Torture to Her Soul
Page 22

"Yes."
Her expression cracks with a small smile, one she quickly wards off, but she isn't fast enough. I caught it, and that smile is all I need to lessen some of the pressure in my chest.
Shaking her head, she stretches her legs out in front of her before standing up. "Let me see what I can do."
She strolls out, leaving me in the room by myself. Once alone again, I grit my teeth and force myself to a sit, shifting my body so my legs hang off the side of the bed. I lightly grasp the bandage on my side, breathing deeply, steadily, to try to ward off the pain.
I expect her to be gone for a while, and I have to piss like a son of a bitch, so I force myself up, gripping ahold of the bed as I steady myself on my feet.
My vision blurs and my body burns as I shuffle across the room toward the small, adjoining bathroom, shutting myself inside.
I struggle to relieve myself, one hand gripping the sink, the other only vaguely aiming as I piss all over the toilet seat. I wash my hands before shuffling back away, startled by the sound of the voice as soon as I step into the room.
"Whoa," Karissa says, standing just inside the doorway. "You're up."
"You're back."
"I am," she says, stepping around me. Her face flushes, that smile touching her lips again. "Here, found these."
She hands me a ball of dark blue clothing—a pair of medical scrubs. "You get these from a doctor?"
"Got them from someone," she says. "Found them in the staff locker room on the first floor."
"You stole them?"
"Borrowed them."
Shaking my head, I eye them peculiarly. They're clean and look damn near a perfect fit. Making my way over to the bed, I grip on to the frame to steady myself as I pull off the gown, letting it drop to the floor.
Karissa gasps, shielding her face. "You're going to do that right here?"
I let out a small chuckle, the laughter only fueling the pain more. "Yeah, well, it's nothing you haven't seen before."
"Maybe so, but the whole world can see it right now."
"I'm not ashamed," I say, sitting on the edge of the bed to try to put on the pants, but it's damn near impossible. I can't bend over to pull them up my fucking legs. My eyes water from agony as I struggle in silence for a moment before Karissa grabs a hold of them, wordlessly helping to put them on.
I take over once they're within my reach, covering up, and grab her arm when she tries to move away. Her face is bright red, bashful, and she avoids looking me in the eyes when I pull her my way.
"Don't be embarrassed," I say. "I'm certainly not. Besides, I seem to remember you taking your clothes off last night."
"You were bleeding. I had to use something."
"You keep telling yourself that," I say, letting go of her. "I always knew there was a little bit of an exhibitionist in you."
She rolls her eyes, but she doesn't deny it.
The shirt is much easier to pull on than the pants. After I'm dressed, I survey myself, satisfied I'm no longer indecent. "Thanks for swiping the clothes for me."
"I borrowed them," she stresses again.
"Whatever you want to call it, jailbird," I say, glancing at her and raising an eyebrow. "You ready to get out of here?"
She doesn't answer right away, as if contemplating my question, but eventually offers a shrug as if to say, 'what the hell, let's go.' I follow her out of the room and into the busy hallway. I'm moving as slow as a tortoise, each step painful but I force myself to keep going, my bare feet slapping against the filthy fucking floor.
"How'd we get here, anyway?" I ask as we head toward the elevators.
"Ambulance."
"Do you have any money on you?"
"Uh, no, I don't think so."
I sigh as we pause in front of the elevator. "We're going to need to find a way home."
As soon as I say it, I glance up, my footsteps faltering when I see Ray standing at the nurse's station. Just as I spot him, the nurse on duty points my direction. Ray turns, eyeing me right away.
Karissa stalls beside me, stepping closer to my side as he approaches. I put my arm around her, instinctively, protectively, but more so to lean on her.
I'm unsteady on my feet.
Ray momentarily ignores her presence when he stops in front of us, focused fully on me. His eyes study me, picking me apart, like he's looking for weaknesses. "Leaving already, Vitale?"
"Yes," I say. "What are you doing here?"
"Just came to check in on you," he says. "You sped away last night, wasn't sure what happened, but I heard you'd been shot."
"Just a flesh wound," I say. "I've had worse."
"That you have," he says, nodding. "Well, come on, let me give you a ride home."
I start to argue, but I don't have a leg to stand on. What can I say? We have no other way to get anywhere. I stagger onto the elevator as Karissa stays at my side, the three of us heading to an awaiting limo, the driver still waiting behind the wheel.
It's strained, the whole way to Brooklyn, as I sit in the back of the extravagant vehicle beside Karissa, right across from Ray. Nobody speaks. Nobody knows what to say. My mind is a jumble of thoughts, my body in agony, my chest heavy from the implications.
When we pull up in front of my house, Ray clears his throat. "Can I have a moment of your time, Vitale?"