But I don’t fucking care. I’m barking orders, texting one person while I’m talking to another on the phone.
Giovanna, I’m coming to get you, sweet girl.
19
Giovanna
The walls are closing in. Not literally, but after endless days awake in this room with no windows, no clocks, no sunlight, it feels like it.
I pace anyway. Ten steps forward, ten steps back. My hand trails along the damp wooden walls, fingernails scraping grooves deeper and deeper, over and over, until they’re as familiar as the backs of my eyelids. My legs ache, trembling under me, but I keep going.
The nurse says I am making progress. That I should rest more often. But when I rest, the fear creeps in, so I walk until I can’t, and when I can, I walk some more.
I pull in a breath, exhaling to the rhythm of my steps. My body still doesn’t feel like my own, but I’m stronger than I was a week ago. I can almost stand without holding on. Almost.
The only sounds in the room are my steps, my breath, the light scrape of my nails on the wall.
Then, somewhere in the distance—pop-pop-pop.
I pause. Fireworks? I wait for it to repeat, but there’s nothing but the buzz of the vent. I go back to walking.
Then it happens again, but closer, louder—pop-pop-pop.
Gunfire.
I freeze mid-step. My head snaps toward the door, waiting for the sound to recur. Nothing for a few endless seconds, then it happens again, but slightly closer, then silence. For a moment, all I can hear is my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Then it comes again, even closer this time. Louder. Boots stomp on the wooden floorboards. Shouting from outside all four walls. A crash. Something heavy slamming against a wall.
My breath catches in my throat, and I lean unsteadily against the wall to support myself. Is it Tommy? Did he come for me?
Before I can process what is happening, the door to my little room explodes open.
I shriek as a guard rushes in, gun pointed at my head. Before I can scream again, he’s on me, his weight slamming me into the bed, gloved hand clamped over my nose and mouth. The smell of gun oil and sweat suffocates me. Is he trying to kill me? I thrash, kicking weakly, trying to twist free, but he’s too strong. Panic tears through me, hot and wild.
Another guard rushes into the room, dragging the nurse with him, a gun pressed to her spine. She stumbles, nearly falls, her eyes wide with terror.
“Sedate her,” the guard barks.
I shake my head violently ‘no,’ and try to scream against the hand muffling my mouth.
The nurse’s hands tremble so violently she nearly drops the syringe. “Please, she—she really shouldn’t have unnecessary—”
“Do it,” the guard barks at her.
She bites her lip and prepares the needle. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears, and her hand trembles as she moves closer to administer the shot.
“Giovanna,” Her voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
The needle bites into my arm, and the familiar cold darkness slips into my veins.
I try to arch away, but the guard pins me down, his hand still pressed over my mouth. Though I will myself to fight it, to overcome the darkness, my vision blurs at the edges, light bending like water dripping down glass.
Somewhere outside, something shatters. There’s shouting, wood splintering. Another burst of gunfire.
The guard drops me and runs out the door, the other guard following, pushing the nurse in front of him like a shield. He turns out the light and slams the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the darkness.
But I can feel him, like a pulse threading under my skin, faint but insistent. Tommy is nearby.
