandaged, but I don't want to see him. Anger still grips my chest, and when he touches me, I flinch. I've never feared him, and even now, I'm not, but I can't have his hands on me. The reminder of his passionate kisses, how he made me feel, it's all been diminished by the fact that I'm broken.
"Luna," he coos my name as if it were a prayer. It's not. For him, I'll always be a burden. That's what I believe, and nothing can change my mind. There isn't anything Enzo says that will make me feel any differently.
"Please leave," I beg. It's been two days since the doctors have been working tirelessly to come up with some solution. Dr. Peterson told me it's a waiting game. It's only been fifty-two hours since the crash, and that's not enough time to confirm I'll never walk again. They've done scans and found nothing serious. I was told it may have just been the shock of impact that may have temporarily paralyzed me.
