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"Luna, listen to me. I'm—"
I turn to look at Enzo, my glare forces his words to a halt. "I said, get the fuck out of my room. I want to be alone." Enzo, the man who runs a mafia family flinches at my words. When I was first brought to him, I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel my pain, and I think, I've finally done it.
Silently, he nods, lowering his head, he turns and walks of my room, closing the door behind him. I'm finally alone again and I can wallow in self-pity. It's not fair for me to ask Enzo to stay with me. He needs someone who can do things for him. Not someone who will become more of a tiresome chore.
When the door opens again, it's not Enzo, but Dr. Peterson. "Ms. Cavallone," he greets. "I have some good news. Or rather, better news." He stops beside my bed, the clipboard in his hand must hold answers because he's actually smiling. "The results of the latest scan show some bruising on the spine. That can lead to the paralysis you're experiencing. I've spoken with a colleague who's an expert in the field, and we'd like to operate."
His words sink in slowly. It's as if my brain is fogged up with information, too much information, and I can't work out what to say to that. I've seen enough movies to know that operations don't always help. But then again, when is real life like fiction.
"And this could fix whatever is wrong?" I ask, my voice weak with fear and exhaustion. I haven't been sleeping, mainly because each time I do, the nightmares attack and I'm woken with a start, my heart pounding in my chest and my head throbbing.
"We hope so. Dr. Hansen is confident that this will work," he tells me. "He's worked on many patients in the past with astounding results." He sets down paperwork on the small table and swings it over my bed. "I need you to look through these documents, and if you're ready to consent to the procedure, we can get you booked in immediately."
"Thank you, doctor." It's a whisper, my throat clogging with emotion. If my dad was here right now, he would've taken the lead. He would've read through this and chosen the way forward. But he's no longer here, and it's time I make decisions myself.
Dr. Peterson stops right at the door, glances over his shoulder and smiles at me. "The sooner we do this the better, Luna. The longer you're like that, the more difficult it could be to fix." His voice is tender, affectionate almost, and I'm close to tears.
All I can manage is a nod before he leaves.
I glance at the pages that he's left, but the words blur in front of me. I blink, allowing the tears to fall. Emotion trickles down my cheeks in rivulets of pain and agony. But it's not physical, it's emotional. I'm numb otherwise.
"Hey." I glance up to find Mario at the threshold of my room. "I thought you may need some company," he tells me as he steps inside and shuts the door, making his way to the bed. He stops beside me, offering a smile. "I saw the doctor leave."
I nod, and more tears fall. Mario reaches out gently, his thumb swiping at the wetness on my cheeks.
"I have to make a decision. He said it needs to be quick though." I don't recognize my voice. It's so broken, so defeated, even though the doctor said there is hope.
"Do you need help?" Mario asks causing me to look down at the pages, then up at him.
With a slow nod, I agree. He picks up the information and scans it with interest. "Okay, so this is an explanation on what they'll do." He sounds so confident; I wish deep down that I could feel that right now. "The bruising is on your spine, but they want to be sure nothing is fractured. From the scans, it doesn't look like it."
"A-and I'll be okay?" I sound like a child. Too young to be going through this. Too young to be hurting, to be losing ability to do something I love. It's selfish and arrogant, but right now, I don't care that I feel this way.
"It looks like it. Basically, the bruising should heal. It does take some time. But I think they want to rush the operation, so they know for sure that there aren't any nerves damaged."
"If there are?" I lift my gaze to meet his. Those eyes that have watched me over the time I've been in their presence hold warmth.
"There won't be," he tells me earnestly, but he can't know that for sure. Nobody can. Not until I consent and have professionals do their job. To have the doctors cut me open and make sure I'll be able to walk again.
