The One That Got Away

Chris shrugged. “Sure, go ahead,” he said turning to the Teen Wolf stand and looking around pointedly.

Enzo hustled Monique away and then whirled to face her. “Are you okay?” he asked for maybe the ninetieth time that day. Monique rolled her eyes. And sighed.

“I ran into my ex-husband or husband since technically he never really signed the divorce papers; and he’s here at comic con, the last place on earth I expected to find a jock like him. And, he’s friends with the guy who invited us in the first place. How do you think I’m feelin?” she asked Enzo, her voice thick with sarcasm. Enzo just stared at her and then he kind of leaped forward, threw his arms around her and hugged her really tight. It was awkward.

“Enzo? Let go of me? I’m fine,” she breathed into his neck. He loosened his hold a bit but didn’t let go.

“We could leave right now,” he proposed.

“Yes, we could. But I don’t really want to. Chris is right. I gotta look that man in the eye sometime; might as well be now.”

“I’ll be right here with you,” Enzo said releasing her to look into her eyes as his hands supported her by her shoulders.

Monique smiled, “You’re a good friend Enzo.”

“I know,” he replied. “What do you want to do right now though?”

“I wanna go to my room and get drunk,” Monique said.

“Okay lets-“ Morgan began.

“Alone,” Monique interrupted.

“Right. I’ll be in the Supernatural Saturday Night Karaoke if you need me.”

“Awesome.”

*****

Monique was arguing with the nurse, “Do you have to shave it? C’mon, is that really necessary…” when the curtain parted and her head jerked up (ow) to see a face she’d give considerably more than a handful of her hair to not have here. She didn’t need Enzo to see her like this.

“Oh God,” Enzo said mournfully and stepped into the treatment area, hands on his hips like he was her dad. She loved Enzo but he could be really judgmental on occasion. And finding her in the convention health center because she got drunk, passed out and puked all over herself and hit her head so hard on the porcelain bowl of the toilet that she had an open wound… It was mortifying and pathetic and Monique wished she’d died.

She sighed, hands tightening on the gurney’s metal edge. “I told them not to call you.”

“What?” He’d known her since she was a fresh faced recruit, closed off and snappy; all attitude and clapbacks…He knew how much she hated looking weak —still managed to look shocked and hurt. “Why would you do that?”

“I need you to lie down,” the nurse said, tapping her shoulder and Monique had just about enough. The bleeding had all but stopped, the wound was fu*king tiny and yeah, she was a little concussed, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle on her own, in her own room, with her own first aid kit and a healthy slug of Jack or Jim or whatever was lying around in the Honor Bar. And she wouldn’t have a bald spot.

“Hey, look,” she said, ducking away from the nurse’s urging hands. “I’m fine. I am just great. I don’t want any stitches.”

“Don’t be silly,” the nurse said in approximately the same tone that Oliver used to say Don’t be a dumbass, Monique. Monique shivered and shoved Oliver out of her mind. “You need to get that cut closed up.”

She reached for her again and Monique flinched away a second time, going so far as to hop off the gurney. The room pirouetted a little but she had faked it before, locking her knees and standing firm. “No, seriously. I’m going to be just fine.”

She flapped a hand at Enzo, inspired by a notion. “He’ll take care of me.”

Enzo was quick to nod, which made Monique feel like a sh*t and about a hundred years old but if it got her out of here, she would deal. “Oh, yes,” Enzo said and he sounded so heartfelt and earnest that Monique was torn between wincing and rolling her eyes.

When did she get so cynical anyway?

Maybe when you let that bi*ch Felicity drive you away from the love of your life, a voice suggests snidely from the back of her mind. Or maybe it was when you left Oliver, after promising him forever, Momo my girl, a second voice chimed in.

The nurse was shaking her head. “Can’t just let you go,” she said. “Doctor’s got to sign you out.”

“That’s fine,” Monique said agreeably and the nurse huffed and rolled her eyes.

When she had gone, Enzo immediately advanced on Monique, hands coming out to touch. Monique maneuvered uncomfortably away from him, with considerably more difficulty than with the nurse. “Jesus, Monique, what the hell happened? Are you okay? Are you sure you shouldn’t…?” He gestured at her head.

“What, they didn’t tell you when they called?” Monique opened the clear plastic bag of her assorted belongings and pulled out her tee-shirt. There was only a little blood blotching the back of the collar, nothing worrying. Monique gritted her teeth and tried to remember this was her own fault. She had known her alcohol capacity when she proceeded to drown her sorrows in the fruity version of vodka she’d ordered up. Apparently having a lemon flavor didn’t make the alcohol any less potent.

“Well, yes…no…not really,” Enzo stammered. When she shrugged off the hospital gown, Monique saw (felt) Enzo’s brown eyes skim over her chest and stomach. She was wearing a spandex vest but still fought the urge to turn her back or use the shirt as a shield.

“They left a message on my phone–you’re okay, you’ve had an accident, could I please call the convention medical center.” His eyes are stricken and huge. “I was worried, so I just came instead.”

“Huh.” Monique grunted. The bruises on her shoulders from banging into the floor throbbed as she raised her arms over her head. The next few days were going to be interesting. “From the way they made it sound, I thought they’d talked to someb…”

“Monique? Monique?“

“Sir. Sir, I told you…”

Monique didn’t think it was possible for something not-supernatural to raise all the hair on her body and cover her in goose bumps but the raw sort-of panicky note of Oliver’s voice cutting drill sergeant loud over the clinic noises managed to do it. Monique pushed past Enzo like the man wasn’t there and went to the curtained flap. “Oliver?”