A Sense of Wonder

As much as her life had been threatened, she never felt herself to be in any actual danger. She thought the individuals harassing her were nothing more than cowards hiding behind screens and letters, assholes who never intended to harm, only to unnerve. As such, their threats were never particularly alarming. Did she dwell on them from time to time? Of course she did. She would’ve been mad not to, but she didn’t allow them to overwhelm her. She didn’t spend her days sulking about or obsessing over whether or not someone might make an attempt against her. The threats, in her opinion, didn’t warrant such a reaction. They were nothing more than an irritating little nuisance, a constant in the life of anyone in politics. That was all they were to her. All they ever would be. At least, that’s what she’d been telling herself. She didn’t think she was important enough to go to jail over. It wasn’t like she was Dr. Tiller or any other high profile abortion provider or pro-choice advocate. She was barely starting out. She hadn’t even drafted any major legislation or secured funding for abortion clinics. She was simply voicing her support and her commitment to the cause, she was only saying what she would do if given the opportunity, but apparently that was enough.

Apparently, her assailant thought she was so dangerous that he didn’t even want to give her the chance to meaningfully contribute to the pro-choice cause. To have done so would’ve been unpardonable to him. He had to act fast. He had to stop the evil before it truly took hold, because killing a candidate was infinitely simpler than killing a United States Senator. That was why he showed up to that rally. That was why he buried the knife into her back. He was making things right. He was avenging Cassidy. He was atoning for his sins.

It was her fault that Cassidy wasn’t around anymore. It was her fault that his life had gone to shit. At the start of her campaign, he’d been a supporter. She was alright enough, he felt he could get behind most of her stances, and as for Cassidy – well, she thought Paulina was hella cool. She phone banked for her, she canvassed, she was seriously into the campaign, which was weird because she’d never really been overly political growing up, but she’d been following Paulina ever since the days of Prince Harry, so she was invested in seeing how things turned out for her. She was excited to see whether or not she’d make it to the Senate, but a few months into the campaign, she found out she was pregnant. Unable and unwilling to raise a child, they opted for an abortion. It was supposed to be a quick procedure, there weren’t supposed to be any complications, but there were. The staff did everything they could for her, but it was to no avail. That day Cassidy lost her life, and in his anger, in his maddening guilt, he sought someone to burden with the blame. And although he had never met her, although she had never met Cassidy, he assigned the blame to Paulina.

It was her fault that things had gone so horribly wrong.

It was her fault that he and Cassidy had gone to that fucking place.

It was all her fault.

All her fault.

He allowed himself to become consumed with rage. He thought only of atoning for his sins, for avenging the lives that had been lost. To that end, he joined so called Pro-Life movements, the majority of which were too moderate for him, but then he found one that was just right, one where likeminded zealots hid behind religion to police women’s bodies. It was there that his hatred grew. It was there that his resolved to act was strengthened, because it wasn’t just about Cassidy anymore, it was about all the unborn babies. His hatred was fed by those around him. They were individuals who had called in bomb threats to abortion clinics, who had harassed and terrorized the nurses and doctors that worked at the establishments, who belittled the women that went in. They were extremists, by all means terrorists, but such a word would never be used against them. They were a respectable Christian organization who fought to protect the rights of the unborn. They weren’t extremists. They were morally correct. It was in that atmosphere that his resolve transformed into a concrete plot.

And so on that warm day in November, he carried out his plan. Had he wanted to get it over with quickly, he would’ve taken a gun, but he didn’t want to gift her a quick death. After everything she put him through that would’ve been too kind. That was why he took the time to sharpen his favorite knife. He was going to make her bleed, he was going to make her drown in her own blood, to make her lay on the hard ground as helplessly as his Cassidy had lain in the operating room.

