Page 153 of Forgotten Comeback
“Good news. Just a little nick; you won’t even need stitches.” Effie prods the bloody divot in my arm with her gloved finger.
“Oww.”
“My apologies. Do you need pain medication?”
“What kind of doctor are you?” I wonder.
“In another life, I worked in home healthcare,” Effie tells me as she gently bandages my arm.
“You and Inferno both have the gift of deflection,” I inform her.
She smiles, but doesn’t comment, which only proves my point.
Now that she’s brought up pain medication, I realize my arm is burning like a mother. “I do need something for the pain, but I’m on several prescriptions, and I’m not sure how another medication would interact,” I warn her, spouting off my list of scripts.
“I’m sure your doctor has warned you to avoid NSAIDs,” she says, and I nod. “But opioids should be fine.” She moves to a cart, rummaging through it until she produces an unlabeled bottle. Shaking out two pills, she hands them to me.
“Thanks.” I swallow and chase them with a sip of water from the straw she holds in place for me.
“How are you feeling emotionally?” Effie asks, setting down the water glass.
“Pissed. My ex-situationship shot me.” It was always a one-sided relationship, and never again will I call that bitch my ex-girlfriend.
“Don’t blame you. Trauma’s a strange animal, though,” she warns. “Adrenaline takes over, and you think you’re fine in the moment; I want to make sure you’re fine when things settle down.”
“Do things ever settle down around these men?”
She considers. “Define settle down.”
“Ha, what I thought. I don’t want you to worry about me; I have therapy tomorrow, anyway. We’ll go over this new material.”
“May I suggest EMDR. It did wonders for—” She pauses. “Someone I know.”
The meds are already starting to make my head a little fuzzy, or else I would be nosy and ask who.
There’s a soft knock, and Inferno slips into the room. He and Effie exchange something quietly before Effie turns to me. “I’ll be back in a little bit to check on you.”
“Thanks,” I tell her.
Inferno comes to stand next to me, slipping his gloved hands in his pockets. “You took a bullet for my brother.”
“Yes, but we can’t be together, me Gavin and,” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes.
He examines me. “Why?”
“Gavin’s curse-breaking didn’t work.”
“Curse breaking,” he repeats without inflection.
“He loves me, and that means he’ll die. Everyone who loves me dies. It’s my curse,” I ramble.
He watches me past the point of politeness, and finally says, “A curse is only true if you believe it’s true. Want to break it? Break it here.” He taps his temple.
I do a double-take, because I swear his face shifted with that tap in a really unnatural way. “You’re wearing a mask.”
Is he? Or am I seeing things?
He flashes an enigmatic smile. “I will sit for a bust portrait at your studio, but only when,” he pauses, “you’ve broken this ‘curse.’” With that, he walks out.
