I knew the hospital was in the United States—I heard English from the doctor, and I heard my mother crying and asking if I would be okay.
I focused long enough to tell them my age, my name, and what I thought had happened. I believe I answered all the questions. I was just too tired to answer more.
Blackness found me, and I went under again.
When I came to, I heard my sister’s voice. She was crying now too.
Everyone was always crying.
Had a week passed, a day, just an hour?
She wasn’t alone with me though.
“She’s going to be okay, Izzy,” Dante said. His voice was the one I needed to hear.
My muscles relaxed, my body stopped tensing, the pain in my head seemed to vanish.
But then I heard the strain in his voice, the little quiver. “Izzy, don’t cry. She’ll be just fine, huh? And then we’ll be back to work. You and me, right?”
That sounded odd.
Wrong.
Him and her.
“She has to be,” Izzy whispered. Then I heard footsteps pacing back and forth. “Thank you for staying with me and her tonight. I don’t think I could be alone.”
“I wouldn’t leave.” Dante’s voice was firm, solid, like he wanted to comforther.
Not me.
A soft breath was taken before she whispered, “I know. I’m… You always take care of me, Dante. Jesus, when no one else did, you took care of me.”
“And I always will, Izzy. You’re my girl, you know that?”
I heard rustling, and it was enough to make my eyes open to see what I needed to see.
Izzy was in Dante’s arms, her lips on the lips I thought were mine.
He didn’t fight her off.
He wasn’t even pushing her away. His hands were on her shoulders.
He’d said she was his girl.
And then the hospital did what hospitals do. It recorded my heart beat—how it picked up, how suddenly it started going a million times a minute—as I stared at them, eyes wide.
Immediately, Dante’s hands pushed her back like he could hide what I’d just seen. He rushed toward me, but my mind ran away.
I whispered, “You let her kiss you.”
And I was gone again.
27
Fight for the One You Love
Dante