That was why he relished in that first stab. It went in smoothly. The blade easily penetrated her skin and sliced through the muscle. It had been manufactured for use on deer hide so human flesh posed no challenge. Had it not been for Paulina turning ever so slightly, the damage would have been far greater, it would’ve been enough to kill, but thankfully for her, she turned and the blade collided against her right shoulder. She felt when the blade struck her bone. It scraped against the scapula, forever marking it. The sensation caused Paulina to tense up. Her shoulders instinctively jerked back, reacting against the foreign object embedded against her right scapula, and her chest violently heaved upwards. Her body was positioned as though someone had just speared her in the lower back with a football helmet, and the pain – oh, the pain was worse than when she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her during freshman hell week. It was an immeasurable pain, infinitely worse than any she had ever before experienced, even that of the car accident, because as strange as it undoubtedly sounded, she hadn’t been entirely aware of that pain. Her body might have been suffering, her bones bruised and broken, but her mind had concerned itself with Theodora. Her mind thought only of the baby forming within her. It was so consumed with thoughts of her unborn child’s welfare that she wasn’t entirely aware of the hell her own body was going through, but now . . . now there was no Thea to think about. There was nothing of consequence to stray her thoughts from the blade. So her mind focused on the excruciating pain.

As she focused on her suffering, her assailant focused on his knife. He tried to make it go in deeper, foolishly thinking that if he just exerted enough force, the bone would break and he would be able to inflict further damage, but try as he did, the fucking thing wouldn’t budge. If he wanted to break the bone, he was going to have to stab her again with greater force, but to do so would limit him to one point of impact and he couldn’t do that. After all, he wasn’t there to break her bone. He was there to spill blood, to atone for his sins with her life, and so when he realized that the blade could delve no further, he gritted and yanked it out, releasing her blood with it. It oozed down her back, staining the once coral fabric, crimson.

Tears stung her eyes as she watched him in horror. Was this how she would die? Had she gone through all that trouble just to be killed on the campaign trail? That couldn’t be right. She’d sacrificed too much, come too far for it to end like that. She had uprooted herself from her home in California, abandoned the sunshine for fucking horrible weather. She had left behind her family and loved ones, she had subjected herself to homesickness and loneliness. She had pushed herself to the brink of exhaustion. She had done so in pursuit of her dreams. She had done so to become a United States Senator. That was her life’s dream, her greatest ambition, but it was in danger. Some man that she had never met was forcibly taking it from her. He was attempting to put an end to her dreams, to put an end to her life.

And she didn’t know what to do.

That fight or flight bullshit wasn’t happening. She wasn’t running for her life. She wasn’t defending it. She was just sort of standing there, paralyzed by fear. She should’ve listened to Anne and Michael, she should’ve gotten those damn bodyguards when they told her, but she had been stubborn. She had refused to appear shaken by the threats, she had refused to take them seriously, because in her mind, no one would ever hurt her. She was far too high profile for that, her vanity had blinded her to the possibility, and now she was paying the price for it.

Now she was standing in that crowd with blood oozing down her back, now she was watching as that man raised his blade into the air, and as scared as she was, as confused and distressed as she felt, she didn’t act. She didn’t plead for her life, she didn’t try to run, she just stood there, and when she saw her blood glistening on that blade, when death became very much real to her, she didn’t think of her family or her dreams, she didn’t think about her political ambitions or her sacrifices, she thought only of him. Her heart broke when she imagined how he’d take the news. He had told her all along that she needed to take the threats seriously, he had urged her to at least take on one bodyguard, but she had brushed it off. She told him he was just being an overly paranoid Kennedy, but he’d been right all along. He’d had her best interest at heart like he always did. He loved her and he wanted to make sure she was safe. He loved her and she loved him.

It was that love that spurred her into action. She refused to die without telling him how she felt. Their love deserved to be acknowledged. It deserved to be experienced and it if ended in heartbreak, then so be it. She was willing to subject herself to that, she was willing to spend long nights crying over him, but she was not willing to die without having kissed his lips one last time. She refused to go to the grave with that regret.

And so, with renewed purpose and determination, she faced her attacker. Her eyes might’ve been flooding with tears, but there was no longer a look of helpless on her face. Her features had hardened. They were ready for battle. The change in her appearance was so drastic that it momentarily unsettled her attacker. He didn’t expect her to put up a fight. He’d expected her to try to make a run for it or plead for her life, but there she was, staring him down. He could tell she was scared, fear lingered in her eyes, but there was far more rage in them. He had forced her into action and despite being wounded, she would defend herself.

“Go on then!” she found herself bellowing. “Do what you came here for! Or are you too much of a coward to finish what you started?”

