Gia

Chapter 4 - Gia

The needle bit into the open cheek.

Torin kept his eyes on the ceiling tiles while the nurse worked. Thread pulled through torn skin. Skin tugged tight. Each stitch brought a brief, hot sting that spread across his face before fading into the deeper ache underneath. She wiped away the blood, taped the smaller cuts, and wrapped the swollen knee in a firm bandage. No questions at first. Just the quiet click of scissors, the rustle of gauze, and the sharp smell of antiseptic filling the small room.

When she finished, she stepped back and snapped off her gloves. They made a soft pop as they came free.

“How did this happen, Torin?" She asked softly. "I’ve treated you since the coma. You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

He looked at her face. For a second, it was as if his big sister was standing there again, the one who used to clean his room for him before everything went to shit.

“Nothing happened, Nurse Amy. Just tripped on the stairs.”

He forced the corners of his mouth up. The new stitches pulled tight across his cheek and burned.

She stared at him for a long moment. She knew, and of course she knew. The bruises were too deliberate, the cuts too deep and too clean to have come from a staircase. Her eyes moved briefly to his wrapped knee, then back to his face.

But she only sighed. She reached out and patted his head the way she always did, careful not to touch the bandage.

“Okay. Tell me if you need anything.”

He nodded.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Torin waited until the footsteps faded down the hall. Only then did he reach for the ledger on the side table. The cover was still sticky with dried blood from earlier. He wiped his thumb against it, then flipped it open to the tenant list.

Third floor. The Second floor. Names he already knew; his fingers moved quickly, turning pages until they stopped.

Gia.

Apartment 1C.

The most expensive unit in the whole building. Three bedrooms, a sea view, and a living room big enough to throw parties in. Three full months of rent overdue.

Not one fucking dollar paid. He stared at the zero under the payment column.

“Know your enemy,” he muttered, “and keep them close.”

The image from the lobby came back sharp: the officer’s hand resting on her shoulder, calling her sweetie, asking her to come live with daddy. Her bored little smile when she told him she wasn’t a child anymore.

Torin pulled the hospital tablet closer and opened Nutube. He typed the name he had seen on her door tag.

Giathecutie.

Her channel loaded. A soft pink banner filled the screen, scattered with little hearts and glittering graphics. Her profile picture showed the same smiling face from the lobby, though the makeup was heavier here, the lighting carefully arranged to make her skin look flawless.

Torin clicked the newest video.

The title read: “My father helped me with the crazy landlord.”

The thumbnail showed her sitting on a white couch, leaning toward the camera with a practiced smile. He hit play.

She was dressed for the camera rather than the room, talking quickly, her hands moving constantly as though she'd rehearsed the gestures. The camera sat slightly below eye level, making the framing more flattering. Every few seconds she adjusted her posture or glanced at her own image on the screen, checking how she looked.

“My dad’s a police officer, right? He just talked to the landlord and got him to wait on the rent. I’m working so hard on my own, guys. Content is expensive, but I’m grinding. Subscribe if you want to see more of the journey.”

She laughed at the end, a little too brightly.

The room behind her looked nothing like the expensive apartment listed in the ledger. A cheap ring light stood beside the couch. Two unopened delivery boxes were stacked against the wall. There was a coffee cup on the floor and a tangle of charging cables disappearing beneath the cushions.

Torin watched her keep talking, filling every silence before it could become awkward. She smiled whenever the camera caught her from a good angle and reached for the water bottle between sentences without ever quite looking away from the lens.

The desperation sat right beneath the makeup like sweat.

Torin watched until the video ended. Then he watched the one before it. And the one before that. The same pattern showed cleavage deep and on display every time she shifted. She bent at any unexpected moment for the camera to catch the full curve of her ass in short shorts.

He closed the tablet.

Outside the window, the city lights blurred against the glass. His cheek throbbed beneath the stitches, and the ledger lay open on his lap, Gia’s name still under his finger.

He swung his legs off the bed, waited for the dizziness to pass, then tested the injured knee. Pain flared, but the leg held. He pushed himself upright and stood, one hand gripping the edge of the bed until his balance settled. The hospital gown hung loose around him. He changed into the clothes the nurse had left folded on the chair—dark shirt, dark pants—and tucked the ledger securely under one arm.

The hallway was quiet. The night shift had settled into its usual rhythm, the nurses’ station glowing beneath harsh white lights while a monitor beeped somewhere behind the closed doors. Torin walked past without looking up, keeping his limp as steady as he could. He took the elevator down, stepped through the sliding doors, and disappeared into the night.

A cab dropped him two blocks from the building. Torin paid, stepped onto the pavement, and waited until the car pulled away before continuing. He limped the rest of the way, each step careful, his eyes fixed on the ground-floor windows ahead.

Apartment 1C sat at the far end of the corridor. Soft light leaked beneath the door. Music thumped low inside, the bass faintly vibrating through the hallway.

Torin stopped in front of it. Raised his fist.

And knocked.

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