by Lexie Ray
Sighing, I pushed the first one. The loud buzzer made me jump. I was about to make as many as nine people unhappy campers.
There was no response, so I pressed the button again. Maybe Blue hadn’t been able to call Casey ahead of time to let her know I was coming. My heart clenched. Maybe that was because Mama had hurt Blue. I would never be able to forgive myself if that happened.
“Whadd’ya want?” a gruff voice boomed out of the speaker, startling me.
“I’m looking for Casey,” I said, speaking as clearly as possible.
“No Casey here.”
I took a deep breath and pressed the second one. The response came immediately.
“Yes?”
“Is there a Casey there?” I asked, feeling hopeful at the kinder voice.
“Do you know what the fuck time it is?” the person exploded. “It’s the middle of the fucking night is what time it is! Have a little respect!”
I recoiled from the speaker, but I forced myself to keep going. I needed help. I needed to find Casey.
I pressed the third button.
“Cocoa?” came the voice from the speaker. “Is it you?”
I sagged in relief. “Yes, it’s me,” I said. “Are you Casey?”
“Yes, come on up,” she said. “Apartment 7A. On the seventh floor.”
The front door buzzed and unlocked. I laughed in relief. If Casey knew I was coming, that meant Mama hadn’t killed Blue. Blue had been able to call her friend and give her a head’s up. I hauled the door open, yanking my suitcase after me. The pain in my ankle was unbearable. I resorted to hopping on my other leg all the way inside to find the elevator out of order.
Seventh floor? Heaven help me.
I found the stairwell, leaning on my suitcase as I hobbled across the lobby. It was dimly lit, which was to be expected for this time of night, but it looked nice enough. It was clean, and that was what was most important to me. Mailboxes lined one of the walls. There was an assortment of potted plants near the elevator. I wondered how long it had been since it functioned.
The stairwell was empty and a little dingy. I looked up at all the flights of stairs and felt more than a little hopeless. Dragging the suitcase and hopping up them on one foot left me breathless by the time I reached the first landing. For the second flight, I resorted to sitting down and scooting up on my ass, yanking my suitcase step by step.
That’s how it took me ten minutes to get up seven flights of stairs. Painfully.
Praying that Casey hadn’t given up on me, I stood and pushed open the door on the landing. A pretty, petite redhead was hurrying down the hallway toward me.
“Cocoa?” she called. “It’s me, Casey. I was coming looking for you — what took you — oh, no.”
She got close and took stock of my appearance. I hadn’t even had a chance to do that. I hope I didn’t frighten her.
“Let’s get you inside,” she said, taking me by the arm so gently that I wept.
It had to have been the shock of the night — first getting attacked by Mike, then discarded and attacked by Mama, and mugged on the street. I was bone tired, hurt, and didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing.
Casey didn’t say a word. She shifted her touch and hugged me tight even though we’d just met.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” she said after my tears had stopped falling. “Unless it would make you feel better. Now, let me take your suitcase. I’ll get you cleaned up.”
Unthinking, I turned to follow her up the hallway and fell, gasping as I’d tried to put my full weight on my ankle. Casey turned quickly.
“Should we go to the hospital?” she asked. “There’s one just a few blocks away.”
“I just want to rest,” I said. “I know I look beat up. Maybe tomorrow I can go to a doctor. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest.”
“It’s up to you, Cocoa,” Casey said. “Let me run your suitcase down to the room and I’ll be back to help you. Don’t go anywhere or try to get up. Just relax. You’re safe here.”
I watched her jog away, her hair bouncing against her back as the wheels of my suitcase sang over the carpet. The thought flitted through my head that maybe she was robbing me blind, but at this point, she could have it. I was too tired to fight. I felt like a shell of myself.
“You okay?”
I jumped as I looked up, Casey regarding me kindly but critically.
“That was fast,” I said.
“I leave you alone for, what, thirty seconds, and you go falling asleep in hallways,” Casey joked, helping me to stand. “Now, lean on me and don’t put any weight on that bum leg. We’ll go as slow as you need to.”
The redhead was small but strong. She carried me each time I took a step with my right leg. Both of us were sweating when we reached apartment 7A.
“Home, sweet home,” she said, pushing open the door. “I’ll give you the tour in a minute, but let’s get you to the bathroom, first.”
From what I could see from the light by the front door, the apartment was small but cozy. There was a lot of stuff, but it was kept pretty well organized. The bathroom, I was relieved to discover, was spacious enough to fit the both of us along with a sizeable sink, commode, and a pretty big bathtub.
When Casey flipped on the light switch, I gasped. Blood had dried on my face, caking one whole side. Something glittered on my forehead. I leaned forward and swooned. A chunk of glass was protruding from my skin.
“Easy,” Casey soothed, taking me by the shoulders. “It’s going to be fine. I’m going to take care of you. Just sit down right here.”
I sank down onto the commode, feeling woozy. Maybe I should go to the hospital.
Casey turned on the faucet in the sink and soaked a washcloth before wringing it out.
“Let’s get that blood cleaned up so we can see what all we’re dealing with,” she said, talking more to herself than to me.
The water was warm and I allowed my eyes to shut, absorbing her gentle dabbing with no small degree of comfort. It felt good, making me believe that everything was going to turn out okay, somehow.
“Head wounds always bleed a lot,” Casey murmured, making me open my eyes. She was examining my forehead, holding the bloody washcloth.
“Sorry for ruining that,” I said, pointing at the square of terrycloth.
Casey made a sound in the back of the throat. “A little cold water and it’ll come right out,” she said. “And what’s a washcloth to fixing you up? Priorities, Cocoa, rearrange them.”
I had to smile. Casey was turning out to be a fireball.
“Okay, I have to get this glass out,” she said. “I’m going to sterilize some tweezers in some alcohol and hit the first aid kit for some gauze. It’s going to hurt some — I won’t lie to you.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Do whatever you have to. I’m just grateful for your help.”
“No need to be,” she threw over her shoulder as she bustled from the bathroom. “Any friend of Sandra is a friend of mine.”
I had to think for a moment before I realized that Sandra was Blue’s name before she started working at the nightclub.
I snaked my hand up my damp face and felt at the glass. It stung a little, but I thought the majority of my pain was smothered with exhaustion.
“No touching,” Casey said, swatting my hand away. “I’ve washed my hands and sterilized everything. Your greatest risk now is infection. Who knows what’s on your hands?”
“Garbage,” I said. “I jumped from a second-story window into a dumpster.”
Casey whistled before setting a formidable first aid kit on the sink. “Must have been pretty desperate to do that,” she said.
“I was being shot at,” I said. “Landing is what happened to my ankle.”
“I’ll check that out next as soon as I solve the situation with your forehead,” Casey said. “Anywhere else that you’re hurt?”
“I think I might have some broken ribs,” I said.
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“A big fall will do that.”
“It wasn’t the fall,” I said. I kind of wondered how much I should be holding back from Casey. I didn’t want to scare her, but my words were just pouring out of me. She was easy to talk to. “Some asshole attacked me. He also punched me on my jaw — and bit my boob.”
“Fucker,” Casey observed, rattling around in the first aid kit.
“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.
