“What did you punch?”
"Concrete." I pause. "I know it was stupid."
He nods and sets the tablet aside. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to immobilize it — splint for now. We'll see how it looks in a week before deciding if you need a cast. Healing time is four to six weeks if you don't do anything else stupid."
I twitch my fingers instinctively, like I'm checking if they still work. The pain spikes immediately and catches my breath.
“Yeah,” he says, catching it. “That’s your body voting no.”
I huff out a laugh, but it dies halfway.
“No gripping, no lifting, no punching anything,” he continues, already reaching for the wrap. “Ice it, keep it elevated. Swelling’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
He starts working, the splint pressing along the side of my hand, locking my fingers into place whether I like it or not.
“I’ll give you something for the pain,” he adds, “but honestly, the best thing you can do is leave it alone. Because if you push it, those hairline fractures can turn into full breaks. Then we’re talking pins, surgery, and a much longer recovery.”
I nod. What else am I going to do?
He finishes, presses lightly along the splint to check the tension, then looks up at me with the expression of a man who has seen this before and isn't judging it.
"You'll be fine," he says. "Just — maybe don't pick fights with concrete next time."
***
"Are you sure about this?"
We're standing outside the courtroom waiting for the hearing to officially change my name from Michael Bennett to Bennet Sullivan.
Three weeks since the prank from hell and things have moved fast. We rented an apartment in LA sight unseen. Movers have packed up the house. Rosalie withdrew me from school and filed a formal complaint about what happened, but since it didn't occur on school grounds, nothing will be done about it. What difference would it make anyway? The damage is done. I felt my heart calcify in real time that night in the poolhouse and nothing was going to undo that.
Rose helped me petition for the name change so we can start completely fresh. New city, new name, new everything.
I’m leaving Michael Bennet here in Houston. I've buried him alongside Blaire Alexander, and I have no intention of looking back at either of them.
"Yeah," I tell Rosalie. "I'm sure."
I push through the courthouse doors.
Bennet Sullivan walks in.
Michael Bennett stays in the grave where he belongs.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BENNET
"So, what's going on with you? I'm glad you didn't cancel our session again this week." Dr. Amara crosses her legs and sets her notepad on the table beside her.
"Because I'm one inconvenient day from a grippy sock vacation." I deadpan.
She looks at me over her glasses but doesn't react specifically. "Would you like to talk about what's brought you closer to that edge than usual?"
"Where do I start?"
"Anywhere."
Dr. Amara has been my therapist since the week I landed in LA. She has explicit details of my life: who I was, who I became, the name change, the night that started all of it. I've only ever kept one thing from her, and that's the virginity.