Where she found the nerve to taunt him like that, she didn’t know, but there was something within her that urged her on, because if he was going to come at her with a blade, then she was going to attack his masculinity, she was going to mess with his head and hopefully that would fluster him, hopefully that would distract him long enough for the police to arrive.

Had he heard what she said, he would’ve responded with an insult, but he had trained himself to tune out the outside world. He didn’t hear the crowd screaming or the people crying, he didn’t hear the police shouting as they ran towards them. He was completely and utterly unaware of all that. All he knew was what his time was limited and that one stab wouldn’t be enough to kill her. It wouldn’t even be enough to hospitalize. So knowing that he had to maximize his damage, he drove the knife downward, hoping to make as many points of impact as possible. He no longer cared about carving out her heart or puncturing her lung, he would settle for her simply hemorrhaging to death, but when he lowered that knife, he wasn’t quick enough, because despite her weakened condition, Paulina blocked it. With her left hand, she firmly grasped the exposed part of the handle. It wasn’t enough for her to completely latch onto, her thumb and index finger actually ended up wrapping around the blade, but she didn’t let go. To do so would’ve been to submit to death and she refused to go easily. So she gritted her teeth and bore her pain. She held it tight as her right hand latched onto her attacker’s wrist. She had a handle on him, it might not have been enough to overpower, but it was at least enough to put up a fight.

Her arms trembled as she struggled to keep the knife at bay. She wasn’t fit to be fighting like that. Someone should’ve gone to her rescue. Where the fuck were the cops? Where were the event coordinators? Why wasn’t there some random supporter coming to help here? And where the hell was Jeffrey? He was her personal assistant. It was his duty to have her back. And perhaps that didn’t entail his placing himself in life threatening situations, but he could’ve at least shoved her attacker or thrown something at him. He had water bottles in his messenger bag. One of those to the head would’ve put an end to everything, but he didn’t come to her aid. He couldn’t. The moment the knife came out, the crowd went wild and people started running. He found himself being forcefully moved away from the situation and when he finally got his footing again, he was moving against the current.

But she didn’t know that.

She just knew that she was alone in the fight for her life, and when that asshole added his other hand to the mix, she found herself losing ground. She couldn’t hold him off any longer, he was just too strong, and as much as she hated feeling week, her hands began to give way. They buckled under his force, they caved and that blade came ever closer, that bloodstained blade came down to eye level and then suddenly . . . suddenly it made contact. Right below the corner of her left eye, the blade collided against her cheekbone, it sliced through the flesh and was then dragged downwards, exposing her muscle and nerves, exposing the bone that should’ve never seen the light of day. He carved her face, he created a hideous gash that would’ve reached her lips had it not been for her instinct taking over. Her hands had failed her, but her knee would not, and with that blade carving her face, she kneed him in the groin as forcefully as she could, she kneed him so hard that he let go of the blade and doubled over.

With blood running down her face and with salty tears spilling into the opened wound, she yanked the knife out of her face and cast it aside. She no longer trembled from fear, but instead out of anger. Her face. Her fucking face. What kind of sick bastard would mutilate someone like that? What kind of human filth would do that? Her face was what millions of people saw. It was plastered on billboards, it was on posters, on shirts and pamphlets. Her face was as important as her mind, and that bastard had just disfigured it. That bastard had carved it wide open. He had just ruined one of her most important assets and she didn’t care if anyone thought she was vain, she didn’t care if anyone called her superficial – that, was crossing the line.

Her Balcázar pride refused to stand idly by. It didn’t care if there were cameras everywhere. It didn’t give a fuck if her actions cost her the election. At that moment, her pride overpowered her better judgment and silenced her common sense. The only thoughts it permitted were the ones that coincided with its agenda. Her pride wanted blood, and blood it would have. She was going to disfigure him. She was going to grab that blade and carve out an unsettling smile on his face. That’s what her pride demanded, because if he had mutilated her, then it was only fair that she do the same, because she didn’t think he’s suffer enough going through the justice system. Whatever sentence he received wouldn’t satisfy her. That was why her pride masked the pain from her three injuries. It refused to acknowledge it, because to do so would keep her from acting out. So it fed her hatred, it caused her temper to flare and her blood to boil, but thankfully for her and her political career, Jeffrey arrived before she had the chance to act. He forced her off to the side as the police descended upon the attacker.

