Hands All Over

Ch. 58 Feeling

Angela sat on the crinkly paper that covered the exam table, her hands curled around the edge. Margaret had smuggled her in through the back entrance of St. Thomas at Tara's request and now, they were just waiting for Chloe to turn up to check her out. It was lucky for her that Chloe had actually gone to med school, though she hadn't finished it, something she never explained. Regardless, it meant Chloe could do most of the things that regular doctors could which meant they could keep things totally private especially with the hospital supervisor's blessing.

Juice was holding a compress to the wound on her back, trying to staunch the bleeding. It was the most she'd let him touch her. Happy stood at her other side, arms folded over his chest, hands clenched into fists. Angela wondered what he was angrier about, the fact she'd gotten the kill or that she'd chosen Juice to take care of her over him. She hadn't seen it that way at the moment, though. Looking at Hap had brought back old, happy memories of Mel that had scared the shit out of her. She didn't want to remember Mel as anything other than the man who had taken her from her home and tried to force her to love him.

Juice had tried to get her to talk on the way to the hospital, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. There was nothing to say. She just kept staring at her hands. Hands that had touched dead people hundreds of times but now were the reason someone lay dead. Not someone: Mel. She'd killed Mel and she couldn't bring herself to feel bad about it. A sick part of her was actually proud of what she had done. She never thought she had it in her to take a life, that had always been Happy's thing. If she ever needed anyone gone, he took care of it. Now, she'd stepped up for herself, for her kid and there was not a single shred of regret in her for doing that. What kind of sick psychopath did that make her?

"Ang?"

Hearing her own name pulled her from her thoughts. She lifted her head, blinking a bit at Chloe who was looking at her expectantly. The nurse had obviously asked her something, but she'd been too absorbed in her thoughts to hear it. She raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"You need to tell me your injuries," Chloe repeated, meeting Angela's glassed over stare. It worried her how out of touch her friend was being. She attributed it to her being in a state of shock, but Angela seemed too relaxed for that. It was like she was numb to everyone and everything. That was even more troubling than if she'd been crying or in shock. "I can't take care of you if I don't know what I'm dealing with."

Angela sucked in a deep breath, clearing her throat and wincing as the action made it burn; she could steal feel Mel's hand around her throat, his grip slowly tightening and cutting off her air supply. Shaking her head, she banished those thoughts and punted to her calf. "Bullet," she croaked simply before pointing to her lower ribs were. "Knife."

Chloe sighed. She'd hoped to get her friend talking a bit more, but if she wanted to play the quiet card, she would play along. "Deep or shallow?" she asked. Angela just shrugged in response. Chloe sighed again. "Bullet still in there?"

She nodded, nervously kicking her other leg against the drawers. For some reason, it hurt to talk. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue too big and awkward. She'd kill for a glass of water. The irony of the statement made her want laugh, though she knew laughing at that moment might mean a trip to the psych ward. Maybe she should go. That seemed like an appropriate place for her at the moment.

"You know the caliber?"

Angela turned to look at Happy. He was the one who'd given her the gun. It was a smaller replica of his own, and she knew he knew every little detail about it. Happy glared back at her for a moment, wanting her to say it. He knew she knew the answer. She held his gaze, shrugging a shoulder indifferently. He finally gave in, shaking his head at her. "Forty five."