Page 87 of Just for a Taste

“That explains how terrible my throat feels,” I croaked. I was trying, semisuccessfully, to mirror the casual nature in which Noor was speaking. “What happened to me?”

Noor frowned. “Do you not remember? You were taken by Zeno’s family and beaten.”

Flashes of Basilio, Urbino, and Zeno’s father came to mind. A shiver ran through me at the thought of them.

“I do remember,” I responded. “I just didn’t know if I could trust that it really happened.”

She gave me a strange look. “Whatcanyou trust, if not yourself?”

“A lot. Or maybe nothing. I don’t know.”

Noor held my gaze and allowed me to parse one of many questions. “I remember seeing Zeno. Was that—”

As I spoke, my mouth felt even drier. I certainly rememberedsomeonetearing Signore Urbino apart as I was drifting away. Someone with blood covering their hands and rolling down their chin, like I had seen in old medieval paintings of vampires. Maybe that was all this memory was: just some distant recollection of an artwork I had looked at.

With a pit in my stomach, I tried to approach the burning question from another angle. “Where is Signore Urbino?”

Noor darkened, and her expression alone immediately granted my answer. “He doesn’t work at the abbey anymore,” she replied dryly.

“What about Basilio?” I demanded. “What about Zeno’s father?”

“They won’t bother you anymore.”

There was a prolonged silence between us, as heavy and dry as the lump in the back of my throat. The beeping of my heart rate had spiked, and as the silence dragged on, it gradually plateaued. Doctor Ntumba didn’t move at all, just maintained eye contact with the wall behind me.

“I wish you would just tell me outright,” I whispered. “I wish you would tell me that Zeno tore them limb from limb like he told me he would.”

Her response came quickly and sharply: “Zeno did no such thing.”

I knew Doctor Ntumba well enough to know that such a response wasn’t very meaningful. She was an incredibly honest woman, but her honesty was hollow. He hadn’t literally torn them limb from limb, but that didn’t mean they weren’t killed by his hands or by an order. That didn’t tell me if they were even alive.

I also knew Doctor Ntumba well enough to know prying would be a waste of time beyond this point. Zeno would tell me the truth if I asked—every horrid ounce of it.

But as I stared down at the well-worn indent in the bed where Zeno must have spent countless hours resting in lieu of his own bed, at the closely annotated copy of our most recent read, and at the mess of wires along my arms, I felt a new resolve. Doctor Ntumba had already given me the only truth I needed:they won’t bother you anymore.

By my actions, we were free. It didn’t matter how.

“Can I see him now, then?” I asked softly. “Just for a bit?”

“Of course. I’ll be back in half an hour and we can discuss your treatment in depth. For now, just know that these next couple of days will be excruciating in many ways, but by the end of them, I’ll have you disconnected from all these wires and lines. The next two weeks without morphine will be even worse, but by the end of them, you won’t have any bandages under your clothes.”

I winced at the thought of it. Even now, with morphine coursing through me, I could tell that the pain was still present beneath the warmth. It was waiting just beyond the threshold, ready to pounce and consume me the moment it got its chance. But as certain as I was of this, I was certain of something else.

“I can handle it. I can handle anything now.”

Chapter 48: L’istesso tempo

Doctor Ntumba was probably right about those next two days being excruciating, but I couldn’t say for certain. They were a blur of rotating medications. A steady dose of hydrocodone every so many hours, complemented by my frequent pressing of a morphine pump. A cocktail of medications to counteract the side effects of said painkillers, like an embarrassing dose of laxatives and plenty of ondansetron for nausea. Then, just before bed, a dose of prazosin for the nightmares that had already begun.

I had the unfortunate feeling I’d be on the last two for a very long time.

Zeno was at my side more often than not, a watchful yet doting bandog. He was even at my side when he received a transfusion, joking about our matching IVs. I employed him to reread the same few verses of theAeneid, which he stumbled through in ancient Greek. More comforting, however, were the gentle caresses I demanded regularly and occasional softI love you’s.

As I quickly discovered, what Doctor Ntumbawasright about was that the next couple of weeks were excruciating. I was only on day four and already on the verge of asking to be knocked out.

After several minutes of working up the motivation to do so, I pushed myself off my bed. I hobbled into the bathroom, letting out a staggered moan, and immediately had to lean onto the bathroom wall.

“Can you open a window?” I managed to huff out between pursed lips.

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