Unsure as to what to do from there, he did the only thing he could think of. He loosened his tie and then quickly proceeded to unbutton his dress shirt. As soon as the top two buttons were undone, he pealed the striped shirt over his head and balled it up so that he could cover his candidate’s bleeding face. He had never taken any first response training, but he had watched enough shows to know that stopping the bleeding was crucial.

“I’m so sorry . . .” he whispered as he held his shirt in place. “I should’ve stayed closer. I should’ve –”

“Shut up!” she snapped. “Just shut up and let me go. I have to make that son of a bitch pay. He’s gonna know what happens when you fuck with a Balcázar.”

“Don’t talk like that.” His hand trembled as he spoke. They were stained with her blood. “Someone’ll hear.”

“I don’t care!” She smacked his hand, trying to rid herself of him, but he remained firm. “You better let me go right now or else you’re –”

“Enough!” he snapped. “If anyone hears you talking like this. You’ll be done. Now be quiet. We need to stop the bleeding. Okay? We need to make it stop, so just . . . just shut up.” He took in a shaky breath. “I know you’re angry right now, Ma’am. I can see it in your eyes. They’ve got this look to them that honestly scares me a little. And I get that you want to handle things on your own terms. I really do. The thing is though, you can’t. If you do, that coward’s going to win. He’ll keep you from being elected, and you can’t give him the satisfaction. You can’t play into this. You have to be better than him. Please, Ma’am.”

He prepared himself to be told off for talking to her like that. He was just her assistant, he shouldn’t been so frank, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t just watch her ruin everything she had worked so hard for. So he risked his position and ambitions. He put himself on the line and tried to prepare himself to be lashed out at, but instead of screaming, she simply slapped his hand away and gained possession of his shirt. She held it to her face.

“He stabbed me in the back.” She told him as the tears streamed down her face. “Apply pressure.”

He didn’t even bother taking off his undershirt. He simply pressed his right hand atop the stab wound and then rested his left one atop it. Her blood didn’t bother him. He didn’t care that it was getting under his finger nails. He simply applied pressure.

Paulina choked back a sob when he pressed his hands against her shoulder. For a moment she didn’t dare breathe, let alone talk. It was too much. Such pain was unbearable. What was she supposed to do? Breathe through it? She had been stabbed in the back, the left side of her face was cut open along her cheekbone, and her index finger and thumb had literally been cut to the bone. She needed to go to the hospital. Her wounds needed to be cleaned, they needed to be sewn up, and had a feeling she might need a blood transfusion. The best thing she could do for her wellbeing was to get on the campaign bus and receive medical attention, but just as she was getting ready to say that, she suddenly found herself thinking of Theodore Roosevelt. He had been shot in the chest during a campaign stop, but instead of going to the doctor, he stood firm and delivered a ninety minute speech. He had defied his attacker, shown that he was not a man to be fucked with, and at the thought of him, Paulina suddenly felt cowardly. She couldn’t go to the hospital without giving a speech. It wouldn’t be right, which was why despite the excruciating pain, she made her way onto the stage.

Jeffrey opposed the idea, told her she was mad. He didn’t understand why she would risk her wellbeing. Her life was more important than addressing an audience. After all, it wasn’t like she was standing them up. They saw what had happened. They saw her get attacked. So there was no doubt in his mind that they would understand why she had to leave, but she was headstrong. She was going to get up on that stage and say a little something. So despite the pain, she pushed her shoulders back and held her head high. She refused to take the stage looking like a beaten wretch. She would keep her dignity.

The moment Anne realized what was happening, she ran down the stairs to attempt to reason with her candidate. She counseled her against speaking, insisted that the priority was getting her to a hospital – that that was all that mattered at present, but Paulina would not be reasoned with. She didn’t engage Anne in conversation. She couldn’t. If she did, she’d start crying and apologize for not having taken her advice sooner. Unwilling to do that to herself, she instead narrowed her eyes and shook her head slightly. That was the only response Anne received from Paulina. The only one that Michael got out of her as well.

