Page 48 of Not Your Romeo
He stepped toward me, and tipped his head, lowering his tone as he asked, “Who did this?”
“Pray you find out before I do,” I snapped.
He gave a slow, stiff nod, “O– kay.”
“I– Sorry.” I closed my eyes as she started to thrash around.
“Don’t provoke her. You must try and keep her still, if she has a brain bleed…” the doctor began to chew the staff’s ass while I took a moment to compose myself. I didn’t mean to snap at that man, but her face was fucking with me so bad. I hadn’t seen a woman with a face that fucked up since the war. It was swollen and distorted. The discoloration beneath her eye and along her jaw was so dark. I was pretty sure that the orbital socket was gone.
I exhaled, forced my jaw to unclench and relax, and hesitantly started back toward her.
“Ziggy?” She squinted from her good eye, and her voice cracked, drawing me to her with twice the urgency.
She clung to me and sobbed.
“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” I quietly tried to convince myself, as well as her.
“I won’t do it no more,” she quietly whimpered, and the tension came back with a vengeance. Every fiber of my being steeled when I processed those words and stared down at her fearful gaze.
She thought I ordered this, and I didn’t even know what to do with that knowledge. I drew her toward me, holding her against my chest so she didn’t see the tears I was grinding my teeth against.
A loud knock alerted us to a uniformed policewoman in the doorway. Her hand froze in the air, knuckle still poised to tap another round, when she saw Ro’s face.
“Ma’am, I just needed to–” she began.
Ro squinted hard toward the door, it took her a minute to focus on the woman, but everyone could tell when she finally got a good look at who was addressing her. She sucked in a hard breath that caught on a sob, and manically shook her head.
“This can wait!” the doctor roared, rushing forward to encourage her to still all the head movements and lay back down.
“No, it can’t,” the officer and I snapped simultaneously.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hurt and Confused
Roisin
I’d never been so drunk, nor had anyone ever taken me to a hospital so bright. I moaned and closed my eyes, unable to do more to convey my discomfort. I couldn’t articulate what I wanted, just my discontent.
The hand with the pistol tattoo was my lifeline. I clung to it as the world spun and cleared again.
I was pretty sure I was laying still, but it felt like I was turning, ever so slowly. My stomach, on the other hand, was flipping and flopping like I was on a damned roller coaster.
“I’m gonna be–” was all I could manage, before my throat watered and the heaving began.
I was vaguely aware of Ziggy, and others, which left me reeling from confusion to embarrassment and back again. When it settled a little, I rested my head back, my attention anchored on the rail of the bed where I was gripping it.
My knuckles were so white.
I held it as tightly as I could and tried to sit up. The pressure in my head compounded and it began to throb in time with my heartbeat.
“You can have five minutes with her until my imaging people arrive. This cannot be delayed.” Someone important sounded like they were conceding.
“Ro,” Ziggy’s voice was so soft and full of concern.
His fingers danced as gentle as butterfly wings over my hairline. I followed the sound of his voice through my fog and focused on his face.
“Baby, tell them who did this to you,” he quietly encouraged me.
