PLAYBOY PRINCESS (gxg) ✓

07. Paris Young

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                "TASHA," SAID PARIS. "I AM SO GLAD YOU'RE HERE."

                 The girl looked to be about twelve or thirteen. Her eyes were sunken, downcast. Her glossy brown hair was tucked away in that pink beanie, and she looked away.

                 Paris's eyes flicked down to the chart. Acute myelogenous leukemia. 

                 Her heart clenched almost painfully, throbbing in her chest, when she realized that the glossy, cocoa-coloured hair was a wig.

                 Evelyn Tribeca said, "Thank you so much, Doctor Young. Thank you for taking her."

                 "It was the least I could do," Paris said.

                 Even if the board fired her, Tasha Tribeca would remain a patient. And that was worth it—this young girl was worth it.

                 Evelyn Tribeca kissed her daughter on the cheek, whispered something in her ear that made Tasha's shoulders tighten, and then she was off: speed walking towards her car in the heavy snow outside.

                 Tasha had become rigid.

                 "What did your mother say?" Paris asked, as she led Tasha towards her new room. Across the hall from Dhonielle—and Rory.

                 "She said I was a dirty fucking whore and that if I let anyone know I was a repulsive homosexual, they would throw me out of the hospital and I can be homeless."

                 The tone of Tasha's bleak voice hadn't even changed. She seemed entirely too calm, her steps stiff and slow.

                 Paris stumbled to a stop. "She said—she said what?"

                 "A dirty fucking—"

                 "No, I . . . I heard that part," Paris said.

                 Tasha had stopped, too. Frozen—she waited, entirely still.

                 Waiting—she was waiting.

                 If I let anyone know I was a repulsive homosexual, they would throw me out of the hospital and I can be homeless.

                 She was waiting for Paris to throw her out.

                 "No," Paris said. "No, why don't we . . . why don't I show you to your room?"

                 She was trembling with anger. With self-restrained fury.

                 Room 316, across the hall from Rory and Dhonielle, she let Tasha settle herself in.

                 Her hands shook as she asked, "Tasha . . . has your mom ever said anything like that before?"

                 There was a familiar nothingness in her eyes. A sharp chord of misery that hummed in tune to Paris.

                 "Yes," Tasha whispered bleakly. "Every day."

                 That was it. Paris couldn't take it.

                 Forcing a smile out, she said, "I'll see you for check-up soon, okay?"