When Paulina reached the microphone, she didn’t burst into an awe inspiriting speech as she had imagined. She actually just sort of there in silence, utterly terrified and unable to speak. What should she say? How should she say it? And would people even understand her? The entire left side of her face was out of order. She couldn’t smile, her features couldn’t express emotion on that side of her face, and perhaps to some that might not have seemed like a big deal, but Paulina was very expressive when she spoke. Her features played as important a role in conveying her message as her words did. She relied on them heavily and as she stood on that stage, she was suddenly struck with the thought that maybe she would never be as good as she’d once been. That her days of being a charismatic candidate were behind her. That thought almost stung as much as the blade had. It forced her to panic, to seriously consider just making a run for the bus, but her pride stepped in before she did so.

“I . . . I apologize for the disturbance,” she began, somewhat shaky. Her voice was soft. She didn’t have it in her to project as she normally did. She had to be considerate of herself, try to minimize the pain, but even then, there were still tears in her eyes, there was still blood oozing. “But apparently this is what happens to women who speak their minds. This is the violence we are subjected to.” Her nostrils flared as anger coursed through her. “But you know what? I don’t care if my voice makes them uncomfortable. We are entitled to our beliefs. Just as they are entitled to theirs. The difference is that the Pro-Choice movement doesn’t go around harassing and intimating the supposed Pro-Life movement into disbanding. They claim to protect the sanctity of life, but how many clinics have they blown up? How many abortion providers have they killed? And how many people have they injured?” There was an edge in her voice that gripped the audience. “They claim to Pro-Life, yet their movement is drenched in blood. They bomb. They kill. They intimidate. They use violence to achieve their political objectives. They make people confront their mortality, they make them bleed, and a lot of the time, that’s enough to silence. But I refuse to be silenced. If they want my blood, then so be it.” Her voice grew steadily louder. “I will bleed. I will fight. I will do everything in my power to ensure that our reproductive rights are not infringed upon, because I will not stand to see another woman taken by the coat hanger. Not while there’s breath in my body!” It was then that the crowd went wild. They erupted in applause. They were determined to demonstrate their commitment to her. “Thank you,” she said, her voice returning to its softer form. “Thank you so much. I wish I could stay and deliver the speech I prepared for you, but I have to see a doctor. If you’ll excuse me.”

No one swarmed her as she made her way back onto the bus. They didn’t try to touch her, didn’t try to get an autograph or a picture. They simply stood at a respectable distance from her, about a foot or so away. There were some who clapped as she walked by, others who stared at her with pity, and some who shouted encouraging words.

To them she offered no smiles or kind words. Her features could not express her gratitude, not in the usual way, so it was up to her eyes to express it. It was up to them to display her immeasurable gratitude, but despite wanting to, she just wasn’t up for it. She couldn’t look at the crowd, not without risking a full on break down. If she acknowledged their kindness, if she allowed it to affect her, then she would be a sobbing mess, and she couldn’t afford that. Even in her present state, she couldn’t allow that to happen. So she walked as quickly as she could, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the bus and the moment she stepped inside, she told the driver to take her to the Kaiser’s West Los Angeles Medical Center.

After that, she took off in a run to the conference room. Jeffrey tried to keep up, he had to maintain pressure on her shoulder, but she didn’t let him into the room. She locked the door and try as her staff did to reason with her, she admitted no one. She had to be alone, had to think things over. When she went in there, she thought she was going to use the time to calm down, to call her parents and let them know she was okay, but the moment she was alone, her anger consumed her. She went into full on hysterics. She screamed at the top of her lungs, her pain only intensified by the use of the left side of her face, and when screaming was no longer enough, she started turning things over and breaking whatever she could lift. She destroyed the conference room, the only thing that survived was the table, and that was because it was bolted down.

