Braver (15 page)

“You know a lot about this stuff,” I observed, looking at all the rolls of gauze, bandages, and bottles of medicine inside the kit.

“I’m going to school during the day to become a nurse,” Casey said, brightening. “It’s what I want to do. Blood doesn’t make me feel weird. It just makes me want to figure out where it’s coming from and why so I can stop it.”

“Blood makes me feel super weird,” I said. “Like I’m going to pass out.”

“I noticed.”

“How are you able to go to school during the day?” I asked. “Don’t you have to work for rent?”

“That’s why I was asking Sandra if she knew anyone who’d make a good roommate,” she said, studying my forehead and clicking the tweezers open and closed. “That’ll help, of course. I’m also working at night.”

“I have the money for rent,” I blurted. “I’ll get a job soon, I know it.”

Casey waved me silent. “We’ll talk more about rent and stuff tomorrow. Tonight, I just want you not to die in my bathroom.”

I had to laugh. “I’m not going to die,” I said.

“Not with me as your nurse, you won’t,” Casey said. “One, two, three, Cocoa.”

“What — ow!”

I scrunched my eyes shut at the sudden, blinding pain in my forehead.

“Gotcha!” Casey crowed. I opened my eyes once the pain had subsided a bit and stared at the chunk of glass she held with the tweezers.

“That was in my head?” I said, feeling happy that I was at least sitting down.

“Damn straight it was,” she said. “Want to make like a necklace out of it? This could be your warrior pendant.”

I laughed. “No way. Just throw it away. If I can forget about all of this, that’s all I want to do.”

“Done,” she said, dropping the chunk into the garbage. “Now, you said this motherfucker popped you in the jaw. Can you follow my finger with your eyes?”

Casey held a wad of gauze against my forehead and dragged her finger back and forth through the air. It was sort of hard to keep up with her, but I did my best. She stopped and removed the gauze before adhering a bandage to my forehead.

“Well, you won’t need stitches for your forehead, so that’s good news,” she said, turning to her kit and getting out a flashlight. “The bad news is that you got a concussion from that blow to the jaw.”

She shone the flashlight into my eyes peering into them.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Well, I have to keep you awake, for one,” she said. “So no falling asleep.”

I groaned. “I’m super tired, Casey. I could fall asleep right here on the toilet.”

“Fall asleep and you might never wake up,” she warned. “You could slip into a coma because of the trauma your brain has been threw. The punch — did it happen before or after you jumped out of the window?”

“Before.”

Casey sucked in air through her teeth and shook her head. “I don’t know how you had the balance to hit the dumpster if you already had a concussion,” she said. “You probably worsened it when you landed, too.”

“It was that or get shot,” I said. “Plain and simple.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” she remarked. “You don’t have to stay up all night. Just for a few hours, to make sure you’re okay. The concussion looks like it’s moderate, and you might have balance issues or difficulty remembering things for a few days. You’ll also have a headache. If this lasts longer than a week, we’ll have to go to a doctor. No excuses.”

“I understand.”

“Glass out of head, concussion diagnosed,” Casey muttered. “A bite mark? On your boob? Let’s see.”

I hesitated, my hand at the collar of my shirt.

“Don’t be shy,” she said, laughing. “Come on. I mean, I just yanked a huge chunk of glass from your forehead, Cocoa. We’re practically lovers.”

I laughed, too, at Casey’s zaniness. She was going to make a great nurse. If she could get me, her patient, to open up so easily, she’d have no problem with anyone else. I gingerly took my shirt off, easing it over my head with Casey’s help.

My bra was covering the bite. I pulled the cup down, taking my breast out.

“Goddamn,” Casey said. “And that’s my professional opinion. You can quote me. Did you kill the fucker? Please tell me you did.”

I looked down, my eyes widening at the bite mark. It was throbbing and swollen. I could see the shape of each tooth in the ring of bruises, the skin broken in many different places.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said, feeling almost glum about it. “It happened in the middle of my workplace — well, my former place of work. There were people all around me. He punched me, fell on me, and then bit me.”

“Didn’t anyone do anything?” Casey asked, wetting a square of gauze with alcohol. “One, two, three, Cocoa.”

She swept the alcohol-soaked pad over my injury, wincing when I winced.

“God, that stings,” I groaned.

“That’s how you know it’s working,” she said, paying special attention to each point of broken skin. “The human mouth is a disgusting place. You could get a nasty infection if we don’t clean it out.”

An infection from that horrible man — Mike? No, thank you.

“Do you want to just pour the whole bottle over it?” I asked.

Casey laughed. “No need to,” she said. “I’m very thorough.”

“Yes, you are,” I said. “And no, no one did anything until the bouncers pulled him off of me.”

“Assholes,” she commented. “Did you defend yourself? Give as good as you got?”

I felt ashamed as I shook my head, feeling like I deserved the sting of the alcohol on my chest. “I tried to hit at him, but he was so drunk it was like I wasn’t doing anything.”

Casey nodded. “As soon as you get well again, I’m going to teach you some basic self-defense. It’s good to know. I took a class when I started my night job and let me tell you — once you get a reputation of being a balls kicker, you get a healthy dose of respect. You just have to threaten to do it, most of the time.”

“What kind of night job necessitates being a balls kicker?” I asked.

“Stripping does,” Casey said, discarding the gauze pad and soaking another in alcohol before going over the bite mark again. I was thankful she was being so methodical about it. What she’d said about mouth germs freaked me out.

“That’s cool,” I said, sucking in my breath at the fresh alcohol burning the bacteria away.

“Whatever,” Casey said. “I know you’re judging me. Everyone does.”

“No judgment,” I protested. “Why would I do that?”

“You know,” Casey said, looking insecure for the first time that night. “Everyone says that strippers are just single moms, or druggies, or nymphos. Really, most of the girls at my work are just desperate. They need to make a buck and have the body to make it possible.”

“I think it’s fine,” I said. “You said it yourself — you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“It’s damn good money,” Casey remarked, throwing the gauze pad away and putting a large bandage on my breast. “It’s paying for my school, and it puts a dent in the rent.”

She handed me a soft pink robe that had been hanging from a hook on the back of the bathroom door. I took it gratefully, covering my nakedness.

“Let’s see, injury tally,” Casey said. “Glass in head, check. Concussion, check. Boob bite, check. Your ribs are going to have to, unfortunately, heal themselves. They do that. So, check, but I’ll give you something for the pain when we finish getting you cleaned up. Now, onto that ankle.”

She helped me prop my leg up on the side of the tub. Casey untied my sneaker and got my sock off before rolling up the leg of my jeans.

“Oh, God,” I said, looking at the swollen mass my ankle had become.

“I can’t believe you were walking on this,” Casey said, looking at me with amazement.

“Running, at one point,” I said.

“You’re a tough cookie,” Casey said. “Well, since you already said it, I can say it. The ankle looks like shit, Cocoa. For tonight, all I can do for you is ice it, elevate it, and keep your weight off of it. Tomorrow, you’re going to come to school with me.”

“I am?” I asked, confused.

“Yes,” Casey confirmed. “As long as you don’t mind a bunch of nursing students ogling your ankle and the X-rays we’ll do, you’ll get free care. Most of us are pretty good.”

“If any of them are half as good as you, I’ll be fine,” I said. “You’re going to be a hell of a nurse, Casey.”

“I’m already a hell of a stripper,” she said, grinning. “Some days, I wonder if I’m making the right career move with this nurse stuff. If I wasn’t paying for school, I’d never have to take in a roommate.”