I take the Styrofoam cup Vinny offers me but don’t drink it. I just hold it as I look past him to the wall. I’ve been in this hospital room for a while now, left alone till he came in and sat in the only chair beside the bed.
I keep replaying everything in my head. What I heard. What I thought. What I did.
I try to lock it away. Put it in my box, the one I used when I didn’t get a dance part. Or when a teacher yelled at me and I was embarrassed. Or when my parents died. The months after their death. What Carl tried to do. What Tommy did for me.
I try to put it all in that same box. The one where I can just forget about it. Numb the parts of my life that I don’t want to remember.
But what happened is too big to be contained. Or maybe it’s not, but I’ve just gone through so much already that the box won’t shut anymore.
Instead, everything is spilling out. Every part and in random order.
The time my dad forgot a dance performance for parents’ night. The day my mom didn’t pick me up from class and I had to walk home for the first time.
How Carl’s hands held me tight as he pulled me against his hard cock. The sound of the first gunshot as it echoed up to my room, pulling me from my reading on Russian ballet history. How Tommy held me in his arms as he made love to me. How the gun felt almost weightless as I fired it at Dante, but I couldn’t seem to hold it up.
All of it.
Over and over.
When the door opens a second time, a familiar face greets me.
“Hello, my dear.” The same doctor who treated me the first time gives me the same warm smile as if nothing has changed.
“Hello.” My voice is hollow in my ears.
He washes his hands in the small sink by the wall of cabinets and then comes over to me. He takes the cup out of my hand, setting it on the small table beside me, then removes a penlight from his jacket pocket and uses it to look in my eyes as he lifts my chin.
“I heard you took a tumble.”
“I fell down the stairs,” I mumble as he moves my head.
“Oh my. Well, I’m sure I’m not the first one to tell you that playing on the stairs is never a good idea.”
“I wasn’t… I wasn’t playing on them. I was—”
He cuts me off with a shake of his head and a kind smile.
“Whatever it was, I’ll give you a full look over to make sure everything is fine.” He winks at me and then starts gently moving my limbs and asking what hurts. Touching my sides and back. Lifting my shirt just enough to see parts that feel sore compared to others.
All the while, Vinny sits patiently in the chair beside me. Is he here to make sure I don’t say anything to the doctor? Is that what this is about? To keep me from talking about a Mafia thing?
Or is he here for another reason?
For Tommy?
They moved me out of the club quickly after the gun was in Danny’s hands. I didn’t even have time to ask abouthim once I was in the car. And then I was put in this hospital room. Is he alive? Did Dante kill him?
Did I?
Questions I don’t ask for fear of the answers. He could be dead. He could be gone from this earth. I could have done it.
Or he could be alive.
And doesn’t want to see me.
Which might be the hardest to hear. So I don’t ask, choosing to live in my collapsing bubble of naivety for a little while longer. I’ll have to know the answers eventually. But not now. I can barely talk without feeling too much, so I keep my mouth shut as much as possible and just let myself fall apart in my own head. Better to do it alone than in front of others.
“Good news, child, nothing is broken. I’ll still take X-rays and do an MRI just to be sure, but my assessment is that you’re just going to have some deep bruising for a bit. Especially around your hip, back, and ribs, I believe. Those seem to have taken the brunt of the impact from your fall. Sit tight, I’ll have a member of my team in soon. Oh, and here. A treat as always.”
