“What can I do to help you?”
I don’t answer because I’m pretty sure he knows the answer.
“I know Cole’s gone, so if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
I sit back and wipe my face with a towel. Yes, he definitely knows I’m a mess. “Okay.” I wave him off. I stand up and compose myself in hopes he won’t report me, but he’s already gone. There are too many patients rolling in each minute for him to worry about my issues.
In the back of my head, Cole’s words keep replaying. “You won’t open up to me. How can I ever trust you if you won’t tell me the truth?” I try to convince myself things are better this way, but my mind swings back and forth like a pendulum.
I know he cares, and I know the danger we’ll be facing, but I’m not going to give up yet. My will won’t let me because I can’t function without him by my side. I can’t function knowing he and Zeus won’t be there when I get home tonight.
Day Three. Bruno and I train early in the morning. I wake up anxious and can’t sleep, so I might as well fill my time with something worthwhile. He punches; I block. He kicks; I counter. He takes me down, and I try to free myself. But nothing, nothing, fills the hole in my heart.
Cole’s worth being vulnerable, but it took his departure for me to realize it. I promised myself I’d never speak about my past—not ever. He might be disgusted and never at look me again—the stigma attached to people like me isn’t positive. Some days, I can barely look at myself. Either way, I might lose him, so why not?
Day Four. I go about my duties as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’m here physically, but my mind climbs the walls in hopes of seeing him. I never missed anyone this way. All the while, victims of street violence pile into the hospital. The business of cleaning rooms and aiding nurses should distract me, but it doesn’t. I’m hopeless. Ben takes another body to the morgue and I have to clean the room. I sit behind the curtain and agonize.
“Lexi,” Bruno says, leaning in through the door.
“Hmm?”
“I’m going to stand out here and wait for you, all right? Unless you want me to come in and help you. It’s been three hours and you’re still cleaning the same room. I think they’re getting pretty backed up,” he says gently. He knows why I’m a zombie.
“Three hours is a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“Maybe a little, but you know what I mean. If you need help, I don’t mind.”
“No, it’s no problem. I’ll try to work faster. Thanks for the offer though.” I grab the sheets off the bed and throw them on the floor. I pick up the pillow, throw it back down, and start punching the daylights out of it.
Bruno runs to me, grabs my waist, and hangs me in the air. “Chill out,” he says. He holds me there.
I keep kicking, though, because I’m breaking down.
“You can’t do this. If they suspect anything, they’ll kill you. And with the way you’ve been acting the last few days, it’s not hard to put two and two together. So you better snap out of it or I’ll lose my best friend. There are more important things going on in this hell hole besides your heart breaking,” he says. “Feelings you’re forbidden to even have. And honestly, what do you think could ever come from it? Nothing… You need to grow up, girl, and think about what you’re doing.”
He’s right. The violence in the Hole has escalated, sending more people to the hospital than ever. Even children arrive with injuries, but I’ve reached my mental threshold. I go about my duties oblivious to the news that citizens bring in. My mind plummets in a downward spiral interrupted by one sane voice.
“Put her down, Bruno.” He sets me down. Sutton stands behind me, and I turn around one inch at a time. “Come with me. There’s a matter we need to discuss,” he says. I hesitate. “Now, young lady.” He walks out the door and waits for me in the hallway.
This is never good. I already know what’s coming. I’m going to get in trouble for my behavior and slacking at work. I’ve let him down in so many ways.
“Close the door and take a seat,” he says with a stern voice.
I slouch in my seat. I lack the strength to sit up. I can’t handle Sutton being mad at me, not right now. But that doesn’t stop the anger from flashing through his green eyes. He pushes his papers aside as he sits on his desk.
I can’t keep eye contact while he talks. My head spins.
“You’re playing with fire and it needs to end right here, right now. You’re lifeless and the reason is way too obvious. I won’t tolerate it.”
My eyes flip to his face and my mouth opens to reply, but he shushes me.
“Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I’m stupid?”
“No, not at all.” My arms are limp in my lap, and I don’t have the heart to make up an excuse.
“The feelings you have for him must die, or both of you, without a doubt, will be executed.” I seal my lips, waiting for him to continue. “If you don’t get your head together and fast, I’ll make Bruno your permanent assignment, which will only escalate their suspicions.”
“How could they—?”
“They take this kinda thing very seriously. In their eyes, loving a sinner is by far the worst offense.”
My eyes well up, but I blink back the tears in defiance. They aren’t tears of sadness but of anger—anger over life, over Cole leaving and my brother disappearing all those years ago, and being in this damn place. My mind is imploding.
“You think your situation is the center of the world. But it’s not. I am demanding your affair to end, got it?” His question is more like a statement.
I nod my head once, swallowing hard. “Is that all?”
“And take this extra pair of scrubs. You smell worse than the hospital.” He tosses a folded pair of scrubs into my arms and pushes me out the door.
Heading down the hall and into the bathroom to change, I think about what I wrote to Cole. But regardless of what he thinks about me after he reads it, I just wrote it all for nothing.
Cole,
I’m telling you the truth even if it breaks me. You can judge me, forgive me, or maybe someday even love me. But if you decide to hate me, at least I know I gave you all I had. We all have a dark side—I hope you can see past mine.
There’s a story you need to hear… It’s about a girl I once knew.
She believed the only way out of the hell she lived in was to hang herself from a chandelier. Have you ever read about her? No, you haven’t because her story was never published, at least not this one.
Her stepfather had three personalities and she hated all three, but the first two she could manage. The third one petrified her.
He started pushing her down the stairs, punching her face, her gut, her back, and her head. He’d swing his arms, lashing, and crush whatever part of her was in his way. One day he shaved her head simply because she colored her hair without asking his permission. If his abuse caused her to rip open, he’d stitch her shut, and she cried as she felt the needle being threaded through her shin. She told me the physical pain was nothing because eventually it subsided and she healed.
One night she got up to use the bathroom, and when she was making her way back, her stepfather was sitting in a chair in the corner of her room. His legs were crossed and his hands folded on his lap. In the moonlight, he sat with an evil grin smeared across his face. He licked his lips and told her to undress but to keep on her underwear and bra. He demanded her to lie in bed without a blanket and go back to sleep. For months that’s all he would do—watch her sleep—and she figured at least she wasn’t getting beat and she was semi-clothed.