Girl in Pieces

When I’m done, when my body gets that worn, washed-out feeling from crying too much, I get up and stumble back down the too-bright hall to the nurses’ station. Vinnie was right, my scars itch horribly.

The outside of me is on fire and the inside of me is empty, empty. I can’t cut, but I need something taken away from me, I need relief.

Vinnie gives me the gold smile from behind the nurses’ station. All of the nurses have photographs pinned to the cubicle wall behind the desk. Kids, tons of them, chubby ones, skinny ones, unsmiling teenagers, and dogs, lots of dog pictures. Vinnie’s girls, they must be the ones in the frilly white dresses, with the dark, dark hair, just like his.

I point to my own hair, that awful nest. Just smelling it makes me feel sick, all of a sudden. I want it all gone, that last bit of being outside.

“Off,” I say hoarsely.

Vinnie holds up his hands. “Nah, nah. You wait till you earn your Day Pass, girl. Then you go out with the others, go to Supercuts or something. I’m not touching no girl’s hair.”

I pound my fist on the counter, lean in. “Now. Has to be now.”

“Puta madre,” he says under his breath.

He jerks his fingers to the Care room. “Come, come. And don’t cry, neither. There’s only one way with hair like that.”