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I didn’t know what was a good gift to give. What did you give to someone that says, ‘I’m so happy a bunch of torturing rapists did not murder you for nearly a year.’ Well, those were the details written on the reports.
A fluffy oversized teddy bear?
No, that would make her feel suffocated.
What about candy hearts?
No, she needed to eat soft foods and slowly adjust back to normal.
A blade to slice up her enemies?
I blinked—the thought surfaced like an alien. Shaking my head, I decided on a balloon and flowers. She could pop it if she didn’t want it, but the flowers would smell nice and give her that sense of fresh air she reveled in last night.
Quinn greeted me, an uncomfortable-looking chair laid next to the wall by her door entryway.
“You should go home and rest,” I scolded him, seeing the thick black bags under his head and a bruise-like mark on his forehead. “Are you all right?” I said, concerned at why he’d have a big bruise forming there.
He touched the foreign mark, blowing me off and waving his hand. “I’m fine, Ella. Just clocked myself somehow. I fell asleep on duty. I deserve worse.”
I frowned. I didn’t know why he was punishing himself…literally.
“I got her, Quinn,” I stated, gently squeezing his arm. “Go home, Micah. Just for a little while. Let yourself sleep.”
Micah looked around, his eyes settling on that chair.
I wagged my finger, giving it a shove with my foot. It scraped on the hospital floor and made us both cringe.
“No, no.” I chastised. “You need to go to bed for real.”
Groaning and worrying his beard, he looked through the window at the patient. Her eyes met his, and they shared some moments I felt awkward witnessing. It felt private, like it was for their eyes only.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll book a suite next door at the Marriott. I’m not going back to my place it’s too far.”
I refused to try to tell this stubborn ox that nine minutes to get to his place wasn’t that far away. So, instead, I hugged him.
* * *
Ivy was a very quiet girl. She thanked me for the flowers and stared curiously at the balloon with the words “It’s a girl” written on it. They didn’t have anything else, so she mostly just stared out the window with a vacant look in her pretty bronze-colored eyes.
“So,” I said, wincing at my own voice at how loud it seemed compared to the normal hospital bustling.
“You and Quinn seem to be getting along.”
A ghost of a smile played on her lips.
“The detective is…he is different.”
I got that. And I agreed. Even by normal standards Quinn was a golden boy, a decorated soldier, and smart as hell law enforcement. “Yeah, he’s pretty great.” I said.
Ivy ran her fingertips along the side of an apple, the waxy skin imprinting with her touch. “I cannot eat this yet,” she said, twirling it in her small hands.
“But I can enjoy its beauty.”
I stared at the apple—the glossy coating shining from the sunlight outside the window. I pondered how an apple would be a source of joy to look at and touch. So many sensations depraved for so long, only knowing pain, fear, and survival.
“You’ll be able to eat it soon,” I said. Not knowing medically when exactly she could get off the mushy food exactly but feeling like that hope was important to assure in her. She chuckled. The sound lilted, musical.
“Your lies are krasivvy.” I pondered that. My lies are what? Stupid? Weird? Mean? “Beautiful,” she repeated in English.
