Chapter 3 #2
“Maybe something in your bag—” he glances around. “Do you have a bag? A purse? Something?”
My hand twitches towards my hair. “The police found my bag at the… scene. But my phone and laptop were gone. My wallet was cleaned out except for my license and credit cards. Maybe there was something else, but I don’t know.”
Tears prick behind my eyes, and I swallow hard.
Though I wasn’t sexually assaulted, thank God, I still feel violated.
I was beaten up with no recollection of how it happened, no idea of who did it, and my personal belongings were stolen.
My new laptop, that I saved for months to buy, finally splurging on it as a Christmas gift to myself, is gone.
My phone, with all my photos, my contacts, is in the hands of the men who attacked me.
“Sofia.” Nico frowns again. “You said you’re in pain. Didn’t they give you anything for it?” He glances at the call button beside my bed. “I’ll call a nurse. Have them bring you something.”
His concern is almost my undoing.
I don’t want nice Nico here.
I don’t want the Nico I thought I’d spend my life with.
I want the brusque, scowling Nico who reminds me why I’m much better off without him.
It’s the threat of impending tears that has me snipping, “I’m fine. If I need pain medication, I’ll ask for it myself. I don’t need your help.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.
Not because what I said wasn’t true. It is. I can reach the call button. And I can ask for more pain medication.
But I don’t like this snippy, bitter side of myself.
And I don’t like the hurt that flickers across Nico’s face before he hides it.
It shouldn’t matter, that logical voice reminds me silently. He didn’t care about how you felt before. And you don’t owe him anything.
Maybe so. But I know what Nico looks like when his feelings are hurt.
I saw that look all the times his parents were too busy to come to his varsity soccer games or when they just handed him money for his birthday instead of actually doing something with him.
And though I don’t want to feel bad about hurting his feelings, I do.
“I’m just tired,” I add quietly. “And cranky. Maybe I should ask for some pain meds after all.”
Nico looks at me, his gaze lingering on my cheeks and jaw before moving away. “Of course you’re tired. It’s late, and you’ve been through a lot. I should have waited to come until tomorrow.”
Those darn tears burn the inside of my nose.
Don’t be nice, I want to plead. Not now. Not when I’m feeling so weak already.
“It’s okay.” I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes of forcing the tears back. “I’ll call the nurse. Then maybe I can get some sleep.”
Nico glances around the room again. “Are the police coming back?”
“I think they said something about checking back tomorrow.”
He scowls. “That’s pretty vague. Do they have any leads? And what about—” He stops.
“What about what?”
His lips thin. After a pause, he asks, “Is anyone coming to stay with you?”
“Here? At the hospital?”
“Yes, here. And when you get home.”
“No. Why would they?”
A moment later, I realize how pathetic that makes me sound. Like I don’t have anyone who cares enough to be by my side after I was attacked.
It’s not like Brian or my aunt wouldn’t come if I asked. But I won’t. Not when it would mean an expensive plane ticket and hours of travel and I’ll probably be back home by the time they could get here.
As for friends? There isn’t anyone I’d want to come.
Which I guess does make me sound kind of pathetic, now that I think about it.
But Andie, my closest friend, the one person I’ve stayed in touch with since college, is in Dubai for a year-long contract with her law firm.
So I’m definitely not calling her. And everyone else I know in Hoboken fits more in the casual acquaintance category than the call in the middle of the night to come to the hospital one.
Nico’s expression grows even grimmer than it already was. “Sofia. You were attacked. As far as I know, the men are still out there. Don’t you think it would be safer if you had someone with you?”
Well, honestly, I hadn’t thought about it. Not yet.
But hearing him explain it to me as if I were a child makes me all feel all prickly inside. “The hospital is perfectly safe,” I retort. “They have plenty of security. And the nurses check on me all the time.”
“Maybe so,” Nico concedes. “But what about when you go home? You said they took the cash from your wallet. They probably know where you live.”
My stomach jumps. “I have an alarm system at my apartment. And the complex I live in is safe.”
He sighs. “Sofia. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but—”
“Then don’t.”
I know he’s just being practical. And given that he owns a security company, it’s not unreasonable that he’d bring up the issue of safety. But I don’t want his concern right now. Not when it’s eighteen years too late.
With a frown, he says, “Okay.” Then he pulls a business card from his pocket and sets it on the bedside table. “If you need anything, if you remember—”
“I’ll call you,” I finish. “If I remember why I came to your place, I’ll let you know.”
Nico sighs again. “Alright. I’ll let you get some sleep.” He takes a few steps back. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
The sight of his business card sitting there, so cold and impersonal, brings a bite to my voice. “I will. Don’t worry about me.”
And the unspoken part that I say in my head.
Not like you worried before, when my life was falling apart.
His features go still. That angry flush rises in his cheeks again. “Fine.” Then he turns and heads towards the door.
I almost think that’s the end of it. And though it’s better this way, my heart still aches.
But before he leaves, he turns around again. His gaze, dark and shadowed, meets mine. “Be safe, Sofia.”
And then he’s really gone, leaving just a rectangular piece of cardboard behind.
One tear breaks free. Then another. And another.
Don’t cry over him, my logical inner voice orders. You’ve spent far too long doing that.
You’re feeling vulnerable, the kinder voice reassures. It’s okay to be sad. Anger and hurt go hand in hand.
Both things are true.
I’m still angry with Nico. I’m still hurt. But there’s a piece of him still wedged deep in my heart, and no matter what I do, I can’t get rid of it.
“Oh, Miss Shaw.” A nurse comes into the room and hurries to the side of my bed. Sympathy fills her expression as she looks at me. “You’re in pain, aren’t you? Mr. Parisi mentioned it on his way out. That you needed more pain medication.”
More tears break free, trickling down the sides of my cheeks. A lump swells in my throat. “Just a little. It’s not too bad.”
“Well, you should just ask.” She pats my arm. “That’s what we’re here for. To make you feel better.”
As she fusses with my IV, she adds, “Your friend, he’s very nice, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I reply tightly. Because I don’t think the alternative answer, which is, He is when he wants to be, will go over quite as well.
“It’s too bad he had to leave,” she continues. “But I guess with it being so late, it’s better to let you get some sleep. Although—” She gives me a conspiratorial smile, “If he were my friend, I don’t think I’d mind if he stayed.”
But he’s not my friend.
And whatever reason he had for coming here, curiosity or a weird sense of obligation, I’m sure I won’t see him again.
“There.” The nurse pats my arm again. “All set. You should start feeling better in a few minutes.”
My head and shoulder? Probably.
But my heart? I doubt it.