Chapter 10—Payton #2
I’ve been sore before—you don’t train for years on end like I did for most of my life without knowing what sore muscles feel like.
But that was something I did. I made that choice.
This? This feeling and pain I’m going through?
There was no choice in this, and now I’m just trying to forget it. At least for today.
My hands are shaking. They’ve been shaking since it happened.
Tommy thought I was fidgeting, but I can’t get them to stop.
I’m scared, but fear of other things keeps me moving forward.
Keeps me going. And the realization that I have nowhere else to go but forward.
Backward isn’t an option; it just means you’re dead.
Minutes tick by. Time continues to flow.
Things are still required. And I’m just trying to survive through it all.
I leave my bag in the bathroom, hanging from the hook on the back of the door that’s meant for towels.
I have nothing in it to steal, so I’m not afraid that whoever just arrived will take it.
But I don’t want to bring it out with me.
I need to leave this room as if I’m onstage.
Performing. Embracing the Crown Jewel title.
Even if I feel like shit and want to cry and hide under a table or a blanket if I can find one.
I hear murmurs before I leave the hall, and when I enter the living area, I pause once more. Tommy has his back to me and is in the living room, while another man, an older one, is standing by the dining table, pulling things out of his bag.
Things that look a lot like torture devices.
I take a step back, but Tommy’s voice stills me.
“Stop.”
I look at him from behind my cat mask, and I know my fear is clear in my eyes. He has his phone to his ear, but his eyes are on me—only me.
“Take a seat.” His words leave little option but to follow his orders.
When I get closer, the older man gives me a kind smile that I don’t return. I’ve seen enough movies to know that kind smiles can mean a variety of things, and not all of them are nice.
I take the seat farthest from him, but that doesn’t deter him. He comes over to me, lifting my chin with his fingers, and I flinch out of his reach. I look past him to Tommy, my alarm clear even if I haven’t said a thing. I seem to have left my voice somewhere else.
“Let him look,” Tommy says, then talks in a lower voice to the person on the other end of his phone call, but he keeps eyes on me. And it’s because he’s there, watching, that I allow the older man to touch me. I still flinch, but I don’t pull away.
“Let’s take this off, shall we?” He speaks as if he wants me to do it, but before I can lift my arms, he’s untied the small bow at the back of my head and peeled away my mask. “That’s a start. I’m going to clean off your face and see what we have to work with.”
He goes back to his bag on steady feet despite the fact that I would assume he would need a walker based on the weathered features of his face. Big eyes, big nose, kind of like that cartoon with the guy who put balloons on his house. But instead of a frown, he keeps smiling. It’s unnerving.
I sit on my hands to keep them from shaking.
I know he saw them already; he’s been looking at me from head to toe since I appeared in the hallway.
But unlike at the club, I don’t feel sick to my stomach from him looking at me.
Because he doesn’t seem to be thinking of me naked, which so many do when I perform.
I know it because I feel it—and, well, they yell at me to get naked more times than they ask for their next drink.
And the patrons drink a lot at the club.
He’s quick with his work, but gentle, too, as he cleans my face with wipes.
“Are you here for the private event?” I finally find my voice but keep it low, already knowing he’ll say no.
“I’m just here for you, child.”
I let him continue doing what he’s doing, not asking any more questions as he attends to my face. He’s a doctor, clearly; the contraptions I once thought were torture devices were simple tools for him to use to look over me.
Once he puts a butterfly bandage over the cut on my right cheek, he examines the rest of me, never asking me to take off my clothes but having me show him my hands and that I can walk and rotate my arms. He presses a bit on my stomach and back, but that’s about it.
I stay seated through everything, and when he starts to pack things up, Tommy ends his call and comes closer.
“Verdict?” He holds his arms in tight as he folds them across his chest.
“Take a seat and I’ll have a look.”
“Funny, Doc,” Tommy says without even a twitch of his lips.
The doctor smirks, sending me a wink. “You used to think so when you were young.”
Tommy straightens a bit, his arms falling to his sides. “I’m not a child anymore.”
The doctor sighs heavily as he lifts his bag off the table now that it’s all packed up.
“You will always be a child in my eyes, Tommy Leone. Always. Been looking after you since you were born. Nothing will change that. And since you refuse to let me look you over, I’ll assume you want my diagnosis on this lovely young lady. ”
I stop mid-roll of my lips inside to prevent the cut from hurting.
The doc put some type of ointment on it, and it’s the reminder I need to keep me from biting my lip.
However, it doesn’t allow me to hide my small smile at his words as he and Tommy both look at me.
I look down, feeling a blush on my cheeks.
I should probably thank the doctor, not only for patching me up but also for making me feel at ease enough to blush after the day I had.
“Cuts and bruises only. Nothing broken or torn that won’t be fixed with some rest and time.
I recommend letting her sleep for as long as you can to allow her body to heal.
No head injury, so no need to worry about a concussion.
I left a bottle of prescription meds and a brief description of when to take them and what to call me about if there are any issues. ”
I look at the table and turn a bit to see past the empty bowl in the middle to see what he’s talking about. I didn’t even notice him writing anything down, but then again, I was more in tune to Tommy across the room than what the doctor was doing when he wasn’t examining and cleaning me up.
It’s shameful but true. Tommy prowled around his living room, catching my eyes quite often before looking away for a beat, then back at me.
He kept to the phone call, though I don’t know if it was all the same one or not.
He never raised his voice enough for me to hear what was being said.
Despite that, his movements were a dance in their own right.
At one time, he pulled his jacket off, and I watched in fascination as he uncuffed his sleeves and rolled them up his forearms. Colors danced in the light that showed his skin on either side.
I long to know how far up his tattoos go.
When the doctor was attaching the bandage to my cheek, I had a glimpse of Tommy loosening his shirt buttons, letting the top two fall open to expose his throat.
I almost gasped at the pure rawness I saw on the scar on his neck, but I managed to contain myself.
With the doctor blocking Tommy’s view of me, I was able to look without giving myself away.
It’s the first time I’ve seen his scar, something I bet he makes a point not to show. Kind of like my own scars. But unlike his, mine are inside. I guess some would say I’m lucky like that, but I’d rather someone see them and take pity on me than just expect me to be fine with everything.
“Other than that, I have nothing for you. But for you, my dear….” The doctor’s words pull my gaze back to him as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a red lollipop. “Every patient deserves a treat at the end.”
“Thank you.” I hope he knows I’m saying thanks to more than just the free candy. I haven’t met a lot of nice people in the last year, but he is. Might even be the kindest person I’ve ever met in my entire life.
My smile feels wobbly, as if I might cry, but I haven’t cried in so long. Ever since my parents died, I almost feel like I can’t.
“My pleasure.” His smile warms a small part of me, and then he leaves.
And the private event goes from a party of two to one.