Page 28 of No Take Backs
“Go away,” I manage to groan, the words catching in my throat and turning into a harsh, gurgling cough that sends sharp spikes of pain shooting through my chest. The sound is pitiful, more of a plea than a command, but I’m too exhausted to care. My throat feels raw, scorched by the smoke I inhaled in the fire, and every attempt to speak only makes it worse. I can’t help but curse my body’s betrayal, wishing I could just tell her to leave me alone and let me sleep.
Even while I’m cursing my mother's voice, I don't open my eyes. While they’re closed, I can pretend that she isn't sitting in the emergency room, no doubt right next to my bed.
But of course, she doesn’t leave me alone. She never does. Instead, she leans closer, her presence suffocating, and pries one of my eyes open with practiced ease. The sudden burst of light from her penlight is blinding, cutting through the darkness I’ve been clinging to. I wince, trying to pull away, but her grip is firm, unyielding. The light pierces straight to my brain, intensifying the pounding headache that’s already making it hard to think.
"What the hell, Mom?" I lean as far away from her as I can, opening both eyes so that I can properly glare at her.
There she is, in the dark-red scrubs that I got her for her birthday last year. The ones that cost more than I used to make in a week, but they are her favorite brand and she says they are the most comfortable thing she's ever put her ass in. And she is staring down at me with tears in her eyes.
"Why are you crying?" I groan again pitifully as I sit up. "Did someone step on your shoes again?"
"No, you insolent child." She smiles and reaches over to brush my hair out of my face. My very dirty hair that is usually the exact same shade as hers. "I'm crying because I walked into my emergency room only to be told that my youngest daughter thought it would be a great idea to run into a burning building when her job is specifically not to put herself in danger like this.”
In that moment, I wish more than anything that I really was unconscious. Then she wouldn’t be able to give me shit about it. Instead, I try to come up with a reason for what I did that will keep her from climbing down my throat and ripping out my heart like I know she wants to.
"I was there." I settle on the truth. "And there was a three-year-old inside the house with her mother who was unconscious."
Mom pats my head gently, the way she used to when I was a little girl, trying to soothe me after a fall or a scrape or even a bad dream. But there’s a gravity to her touch now, a weight of unspoken fear and disappointment.
“I don’t care,” she says, her voice solemn, leaving no room for argument. “You’re not to do that again. You’re not a hero, Virginia. You’re not supposed to put your life in danger to save someone else’s.” Her words are measured, deliberate, each one hitting like a hammer to the chest and nailing home her point. “You went in there without the proper equipment. And you could have died. The world wouldn’t shine nearly as bright if you were taken from it. And I wouldn’t survive losing you, my precious girl.” The finality in her tone is like a slap in the face, and I can’t help but flinch, the reality of what I did sinking in all over again.
I’m not going to be able to get anywhere with her. Not Doctor Liberty Davidson. When she makes up her mind about something, there is no changing it.
Especially when she knows that she’s right.
Like now.
“How’s Gino?” I ask, my voice tinged with worry and fear as I glance over at the curtain that separates my bed from the rest of the ER and the other patients.
The memory of the ceiling coming down, of Gino throwing himself on top of me to shield me from the debris, is still fresh in my mind. The impact, the suffocating weight, the panic that surged through me in those moments all comes rushing back, and I can’t help the knot of dread that tightens in my stomach.
“Is he okay?” I ask again when she doesn’t answer immediately. I need to hear that he’s alright, that he didn’t suffer because of me, because of my decision to go into that house. The guilt gnaws at me, relentless and unforgiving.
"He's doing better than you." Mom’s voice softens just a fraction. There’s a sniffle that follows, and I can tell she’s trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over earlier.
"Don't let her lie to you," Gino calls out loudly. "I expect lots and lots of food from your sister as payback for saving your life, newbie. Nothing else is going to make up for this.”
Mom opens the curtain, revealing Gino sitting up in the bed next to mine, a tired but genuine smile on his face. He’s still wearing half of his bunker gear, the heavy fabric stained with soot and ash, while the rest of it lies in a heap at the foot of his bed.
He looks like he’s been through hell, but the sight of him upright and grinning at me fills me with a sense of relief so profound I almost want to cry.
Instead, I manage a small smile, one that I hope conveys the gratitude and affection I feel for him in that moment.
He really did save my life.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "It means a lot that you did that."
He winks, then coughs loudly, drawing my mother's attention. "Dr. Davidson, I was wondering if I could get something to drink. Something about being in the fire dehydrates me, ya know?" He coughs dramatically again, and I decide right then and there that he is the absolute best.
My mother takes one final look at me, clearly announcing that I’m not done hearing about her displeasure at what I’ve done, and she walks away.
"I mean it." Gino lowers his voice but doesn’t lose the smile. "Lots and lots of food. My momma's Italian, so you know I can eat."
I nod. "Got it. Ella loves me. She'll load you up for a month if I ask her to." She will, too, as soon as she hears that Gino saved my ass.
"Good."
He can't say anything else because in the next instant the ER is a flurry of activity. None of it necessarily bad, per se. But the arrival of a half dozen firefighters in full bunker gear will do that to a room full of nurses and doctors, and even patients who want to see what is going on.