Realizing that there was nothing he could physically do for Paulina at present, Jeffrey opted to go into damage control mode He took out his phone, which had her parents’ numbers programmed in them. Paulina had added them just in case there was ever an emergency, and since that was the case, Jeffrey dialed her mother’s number and proceeded to tell Irmalinda everything that had happened. Irmalinda remained strangely composed while Jeffrey filled her in on what had occurred. It was her maternal instincts kicking in, she needed to know how her daughter was, where she was going, and she had to get there as soon as humanly possible. That was why the moment she hung up the phone, she called her husband at work. Ricardo had been in the middle of doing some welding when he received the call from his wife. He heard his name announced over the PA system, it was his supervisor calling him. He thought that he was going to be asked to stay a few extra hours, that some overtime would be thrown his way, but when he arrived in the office and saw his supervisor’s grim expression, he knew something was wrong. At first, he thought he was being let go, which filled him with an immense sense of helplessness. He had been with the company for over thirty-two years, he had always imagined that he would retire with them. So the thought of having to start over at such an advanced age, terrified him, but his supervisor quickly assured him that that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t being let go. His job was secure.

“Then what happen?” he asked, confused as to why he’d been called in.

“Irma called.” The supervisor. He was uncomfortable delivering such news. “She called and said . . . well, she said an attempt was made against Paulina.”

“That’s no true!”

“It is, unfortunately.”

“Mi niña (my little girl) . . .”

In the twenty years that he had been working with Ricardo that was the first time he ever saw him on the verge of tears.

“Take the rest of the day, Ricardo.” He told him. “Your wife said Paulina was alive and that she was being transported to Kaiser’s West LA Medical Center. I asked for the directions, but she said you’d know how to get there.”

“I do.”

“Then go look after your child.”

As Ricardo rushed to leave work, Paulina continued destroying the conference room. She was almost done breaking everything she could get her hands on. The only thing left intact was the table, but she gave it hell, she tried flipping it over, she tried punching it with her good hand. She wore herself out trying to break the damn thing, but it ultimately bested her. The table refused to be broken, the chairs might’ve given way, just like everything else in there, but the table would not give into her anger. That was ultimately what calmed her down. Somehow in her mind she made a connection between herself and the table, and instead of continuing to pound at it with her fist, she instead collapsed atop it.

The tears fell freely as she rested the right side of her face against the wood. Her tears no longer fell from anger. They instead sprang from a place of regret. Had she simply followed Anne and Michael’s advice, her suffering could’ve been avoided. There would’ve been two men devoted entirely to her safety, two men that would’ve stopped any attempt against her life, but she hadn’t listened to them. She had been a stubborn bitch who was determined to not appear weak, and it was because of her foolish pride that she now had a face that she dared not look at, that she had a back that had been violently opened.

“What am I gonna do?” she whispered as she cried. “This is so fucked . . .”

She remained sprawled across the table until the bus pulled up in front of the emergency room entrance. When she felt that they were no longer moving, she slowly peeled herself off the table and made her way over to the door. She hesitated a moment before opening it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to face the outside world. Perhaps a doctor could come to her, perhaps she could remain unseen within the campaign bus for a little longer. It was an impractical idea, but at that moment, it was a comforting thought. She just wasn’t ready to deal with what had happened to her, crying and throwing a fit was easy enough, but actually moving on and examining what happened was incredibly daunting. That was why she stood motionless at the door for several minutes. That was why she didn’t open it until she heard Michael softly imploring her to do so.

“Please come out,” her implored. “Or if you can’t, then just say you can’t and I’ll find a way to knock down this door, but please just say something. I can’t afford another Bobby. I can’t.” He’d been seventeen when his cousin Bobby was assassinated. He had been part of the entourage that went through the kitchen at The Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. He had witnessed his cousin being shot, and the attempt on Paulina brought back all those feelings. “Please, please Paulina . . .”

“I’m here,” she croaked out as she set upon opening the door. She had a little trouble with the lock, but eventually managed to open it. When she did, she found herself face to face with Michael. “And I’m sorry, Michael. I should have never doubted you.”

“Quiet now.” He told her. “This is no time for that. We have to get you inside. We need to –”

She took her hand in his. “Just let me talk, Michael. It’s not often I admit I’m wrong, so just let me. Will you?” She waited until he nodded. “I was a fool not to listen to you. A damn fool. I should’ve just emerged from backstage. I should’ve taken the necessary precautions, but I was too stubborn to listen when I should have. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not listening. I’m sorry for being such a fucking idiot. It nearly cost me my . . .”

