Page 78 of Forgotten Sacrifice
“She Italian?”
“Yes,” Vince answers for me.
Nonna claps excitedly before she wraps her arms around me, kissing both my cheeks. “Come eat.”
“Nonna, we have business first,” Vince says.
She waves her hand with annoyance. “Always business.”
I follow Vince inside and down the hall, stopping at an imposing door. Vince knocks.
“Enter,” a cold voice calls.
Vince holds open the door for me, and I step inside an office, with Romeo Parisi behind a desk. This is the first I’ve seen the boss, and he’s scarier than I imagined. He’s a large man, with hard eyes and an ever harder expression.
But thank God Nicky’s here, seated on his desk. She cranes her neck, smiling reassuringly at me.
She hops down, giving Romeo a kiss; my God, this woman has balls of steel. Walking from behind the desk, she addresses me. “Hey, Luna. Come with me. Vince.” She nods.
“Nicky, thank you.”
I don’t understand what’s happening, but I follow her up the stairs of the house. She holds open a door for me, and I enter a bedroom that’s been turned into a makeshift hospital room. “Have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the exam table tucked away in the corner.
“Is Romeo going to kill me?”
“Why on earth would Romeo kill you?” Nicky raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. I cut myself, and Vince brought me to the boss…”
“Vince brought you to seemewhile he meets with the boss. Let me wash my hands before we begin.” Shedisappears into the bathroom, returning with her hands held up in the air.
Putting on gloves, she says, “I’m going to take a look at your wrist.”
I nod, and she peels the bandage off, examining the cuts. “None of these need stitches. You know what you’re doing as far as depth; that wasn’t a compliment, by the way.”
“I get that I’m fucked up?—”
“You’re not fucked up, and don’t talk about yourself that way,” she scolds me.
I snort, glancing down to my wounds. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Let me preface this by saying I’m not a mental health professional, but for better or worse, all family matters have to remain in the family, so here goes. You learned self-harm as a coping mechanism, I’m guessing early in life.”
“Twelve,” I admit.
“At twelve-years old, it made you feel better, or at least distracted you, from what was going on at home,” she says, and I nod. “And the habitual pattern was formed: when feelings became too big and life became chaotic, relief could be found in cutting. There’s no judgment; again, it made sense at the time.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say, never really examining the why’s of it.
Nicky nods. “Now that you’re out of that situation, you no longer need this coping mechanism, but unfortunately, the habitual pattern didn’t get the memo.”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“So we work on breaking this pattern. Vince told me a bit of your history the first time I treated you. Sounds like you survived a really shitty situation. Be proud.”
“Vince said something like that. But it’s hard to be proud when I see what I’ve done to myself. All I feel is shame and embarrassment,” I admit.
“Luna, I’m not going to pretend I understand what you’re going through. All I can offer is to learn with you and help you along the way. I’m game if you are.”
