I watched as he located scissors, then got to work carefully cutting me out of my pants and then my shirt before helping me into fresh ones, mine in gray.
He carefully dried my hair, then dried off the table before helping me up onto it.
“Better?” he asked.
“What happens now? How is he going to work on my feet? They hurt…”
Pain sliced across his eyes at that.
“Salvatore will give you a local. You won’t feel shit but the quick prick of the needle.”
“Okay. Good. Not to sound like a baby…”
“A baby? Babe, your slippers are full of blood. I know how bad they werebeforeall this shit tonight. I think we both know you’re not being a baby. The only reason you were still even on your feet was the adrenaline. So don’t worry about being a baby. Take whatever the fuck Sal has to give you for the pain.”
“Decent?” Salvatore asked from the other side of the door.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
“If you don’t mind, sweetheart,” he said, moving into the room with a plastic container in his hands, “some people out there have questions for Venezio.”
“I’ll stay if you want,” he offered.
“I’m okay. But you need to get looked at too.”
“Those baby bruises?” Salvatore said, waving a hand. “He’s fine.”
“Thanks, man,” Venezio said, getting a smile out of the other man. “You’re in good hands, babe. Don’t be a hero.”
As he left, the last of the adrenaline seemed to leach from my body. Then the pain intensified.
“I’m not going to lie to you, sweetheart, I got a feeling your feet are going to be really ugly.”
“I have a feeling you’re right. I had blisters covering like half of my feetbeforethe running tonight.”
To that, he nodded.
“Believe me, it won’t be nearly the worst I’ve seen. But I’m gonna tell you to go ahead and lay back and stare at the ceiling because you might not wanna see it.”
“That I can do,” I agreed, shifting onto the exam chair and leaning back.
“I’m gonna give you a local. You won’t feel anything. I’m gonna numb them both at once just so you don’t feel the pain anymore.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Had a night, huh?” he asked, cutting the tops of the socks away before moving casually around, putting on gloves, then rolling up my pant leg to press the needle into my skin.
“You could say that.”
“Just three quick pricks per foot.” He made quick work of that before discarding the needle. “Some relief incoming,” he promised. “How long were you out in the cold and wet like that?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. We kind of lost all track of time. But it wasn’t like yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
“I was out in Central Park in a gown and… nothing else.”
“During the snow?”
