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“It’s okay, Zoey. We’re okay,” I lie, since I’m not sure that we will ever be okay after this.
She lifts her head from my embrace, her eyes filled with unshed tears.
“What’s going to happen to us now, Layla?”
I open my mouth to lie to her again, but the way she squints at me, silently demanding the truth, has me sealing my lips tight for a second. I let out an exhale before kissing her temple.
“I’m not sure. The only thing I am sure about is that whatever happens next, we’ll face it together. You and me, Zoey. Always.”
That brings a genuine smile to her lips.
“Us and our guardian angel.”
“Sure. Him too.” I giggle.
I refuse to take that idea away from her.
If believing in angels who come to our rescue brings her a small smidge of solace, then the least I can do is let her have that. Lord knows we don’t have much else aside from each other.
The soft knock on my door and featherlight feet walking into the room have me releasing my sister in favor of trying my best to sit up to greet the strangers who walk into my room.
“Good. You’re up.” A soft-spoken woman in a white coat smiles at us. She proceeds to walk to one side of the bed as another woman, a nurse, checks my vitals.
“You must be my doctor,” I state evenly, holding onto Zoey’s hand while my eyes trail from the doctor to the nurse who is hurriedly scribbling on a chart.
“I am. My name is Dr. Levi, and you, young lady, gave us quite a scare. I was starting to think you didn’t want to wake up. Our own living, breathing Sleeping Beauty.”
My forehead wrinkles at the absurd comment.
“If I’m here with a bullet wound to my shoulder, then you know my life is no fairy tale.” When the smile on her face immediately drops to the floor, I kick myself for being so blunt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I know you were only trying to be nice and help me. Thank you.”
Dr. Levi tries to grin at my lukewarm apology, but her smile doesn’t hold the same happiness it did when she walked into the room to see me. I guess I should be grateful for it since it’s more in tune with my current circumstances.
“There’s no need to thank me. It’s my job to make sure you get out of here on your own two feet, after all.”
“And when will that be?” I ask, tightening my hold on Zoey’s hand.
Dr. Levi glances over at the nurse, who in turn gives her a curt nod, before she gives me an answer.
“If all goes well, in two days’ time you’ll get the all-clear from me. We just want to make sure there aren’t any complications from the surgery we had to perform on you yesterday. We were able to remove the bullet from your shoulder with ease, but we still want to make sure it wasn’t in your bloodstream long enough to cause any lasting damage. There will be some physical therapy in your future since cartilage and muscle were damaged, but luckily no bone or any vital arteries were hit. All in all, you are one lucky young lady.”
I let her words hang in the air, making no attempt to tell her just how ridiculous that statement is.
I’ve never been lucky a day in my life, and if such luck was to come my way, then it’s a day too late and a dollar short.
Dr. Levi clears her throat, looking like she would prefer for the floor to swallow her whole than stay a minute longer in this room with two orphans who, just by the blank expressions on their faces, are making her feel inadequate with her bedside manner.
“Doctor?” the nurse calls, taking mercy on her. “The woman from Child Protective Services is still waiting outside. Should I tell her that she can come in now?”
“Child Protective Services?” I blurt anxiously as Zoey hugs my side, racked with the same fear those words provoked in me. “Why is child services here? Didn’t anyone call my aunt? Why isn’t she here? Why are they?”
Dr. Levi turns two shades paler as the nurse quickly leaves to fetch whoever is waiting outside for Zoey and me.
“Dr. Levi,” I continue, “did anyone call my next of kin and tell them what happened? Did anyone call Aunt Lucy?”
“I really couldn’t say either way, but I’m sure everything will be perfectly fine,” she replies with a fabricated, upbeat optimistic tone.
“Right,” I snap, no longer caring that my venom-filled voice makes the young doctor squirm where she stands. “Because all fairy tales begin with a visit from child services.”
