Page 18 of Indebted

Chapter Eight - Delilah

“You’re doing very well. Healing beautifully.”

I don’t have it in me to force a smile for the doctor. Not when he’s trying to wean me off the pain meds, so I only got half a dose before he removed the port in my arm. He also removed the catheter which was not the best moment of my life. Not by a long shot.

I guess I should take it as a good sign, right? He thinks I’m doing well enough to get up and move around. I can actually be trusted to get myself to and from the bathroom. This can only be a good thing.

I wish I felt like it was. I really do.

He’s a kind man, though. Not at all what I expected. Not that I’ve ever had much experience with the mafia before now, but I figured he’d be some shady, sleazy guy who lost his license a while back for doing illegal things. The kind of guy who can’t open a legitimate practice but still has all the knowledge. For all I know, that’s exactly who he is. But he doesn’t come off as some sleazebag. In fact, he’s very kind, gentle, almost what I would expect a grandfather to act like.

Obviously, the fact that I’ve never had a solid male role model probably has something to do with my opinions.

“Do you need help getting out of bed?” he asks, extending a hand. Terrific. I didn’t know I was actually going to have to get up right away. “If you’re feeling woozy, you can sit right back down. You don’t want to take any chances while you’re still on medication.”

“Might as well get it out of the way.” I have to grit my teeth against a groan when I sit up, then lower my legs over the side of the bed.

“Take your time.” His grip on my hand is firm, and for some reason it gives me the little bit of extra strength I need to push myself up and stand for the first time in days. He says it’s been five, but how would I know? I’m just about as isolated up here as I’ve ever been in my life.

And I haven’t seen Luca’s face since the night of the party. Since before he left me to go talk to that Giordano guy. He never even told me how things went, if the guy agreed to help out. Why would I wonder about that now, at all times? Right. Because it’s something to think about that doesn’t involve what my body’s currently going through.

I can’t help whimpering a little as I take my first steps. I’m still all kinds of sore between my legs, something the doctor warned me about it. “You’ll want to take it easy on yourself while using the bathroom,” he warns as I take one painful step after another in the direction of that room. “There’s a bidet, and I suggest you use it until the rest of the swelling goes down. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of days.”

I still can’t believe this is my life. That I’m actually having this conversation with a total stranger. Well, he’s a stranger to me, but I’m no stranger to him. He knows just about every inch of me now. I can’t get over how strange it is, knowing he checked me out and treated me while I was unconscious. I guess it’s better I don’t remember any of it.

He flips on the light once we’re inside the room, and I guess it must be habit, but instantly I turn to look in the mirror. Not like I’ve ever made it a habit to admire myself or anything like that. It’s just something people do, right? You pass by a mirror and you at least glance at it to make sure there’s no food on your chin or makeup smeared under your eyes.

I don’t have to worry about either of those things.

What I do have to worry about is the complete mess I am. I squeeze the doctor’s hand and he understands. “Swelling goes down. Bruising fades. Your hair will grow back. Even your nose will still look very much the same once it’s finished healing. You’ll still be beautiful.”

Beautiful. “What’s the point of beauty?” I ask, staring at myself through eyes that are still too swollen to open all the way. “I mean, look how easy it is to ruin.” He doesn’t have any answer for that, only shaking his head with a soft sigh before helping me to the toilet. Strange, but I don’t feel any embarrassment or shame at having an audience while I pee. Maybe because it still hurts so damn much, I can’t think about anything else. Or maybe because I don’t really care.

And if anything, that’s what bothers me the most. I know he’s right about everything else. My hair will grow back. The pain will go away. I’ll look like myself again.

But it isn’t a doctor I want to hear that from. For some twisted reason, it’s Luca. I want to hear him say it. I want him to be the one encouraging me. I would settle for a thumbs up at this point. But as far as I know, he hasn’t set eyes on me since the night they brought me here. The night of the party.

“Has your pain increased?” Only now do I realize I’ve started shaking. That’s all it takes, just the briefest thought of that night. No matter how many times I remind myself I’m safe now, it doesn’t change anything. I might as well be right back there in that house, in that room, on that bed.

“I’ll be fine.” It comes out before I even think the words. I’ll be fine. How many times have I told myself that? My way of coping, pushing through. I used to think that made me strong. I’m starting to wonder if it wasn’t a way to push through without actually having to think too hard about my life and the people and situations that got me where I was. It was always easier to push through.

This time, it’s not so easy. This time, I feel too dirty and beaten and used to be around. An inconvenience.

And I served my purpose when I was whole, without a broken nose and swollen eyes. What purpose could I serve now?

Shouldn’t that make me happy? It should be a relief, knowing Luca doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. And as the doctor helps me back to bed, that’s what I try to tell myself. If anything, this could be a turning point. Maybe he’ll want to get rid of me for good and send me home.

It should make me happy, dammit. But all I want is to go to sleep and forget for a little while. At least when I’m dreaming, I’m not asking myself where he is. I’m not holding my breath every time I hear footsteps outside the door, hoping it’ll be Luca who steps through.

“I’ll be back to see you in another day or two,” the doctor promises. “I’ve left oral medication for you, both antibiotics and pain meds.”

“Thank you so much.” As nice as it is being treated kindly, I’m relieved once he’s gone. I can relax a little, let out a deep breath, and close my eyes to shut out the world. That little bit of activity was enough to wipe me out.

It isn’t five minutes before there’s a soft knock at the door. God, I wish my heart wouldn’t skip a beat every time that happens. I know it’s not him. I know he doesn’t care. Why can’t I get that through my head? “Come in.”

It doesn’t help that the face I see in front of me looks so much like Luca’s. Vincent offers a friendly smile that makes me feel bad for my disappointment. “Hey, I talked to the doctor and he said you’re up and around. I guess that means you’re healing up.”

“I guess it does. Though I still feel like I got hit by a truck.”

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