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“What about this?” I say, nodding toward the sling wrapped across my body. “Is it broken?”
“No, sweetie. The surgeon just put that there to support it while you slept. You had some glass fragments go quite deep. They had to remove them and stitch up the lacerations.”
“Oh,” I squeak, tears stupidly filling my eyes.
Somehow with all the shit that’s gone on in my life, I’ve managed to avoid any serious injuries or surgeries, and I hate that Nico was the one who forced this crap on me.
“Will it scar?” I ask quietly.
I’m not against scars. I truly believe they show strength of character, but I’m not sure this is what I want as a permanent reminder of how much I’ve overcome.
“I haven’t seen beneath your bandage, sweetie, so I can’t really say. But I would think there will be some scarring, yes.”
“Cunt,” I hiss. “Shit, sorry.”
She chuckles lightly.
“You’re in the Cirillo wing of this hospital. I’ve heard worse.”
I let out a heavy sigh and rest my head back against the pillow while Janice continues to do her job.
“How’s your pain?”
“Hurting.”
“Out of ten?”
“I dunno. Like… seven. It’s bearable.” The pain in my chest knowing that Nico did this to us is worse.
“Okay, well I’ll give you some more relief, but if you ever feel like it’s too much, just tell me, yeah?”
“Sure,” I agree.
“Would you like to try eating something?”
I shake my head. “Just water would be great.”
I glance over at my toppled jug, not feeling at all guilty about the fact Nico is wearing most of it.
She pours me a glass of water from a bottle she had stashed in her bag and allows me to take a sip, but that’s all I manage because the second it hits my empty stomach, I’m convinced that I’m going to barf again.
“If it gets worse, I can give you something for it,” Janice promises me.
“How long do you think I’ll need to stay here?” I ask, ignoring her offer of more drugs.
“Hopefully just a few days. The doctor will want to ensure your concussion has subsided and your wounds are healing nicely.”
“What about Nico?” I ask with a wince.
“That knucklehead can leave whenever he’s ready,” she scoffs.
“So he’s… he’s okay?”
Her expression softens at my words. “Yes, he’s okay. If you’re lucky, the knock to the head might have woken up a few brain cells too.”
“We can only hope, huh?”
She tidies her things up and gets ready to leave, but I stop her before she gets to the door.
