Page 68 of Tainted Love

He pinches my kneecap between two fingers. “Not this?”

A chuckle escapes me. “Nope.”

“Good.” He slides the stool inward, drawing as close to the bed as he can. “Let’s see if we can’t get this cleaned up…”

I watch him work, his hands wiping my blood away with moist pads from his kit. I expect pain at any moment, but the drug works magic on me. No pain, no pressure. It’s like I’m standing over his shoulder, staring down at some other girl’s busted knee.

I chew on my tongue, begging to ask the question that’s been plaguing me since the moment it happened.

“How bad is it?” I finally ask.

“Well…” He feels the bone with his fingertips, shifting the cap around in my skin. “It could be much worse.”

“That doesn’t sound very good.”

“It’s not bad, though. Here…” He reaches for my hand and lays my fingertips down on my knee. “You feel that?”

I touch my knee, feeling the jagged line marking the top of it. “Yes…”

“It is broken — but it’s secure.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means no surgery, for one,” he says. “Just a cast — preferably — and lots of downtime.”

“For how long?”

“A month or two?” he says. “Maybe more before you can start bending it again and then loads of physical therapy after that. It’s hard to say whether you’ll regain full mobility. I can’t tell much without a proper x-ray…”

His voice trails off.

I bite my inner cheek, holding back tears. With everything I’ve lost in the last few hours, I didn’t want to add my ability to dance to that list. My whole life, my body has been the only thing I could count on. The only thing I could control and shape and understand…

“Lucy, what are you?” Elijah asks me.

A single tear falls, but I brush it away quickly. “I’m a ballet dancer.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” He inhales slowly. “Hey, you’re in good shape. With your age and experience, who knows, eh? I’m not even a real doctor.”

I laugh. “No offense, Elijah, but you don’t seem anything like your brother.”

“Oh, believe me, Lucy, I’ve always taken that as the greatest of compliments.”

The front door opens downstairs.

“I’ll be back,” he says, looking out into the hall. “I’m just gonna find something I can craft a splint out of for you. Okay?”

I nod. “Thank you.”

He pats my hand before standing up, a kind gesture that he makes seem sincerer than anyone else could.

I make it until he’s halfway down the stairs.

Then, I start sobbing.

Chapter 22

Dante

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