Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Venezio said, brushing some of my wet hair out of my face. “And don’t you dare say it’s not my fault. We both know it is.”
“It’s okay,” I told him.
“Alright. I got some towels and dry clothes,” Salvatore said, stacking them up on the counter. “Why don’t you two get changed, then I can get to work on her feet? Sweetheart, don’t take the socks off. Let me do that.”
With that, he moved into the hallway.
Venezio made quick work of stripping, drying, and putting on the new set of sweats, this one all in black.
Then he turned to me.
“I think I should cut the pants off so the cuffs don’t pull on the socks.”
“Okay,” I agreed, trusting him.
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 were before all 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 feet before the 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?”
“Yeah. I think I was close to unconsciousness when Venezio grabbed me and got me warm.”
Salvatore made a clicking sound. “Open up,” he demanded, then pressed a thermometer under my tongue. “No talking until that beeps,” he commanded as he brought over a rolling tray and seat and moved in at my feet.
He poked at my feet but I felt nothing.
With that, he peeled off my socks and got to work.
“What’s that saying?” he asked when the thermometer beeped.
“Ninety-seven point eight.”
“Alright. Good. Nothing to worry about there. But I want you to stay warm for the next few days, okay? Your body has been through a lot.”
“Am I going to be able to walk?” I asked, thinking of the charity, of all the work that still needed to be done.
Salvatore moved his head side to side. “I don’t want you to be walking. As much as possible, you need to be on your ass. But I get that you’re going to need to get to the bathroom and such. So I might be able to create a makeshift cushion situation at the edges of this.”
He glanced up at me, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “Know when a woman has her gears turning when I see it. I know Christmas is a few days away. You got shit to buy, to wrap, to bake. And I’m telling you that you gotta let someone else make Christmas this year if you have any hopes of avoiding a serious infection here.”