Page 10 of Forever & Always You
The sterile atmosphere, the overpowering smell of disinfectant, the incessant beeping of pagers. It’s utterly depressing, and the fluorescent lighting in this treatment room will be enough to trigger one of my migraines.
“This issounnecessary,” I say the second the nurse leaves the room, sinking back into my chair, pressing an ice pack to the back of my scalp. It’s difficult to even reach the nice big gouge through my mound of curls, the blond now tinged with dried blood.
Austin leans back against some cabinets, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal muscular, tanned forearms. A rather grand-looking watch sits on his wrist. “Absolutely necessary when you do, in fact, have a concussion,” he says, then points to the ice pack I’m holding against my scalp. “That cut? Trust me, you’re much better having the nurse stitch you up than me. I get shaky hands when I’ve had too much caffeine.” He cracks a smile, like he wasn’t just kicking me out of his office an hour ago.
I sigh and drop the ice pack from my head, toying nervously with it in my hands. “I’m sorry about the table.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I can pay to replace it.”
“I said don’t worry about it.”
The nurse returns to the room, tools in hand. She’s been very lovely to me, despite chuckling at first when I told her the cause of my injury. Diving headfirst into a glass table is not one of my finest moments, I’ll admit.
“This will be easier if you lie down on your front, so hop up on the bed for me please, Gabrielle,” the nurse says, and I follow her instructions and awkwardly climb up on the bed.
Face buried in the paper, I suck in a deep breath. It’s only some sutures and those don’t bother me, but the numbing injection? Yeah, that’s a problem. I close my eyes when the nurse scoots a chair up close to the bedside, laying her tools out on a small tray table and snapping on a pair of latex gloves. Maybe if I don’t look .?.?.
“Okay, Gabrielle, I’m just going to move your hair out of the way and apply the anesthetic.”
“Great,” I mumble into the bed.
“You’ll feel a small pinch and then it will sting for a second or two.”
“Amazing.”
“Ready?”
“Wait,” I hear Austin say, and my eyes ping open.
He crosses the room toward me, stands above my head, and reaches for my hand. He interlocks his fingers around mine and I stare up at him in wild confusion. What I don’t do is pull my hand away.
“She’s scared of needles,” Austin tells the nurse.
“Let’s do this quick then,” she says, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight as my scalp nips with an intense burning, like the sting of a hundred wasps.
“Ah, fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth, and I squeezeAustin’s hand harder.
“Can you feel this?” the nurse asks, and I don’t know what she’s doing, because no, I can’t feel anything. “Good. I’m going to begin those sutures now, so stay very still for me, please.”
Austin slips his hand free of mine and settles back into his position against the cabinets, but I keep my eyes open now and study him carefully, albeit sideways.
When we were kids, I would have my annual meltdown when it came time to get my flu shot. I wouldn’t eat for days beforehand, my stomach too knotted with fear, and I’d become a very reserved version of my usual bubbly self. Every year, Austin tried his best to help me through it. He would sneak up on me, pinch my arm, and say, “See? You can do it.” Even when I was in high school and Mom expected me to be over my childhood phobias, Austin never made me feel like I was being unreasonable. One year, he came by my house on the morning of my appointment and left a small gift basket on the doorstep. And for a kid with not much money, that gift basket cost him a lot.
I can’t believe he still remembers I’m scared of needles.
Shit. He was so fucking nice to me, and I blew it.
I close my eyes again because I can’t bear to look at him for another second.
“All done,” the nurse announces after a while.
Rather ungracefully, I push myself up from the bed and stagger to my feet like a baby giraffe discovering its legs for the first time.
“Now it’s very important that you rest,” the nurse reminds me, tossing her gloves into the trash can. “Tylenol for any headaches. Definitely no sports, and maybe take some time off work if possible?”
“That’s okay. I don’t do sports and I don’t have a job.”
