Torture to Her Soul
Page 92
He'd want Carmela found.
Shaking my head, I yank my shirtsleeve up, showing him the bite. Blood streams down my arm. I can feel it seeping into my button down shirt, staining the pristine white a dark shade of red.
"Come in," he says, waving for me to step inside, his eyes frantically darting all around before he shuts the door behind me. I follow him down the hallway, to the kitchen, trying not to drip blood on his floor.
Not because I care about his things.
More like I don't want to leave more of myself behind than I have to.
This isn't the first time he's sewn me up, and it won't be the last. I take a seat at his kitchen table as he flicks on the overhead light and gets down to business. His supplies are gathered, the bare minimum needed: just a needle and some thread.
I'd do it myself, but I can't sew for shit.
I know.
I've tried.
"I just need to grab the anesthetic," he grumbles, heading for the doorway, but I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him. His panicked gaze darts down to where my hand clutches him before he meets my eyes.
"Don't bother," I say, letting go of him. "Just get on with it."
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't."
Nodding, he proceeds to clean up the blood and disinfect the wound. It burns as the peroxide seeps into the small gashes lining the circular injury. I can make out the imprint of teeth, the skin already bruising in the familiar pattern.
The veterinarian eyes it warily before getting to work.
I hardly feel the needle when it goes in.
"Run in with an animal tonight?" he asks, making the first stitch.
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"No, you're right," he mutters. "It isn't."
Just a few stitches to close the biggest gash and he's done, pushing away from the table to clean up the mess. "When was your last tetanus shot, Vitale?"
"You'd know better than I would."
He pauses, contemplating. "You should probably get a booster, just to be safe."
"I'm not worried about it."
"You should be. Tetanus is—"
"The least of my problems right now."
"Well, at least let me get you some antibiotics."
"Don't bother," I say. "I'm not going to take them."
He shakes his head, turning to me. He's wide-awake now. He knows his chance for peaceful slumber is over. "It's amazing you're still alive, you know."
"I know," I admit, standing up. "I'll get going now."
I leave before he can offer any more sort of inane care, heading back out to my car. I pause beside it, seeing the dog in the backseat, still growling at me.
My gaze turns to the doorway, to where Carter stands, watching me. I motion with my head toward the backseat. "You think you can do something with this for me?"
His eyes widen. "The dog?"
"Yes."
"You don't mean..." He turns his head toward the back yard. "You don't want me to... do you?"
His stammering makes me laugh.
"I'm not telling you to kill it," I say. "I'm just asking you to do something with it. Tie it up out back, just temporarily, until I can make other arrangements."
Opening the back door, I let the dog run out. I don't wait for Carter to say anything else, to even confirm he'll take care of the thing. Without another look, I get in the car to leave right away.
It's nearing sun up when I reach my neighborhood in Brooklyn, a touch of light spanning along the horizon. I'm exhausted, and frustrated, wishing I felt something more.
I pull the car into the garage, knowing I'm going to clean it out first thing, and head inside to get what I need. A towel, bleach, something to get rid of the dog hair. Something to wipe away the memory.
I always expected to feel relief.
I expected to feel a burden lifted.
But as I step into the house and come face-to-face with a concerned Karissa in the kitchen, what I really feel is a heavier weight pressing upon me. My chest constricts when I see the worry in her eyes… worry about where I've been, worry about what I might've done last night.
She can't even begin to imagine...
"You're home," she says, her voice low like maybe she's really saying it to herself.
I respond anyway. "And you're awake early."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Me, either."
I quickly kiss her cheek, making sure not to linger too long, before I head straight upstairs. I strip off my clothes, tossing them with the dirty, making a mental note to discard the button down before Karissa finds it. I head into the bathroom and wash up before pulling on a fresh suit and heading back downstairs.
It only took a few minutes.
She's still in the kitchen.
The scent of coffee clings to the air as she brews a fresh cup in the machine. I walk right past it, opting for a bottle of water from the fridge.
"If you need me," I say, "I'll be in the garage."
"Doing what?"
"Cleaning out the car."
"You just did that not long ago."
I don't bother to respond, not knowing what to say, as I head back out. I half expect her to follow me, but she doesn't. My own relief startles me. As much as I love having her around, I felt an inkling of something when I looked in her eyes, something I haven't felt in a long time.
