Thirty-Four
“What the hell happened to you this time?” Kitty shrieks as I stumble through the door of her room.
It’s late. Past the time anyone else will see me, and the other girls in the brothel are either asleep or high.
“Sit down before you fall down,” she demands, helping me onto her bed, which I gratefully collapse into.
She gently smooths the blood-matted hair off my forehead, her eyes filling with tears she normally wouldn’t allow anyone to see. “I thought you got out,” she whispers, her voice choked. “It’s been six months. I really thought you’d done it.”
I can’t speak. What is there to say anyway?
Kitty leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with a bowl of tepid water and a relatively clean cloth. Of all the women in this dump, she’s the one who’s managed the best to cling on to a few tattered threads of her soul and not become a hollowed-out shell of who she used to be.
She cleans me up as best she can. I managed to shower before I came… well, if you can call sitting slumped on the floor of the stall while water poured over me a shower. But a lot of the deeper wounds are still bleeding.
“Jeez, he did a number on you this time.”
She doesn’t need to ask who. Like me, she has first-hand experience of what the Viper is like, though thankfully, she manages to avoid him better than I do. Lucky for her, he doesn’t turn up here much as long as everything’s running smoothly.
Through my one half-good eye, I notice she has a few recent bruises, and a sliver of guilt eats at the corner of my brain that’s not encompassed in processing the pain I’m in.
“So, did you miss me?” It’s a feeble attempt at humor. Nobody reveals their true feelings in this place, though maybe Kitty and I come close when it’s just the two of us.
“Could have done without Viktor taking over from you.” Her expression is bland, but the pressure on the cloth she’s using to bathe my torn skin causes me to wince, telling me all I need to know.
Kitty immediately gentles her touch, a small spark flickering back into her eyes. “But I heard the Viper’s pissed with him. He tuned up so many of the women, the takings were down - significantly… so perhaps we’ll get you back.”
“I’ll try to make sure that happens,” I wheeze, my ribs jabbing painfully.
Noticing my discomfort, Kitty palpates the area. “You have broken ribs.” She confirms what instinct has already told me. “You want me to call Doc?”
I shake my head and immediately regret it. “Vito has declared no medical intervention. But I got a quick once-over to make sure I wasn’t in danger of dying.”
Kitty tightens her lips but doesn’t argue.
“I’ll bind your ribs for you,” she decides, walking over to a battered dresser where she’s long been keeping supplies to treat the other girls.
I don’t ask where she gets it all, and she doesn’t offer the information, but it’s good to know somebody cares enough to keep a semblance of well-being here.
“Pretty sure you have a partially collapsed lung from the way you’re breathing.
That’ll heal on its own, but it’s best to keep the ribs stabilized so it doesn’t get worse. ”
She helps me sit and notices how my arm hangs limply. “Damn it all, Kaiden. Your arm’s broken….” She peers closer at me. “And I think your collar bone, too?”
Did I know that? I know it hurts like a fucker, but the pain is all melting together; there’s so much of it.
“You can’t leave this untreated. It won’t heal properly.”
I attempt a dry laugh, but it comes out as a hacking cough that steals my breath and sends arrows of pain through my chest. “Doc’s done what Vito told him. He won’t dare go against his wishes, and I sure as hell can’t afford any other kind of treatment,” I tell her as soon as I can speak again.
“I’ll take care of it,” Kitty murmurs, hurrying off to do who knows what before I can argue.
She comes back carrying an odd assortment of household items. All of which I know damn well the women here can’t afford to lose.
“Kitty, this stuff…”
“No!” she spits, her voice surprisingly harsh. “I’m not letting you go without doing something to stabilize your arm. You can’t just carry on like normal.”
Honestly, I’m in too much pain to argue, but one thing does strike me. “How do you know all this anyway?”
Kitty purses her lips, then looks away and starts ripping the towel into sections. “I completed the first year of my nursing degree before I ended up here.”
She says it grudgingly, and I wait for more, but she’s tight-lipped, and I know she won’t elaborate. Instead, I relent and allow her to treat me.
It’s a makeshift job. She binds my forearm with a wide strip from the shredded towel, then splints my arm using a wooden spoon and what looks like it might be a paint stirrer, securing them in place with thinner strips of the towel.
Then she deftly cuts up a worn and discolored pillowcase, which she fashions into a sling.
I make a mental note to grab replacements from one of the many hallway closets that litter the LCN compound. No one will miss them, but these women can’t afford to lose what little they have. I’ll clear it with Rosa if I have to.
“Keep the sling in place as much as you can. The splint shouldn’t be obvious underneath your clothing, so keep it on. Same with the bandages on your ribs. Come back if you need me to redo them.”
I nod, her confession adding to my sadness and providing yet another reminder that sometimes, there is no choice. We do what we have to, whatever our reasons.