I repeat the process until nothing comes up at all. By the end, she’s crying and more conscious.
Gracie appears with a glass of water and brings it to her lips.
“Rinse, sunshine. Then you can swallow,” I instruct her.
She does as she’s told.
When that’s over, I cradle her back in my arms and carry her to the employee exit. Gracie follows wordlessly.
When we reach my SUV, I open the back door and place Cecilia gently on the bench seat. Gracie climbs in after her.
I get behind the wheel and start driving towards their place.
“Where are you taking us?” Gracie finally speaks up.
“To your apartment. I figured waking up at home would be the best thing for her.”
“Thank you. For everything. I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if you weren’t there,” she mumbles.
“No. If I was there, if I never left her side, he never would’ve gotten the chance to drug her,” I grit out, anger consuming me.
Anger at Leo.
Anger at the Mafia men.
Anger at myself.
We continue the drive in silence, stewing in the what ifs.
When we get to the apartment, I carry Cecilia up the stairs and into the bathroom. Gracie either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that I know the way.
I place Cecilia on the floor and look at her. She has vomit in her hair, what I’m hoping isn’t toilet water on her clothes, and blood on her body. I know the blood is from my hands. From attacking Leo. It’s his blood. But seeing it on her, seeing her bloody, has me filled with fear and anger.
She can never get hurt. I have to protect her.
“Do you need help showering her, or should I step out?” I offer regretfully. I want to stay. I want to help clean her up. But I know she’d be more comfortable if Gracie does it. And I don’t want to take advantage of her in the state she’s in.
“I can handle it. Just grab some clothes for her to change into,” Gracie responds.
I turn on the water and wait until it’s warm enough before leaving.
I sort through her drawers and find a soft t-shirt, panties, and a pair of pajama pants. I see a pile of clothes on her bed and wonder what the hell happened in here. Half her closet is on her bed.
I hand the pajamas to Gracie through the cracked bathroom door and go back to her bedroom. I start hanging up her clothes and clearing the bed.
Once it’s clean, I turn down her bed and hunt down some Ibuprofen and a large water bottle. I can tell it’s Cecilia’s because of the light colors.
I knock on the bathroom door, “Gracie, how is everything in there?”
“You can come in. She’s dressed, teeth brushed, and ready for bed,” she responds.
I open the door and find a sleeping Cecilia resting on an exhausted Gracie. I gently lift her into my arms and carry her to bed.
I wake her up and get her to take the pain relievers. Gracie sits on the edge of the bed, telling an incoherent Cecilia that she’ll be okay.
Gracie and I shut her door, leaving her to sleep and go to the living room.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
