Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 83.2: 1968, Georgina

Chapter 83.2: 1968, Georgina 

Paulie was on the couch, understandably staying home from work. He'd hobbled over there sometime during the night, and there he remained. Also sometime during the night, Frankie had silently slipped out of the apartment unnoticed, the only evidence he'd ever been here being my noticing his vacant spot in the bed. It led to a lonely start of a solitary day. 

Paulie was snoring as usual. Maybe he was sleeping off the pain, I didn't know. All I knew was how I was worried about him. 

Did the others know about the attack? This made me worry about them, about Cha Cha most of all. He was so young and vulnerable, and I remembered a time where he hadn't thought twice about defending himself when threatened. At the time of that incident, I'd been so proud of him. But things were different now. Way too dangerous to fight back. 

The more I thought about him, the more I couldn't bear to hear these thoughts. If Paulie couldn't take those guys, then what about Cha Cha...? And they were definitely not colorblind. This added terror... They probably wouldn't think twice about hurting him even more severely...just like Miracle...

I closed my eyes, starting to lose my breath. I had to stop. Had to occupy myself, stop thinking about...but Cha Cha...

Lunch. I would get myself some lunch. Anything to stop thinking.

But just as always, it wasn't that simple. How often I forgot. If I dared move, the pain would hit me like a moving train and I wasn't about to let it. But what was I supposed to do. 

I hated feeling so helpless, useless. There was nothing to do but sprawl here, wait. Or I could try on my own to get up, try something. Do something. Not be as useless. Paulie was hurt now, so he couldn't help me out of the bed. He'd been through enough himself. He was sore downstairs, too. I had to remember that. He knew what I was going through now, to some extent. Maybe.

So I rolled over, staring at the waiting wheelchair less than a foot away. It was in the same place as last night, the lifesaver sitting there. With one arm, I reached over and yanked that lifesaver away. Now in my hand, I slipped it under the covers. Putting it behind my butt, I rolled over onto it and let myself adjust. 

That was step one. It had been so easy. How was it so easy? 

Ever so gently, I raised myself up on my elbows. I stared down the bed, resting my eyes on the large mirror on top of the bureau. 

Behind the mirror was a gun and a bullet box, taped there. This thought made my gut pinch, a cloudy feeling in my chest. I couldn't think about that right now. Ignore it, do something else.

So I did something else, something irrational. 

One blinding moment later, one I hardly remembered but for the ripping-seeming pain in my nethers, I was sat up on the lifesaver. I adjusted myself with gritted teeth until it didn't hurt as much anymore. But there was that throbbing sore pain. A sore pain that went up into me, to places I didn't even know I had before the surgeries. 

Letting myself breathe, I turned on the lifesaver so gingerly. With all the power in my legs, I scooched that lifesaver over the slippery cotton sheet, over to the edge of the bed. Here, my spent legs draped over the side. I couldn't think about what I was doing, how far I'd come or how little I'd done. Just doing it. 

There was the wall, white and bare. In front of my face. There was the wheelchair's armrest. The brakes were engaged. I was engaged in movement, my teeth so tight they might break.

But somehow, I was staring at the mirror again but at a different angle. What had come before? I couldn't really remember, just a blur of pain and vulgar grumbling. But my hands were on the resters of the wheels. I was in the wheelchair. All by myself. And Paulie was on the couch, still snoring away with his own pain.