I glance at Jess. She’s watching Neli with something like relief on her face.
“Thank you.” I tell Neli.
She just nods. Gets to work checking my vitals. Reviewing my medication schedule. Explaining what the next few weeks will look like.
It’s a lot. Trauma stabilization. Infection management. More reconstructive surgery scheduled for next week.
I half listen. The morphine is making everything fuzzy around the edges.
When she’s done Jess and Ben walk her out, then returns a few minutes later alone. Ben must have gone with Neli to organize stickers or whatever the hell Chief of Stickers does.
“She seems good.” I say when Jess settles into the chair beside me.
“She does.” Jess’s voice is quiet. Careful. “Marco. I need to tell you something.”
Here it comes. She’s quitting. Can’t handle this. Can’t handle me. Can’t handle any of it.
I brace for impact.
“I don’t remember whole hours from that day.” She’s not looking at me. She’s staring at her hands instead. “The attack. After. It’s just. Blank. Trauma fog the therapist called it.”
Oh.
Not quitting then.
“You’re seeing a therapist?” I ask.
“We both are.” She glances toward the door. “Me and Ben. Twice a week. Processing everything.”
Good. That’s good.
I should probably see one too. But the thought of sitting in some office talking about my feelings while my face is held together with surgical wire makes me want to punch something.
“I’m glad.” I manage. “That you’re getting help.”
“We need it.” Her voice cracks slightly. “What we saw. What happened. It’s not something you just shake off.”
No. It’s not.
“If it’s any consolation, I barely remember anything either,” I tell her. “I recall shooting the bear, and then waking uphere. That’s it.”
We sit in silence for a while. Her hand finds my good one again. I hold on tighter than I should.
The days blur togetherafter that.
Pain.
Morphine.
Brief windows of clarity between doses.
Ben doing her homeschool work in the room down the hall.
Jess always nearby.
Jag standing guard.
My team visits in rotation. Gianna brings reports I can barely focus on. Matteo sends food I can’t eat. Everything has to be liquid or soft. Chewing is still impossible.