“That’s enough,” he said, sharply. “You’re alive and that’s what matters. Now let’s get you taken care of. Do you have your medical card?”

“Jeffrey has it,” she replied. “He’s got my wallet and everything.”

“Alright then,” said Michael. “He’ll just have to come with us then.”

“You don’t have to waste your time in there.” Paulina quickly told him. “We’re gonna be slammed today. This is all anyone’s gonna talk about. It’ll even take precedence over the presidential election. So you have to stay here. You and Anne have to mind the campaign. I’ll be alright.”

“As your campaign manager, I’ll ensure everything runs smoothly.” Anne spoke up. “But as your Special Assistant, its Michael duty to see that you’re well looked after.”

“Anne –” Paulina began to protest.

“Save your breath.” Anne cut her off. “Now go get better.”

Since no one had informed the press of where they were going, there were no reporters lingering outside the emergency room. The entrance was pretty much deserted, there were only a few people talking on their phones, and they were far too invested in their conversations to see the bloodied candidate walking by them. Paulina was relieved to not be bothered on the way in and even where she was inside, no one went up to her or even took out their phones to snap pictures. It wasn’t because they weren’t looking at her, they were. They just didn’t recognize her. Half her face remained hidden behind Jeffrey’s shirt, the other half was smeared with blood and there was hair sticking to it. She was a frightful sight, but she was by no means familiar to them. Not even the nurse recognized her at first, but then she saw the name on the medical card, and her eyes went wide. She knew Paulina, she’d seen her ads on TV and in print, she had even voted for her in the primary, so to see her show up at the check-in station looking like that was a huge shock. It was quite some time before she fully recovered, and when she did, she ushered Paulina in.

She led her into an examination room, and once inside, assisted her in changing into a medical gown. Under most circumstances, the nurse wouldn’t have bothered with the gown. It wouldn’t have been necessary, but since the dress was stained with blood, it was a hygienic issue. Paulina had to change into something sterile, something that would allow the doctor to thoroughly conduct their examination. That was why the nurse helped Paulina get out of the dress, why the nurse unhooked the bra and placed it in a clear bag with the dress. She then carefully helped Paulina get the gown on. She didn’t trouble herself with tying the top of it, the doctor was going to have to see the patients back, so she only buttoned the one that covered the lower back, and when she was done, she helped Paulina sit down.

The doctor arrived shortly thereafter. She thoroughly examined the three points of impact, lingering longer in the face than she did on the hand or back. The hand would easily be cleaned and stitched up, the same went for the back, but the blade had cut into Paulina’s cheek. It had literally exposed part of the cheekbone and there would undoubtedly be lasting nerve damage there, there would have to be follow up visits to, but at present, the doctor would concern herself solely with sterilizing the wounds and stitching them.

“When we’re done with the stitches, we’ll go ahead and get you admitted into a room for the night.”

“I can’t spend the night.” Paulina argued. “Just stitch me up.”

“How about we revisit this conversation after we get you cleaned up?” The Doctor wasn’t going to change her mind. She was just trying to avoid a pointless back and forth. No matter what, Paulina was going to be admitted for the night. “That okay?” she waited until Paulina nodded. “Now we can focus on getting you better. Before I begin, I’m going to administer morphine to ease the pain.”

“Don’t.”

“What was that?”

“No morphine.”

“Are you allergic? Your medical records didn’t say anything regarding a morphine allergy.”

“I’m not,” replied Paulina. “I’d just rather not have it.”

“As your doctor, I must advise against that.”

“Just give me a rolled up towel and when we’re done, I’ll take a milder painkiller.”

“Miss Balcázar, you do understand that anything you tell me during your stay in this hospital, will be entirely confidential. I want you to know that I won’t betray your trust. Whatever you say under the influence of morphine will –”

“I appreciate that, but I’d rather not take it.” She took a deep breath. “Now if you don’t mind, could you please have one of the nurses update my aides on the situation?”

“Of course,” the Doctor replied. “If you like, we could even arrange for one of them to be here with you.”

“That’s quite a generous offer, but it must be declined. I’d rather it just be you that sees me like this.” She grimaced as she shifted in her seat. “Now about that towel . . .”