Shaking my head, I yank my shirtsleeve up, showing him the bite. Blood streams down my arm. I can feel it seeping into my button down shirt, staining the pristine white a dark shade of red.
"Come in," he says, waving for me to step inside, his eyes frantically darting all around before he shuts the door behind me. I follow him down the hallway, to the kitchen, trying not to drip blood on his floor.
Not because I care about his things.
More like I don't want to leave more of myself behind than I have to.
This isn't the first time he's sewn me up, and it won't be the last. I take a seat at his kitchen table as he flicks on the overhead light and gets down to business. His supplies are gathered, the bare minimum needed: just a needle and some thread.
I'd do it myself, but I can't sew for shit.
I know.
I've tried.
"I just need to grab the anesthetic," he grumbles, heading for the doorway, but I reach out and grab his arm, stopping him. His panicked gaze darts down to where my hand clutches him before he meets my eyes.
"Don't bother," I say, letting go of him. "Just get on with it."
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't say it if I wasn't."
Nodding, he proceeds to clean up the blood and disinfect the wound. It burns as the peroxide seeps into the small gashes lining the circular injury. I can make out the imprint of teeth, the skin already bruising in the familiar pattern.
The veterinarian eyes it warily before getting to work.
I hardly feel the needle when it goes in.
"Run in with an animal tonight?" he asks, making the first stitch.
"I don't think that's any of your business."
"No, you're right," he mutters. "It isn't."
Just a few stitches to close the biggest gash and he's done, pushing away from the table to clean up the mess. "When was your last tetanus shot, Vitale?"
"You'd know better than I would."
He pauses, contemplating. "You should probably get a booster, just to be safe."
"I'm not worried about it."
"You should be. Tetanus is—"
"The least of my problems right now."
"Well, at least let me get you some antibiotics."
"Don't bother," I say. "I'm not going to take them."
He shakes his head, turning to me. He's wide-awake now. He knows his chance for peaceful slumber is over. "It's amazing you're still alive, you know."
"I know," I admit, standing up. "I'll get going now."
I leave before he can offer any more sort of inane care, heading back out to my car. I pause beside it, seeing the dog in the backseat, still growling at me.
My gaze turns to the doorway, to where Carter stands, watching me. I motion with my head toward the backseat. "You think you can do something with this for me?"
His eyes widen. "The dog?"
"Yes."
"You don't mean..." He turns his head toward the back yard. "You don't want me to... do you?"
His stammering makes me laugh.
"I'm not telling you to kill it," I say. "I'm just asking you to do something with it. Tie it up out back, just temporarily, until I can make other arrangements."
Opening the back door, I let the dog run out. I don't wait for Carter to say anything else, to even confirm he'll take care of the thing. Without another look, I get in the car to leave right away.
It's nearing sun up when I reach my neighborhood in Brooklyn, a touch of light spanning along the horizon. I'm exhausted, and frustrated, wishing I felt something more.
I pull the car into the garage, knowing I'm going to clean it out first thing, and head inside to get what I need. A towel, bleach, something to get rid of the dog hair. Something to wipe away the memory.
I always expected to feel relief.
I expected to feel a burden lifted.
But as I step into the house and come face-to-face with a concerned Karissa in the kitchen, what I really feel is a heavier weight pressing upon me. My chest constricts when I see the worry in her eyes… worry about where I've been, worry about what I might've done last night.
She can't even begin to imagine...
"You're home," she says, her voice low like maybe she's really saying it to herself.
I respond anyway. "And you're awake early."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Me, either."
I quickly kiss her cheek, making sure not to linger too long, before I head straight upstairs. I strip off my clothes, tossing them with the dirty, making a mental note to discard the button down before Karissa finds it. I head into the bathroom and wash up before pulling on a fresh suit and heading back downstairs.
It only took a few minutes.
She's still in the kitchen.
The scent of coffee clings to the air as she brews a fresh cup in the machine. I walk right past it, opting for a bottle of water from the fridge.
"If you need me," I say, "I'll be in the garage."
"Doing what?"
"Cleaning out the car."
"You just did that not long ago."
I don't bother to respond, not knowing what to say, as I head back out. I half expect her to follow me, but she doesn't. My own relief startles me. As much as I love having her around, I felt an inkling of something when I looked in her eyes, something I haven't felt in a long time.
