Page 57 of The Glass Girl

The whole left side of my face is swollen, quilted with blue and purple. My left eye is an egg-shaped purple pouch. I look like a prizefighter. I start to cry because I don’t know this person. This can’t be me. I always try to keep all my hurt on the inside and now it’s spread to my outside, where everyone can see.

My brain says:Monster. You’re a fucked-up monster. You really fucked up this time.

My heart says:I’m sorry, but I have to agree on that one, yes. You are a right mess.

“Do you want me to turn the shower on for you?” the nurse asks gently.

I don’t want to see myself. I can’t look at myself.

I shake my head. I don’t want her help. “I can do it.”

I close the door. I turn the water on, hotter than I should, and peel off my gown. There are bruises on my knees, too, from when I fell. My elbows. I’m a punching bag, and the funny thing isI’mthe one who punched me.

—

I step into the shower. There’s no curtain.

I just stand there in the hot water, shaking and silently crying, trying to wash the monster off me, until my skin is bright red.

I’m afraid it’s not going to work.

—

The nurse knocks on the door. “Bella? It’s time to see your parents.”

“Just a minute,” I say softly.

I turn off the shower and dry myself gingerly, because everything I am aches. I pull the clothes from the clear plastic bag: bra, underwear, socks, and things…I do not normally wear. My mother has brought a plain white T-shirt, black sweatpants, and an oversize red hoodie that says University of Arizona Wildcats on it. A pair of slides I forgot I even bought.

It’s all I have. Slowly, I put everything on.

We shuffle down the hall, the nurse holding my arm. My body feels very, very heavy, and I’m still shivering, even though I’m wearing the hoodie.

I keep my head down, watching the tiles on the floor, so no one can see my monster face.

I tug the hood up and pull the drawstring tighter, just to make sure.

We come to a room and the nurse knocks. The woman with the blond ponytail, Tracy, opens the door and smiles. She’s wearing a T-shirt that saysHealing Hearts and Minds One Day at a Time.

Jesus Christ, Iamgoing to grippy socks.

I step back a little, but the nurse has my arm and urges me forward.

“Easy,” she says. “Take it easy. Don’t make this hard.”

I notice she’s a lot bigger than the other nurses have been and I feel a little prick of fear.

“Hi, Bella. Have a seat,” Tracy says.

It isn’t just my parents in the room. Amber’s here, too, but I don’t understand why. It looks like she’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy and pink. She shakes her head when she sees my face and covers her mouth with her hand, looks down at her lap.

Tracy points to a couch against the wall. “You can sit there, by your friend, okay?”

I walk over and sit down slowly. “I don’t understand what this is. Mom, am I going home? What is happening?”

My mom is holding her hands tightly in her lap. “Bella,” she sighs, starting to say something else, but then she stops.

My dad is next to her. He’s pissed, I can tell, jiggling his jeaned legs, rubbing the arms of his chair. But he doesn’t say anything.

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