The Crash

Chapter 17

17

I don’t sleep well.

That’s no surprise. It would be far more surprising if I did sleep well. Between the baby doing gymnastics in my belly and my injured left ankle, I basically just drift off for an hour at a time, then I jolt awake, squirming in agony. I can almost feel the bags under my eyes.

And every time I dream, I dream of Simon. After retrieving that memory, it’s all I can think of, especially at night. I dream of lying in a bed, just as helpless as I am now, and begging him to stop.

Please. Please, no. Please get off. Please…

But in my dream, he never listens. And in real life, he didn’t listen either. I have the proof of that growing inside me.

I wish I hadn’t remembered. I was happier before I knew. Sure, I was having nightmares, but they would have gone away with time. Now I’m haunted by what he did to me. And the fact that Jackson didn’t even believe it.

Will anyone believe me? As Simon pointed out, I have no proof it wasn’t consensual sex.

But I have to do something. I can’t let him get away with it. I can’t let him do this to another girl if there’s a chance I can stop it.

I almost took the two pills on my nightstand about a hundred times last night. I was that desperate. But I resisted. Those two little white tablets are still lying there. I’m proud of myself. One day, I’m going to tell Tuna about how I went through an entire night with a broken ankle and no pain medication and no night-light—just for her.

But now it’s morning—I can tell by the tiny bit of sunlight peeking through the snow-covered windows close to the ceiling. And there’s another piece of good news. When I press the controls for the bed, it moves. And that means the power is back on. It also means I’m getting out of here.

“Hello!” Polly sings out as she flicks on the basement lights and descends the stairs. I don’t know why she is so damn chipper, but I don’t care anymore. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” I manage. My mouth feels painfully dry, but there is one physiological urge that is overwhelming all the others. “Can you give me the bedpan please?”

My bladder is about to burst. Well, maybe not burst, but I am definitely one sneeze away from soiling myself.

My leg is pulsing with pain as Polly helps me shift to get the bedpan underneath me. The last time I used it, I waited until she left the room, but the second the bedpan is in position, I let go. I can’t hold it one more second.

Polly disappears into the bathroom to give me some privacy, and then she comes out to take the bedpan and empty it. She is humming to herself the whole time. As she reaches behind her head to smooth out her braid, I notice the bruise on her wrist has now turned a vivid scarlet.

“So should we call 911 then?” I ask her.

I hadn’t realized in the candlelight last night how many freckles she has on her face, but they’re more visible under the overhead lights. And under the freckles, she is almost deathly pale. “911?”

I swipe a strand of sweaty hair from my face. The heat must have kicked on during the night, and my entire body feels like it’s covered in a layer of moisture. “I need to get to the hospital.”

“Oh.” She frowns apologetically. “Well, the phone lines are still dead.”

What? It didn’t occur to me that this was even a possibility. “What about your cell phones?”

“We don’t get cell service out here!” She laughs as if such a thing were preposterous. “I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid you’re stuck out here for a little bit longer.”

“Can’t Hank drive me to the hospital then?” I’m not excited to be alone with that man, but it’s better than the alternative.

“I’m afraid not. There are several feet of snow on the ground, and we’re buried. The plows won’t get here till late this evening or maybe even tomorrow.”

Oh no. No, no, no . I am not staying here one more day. Is she out of her mind ? I look up at the windows near the ceiling, which are indeed still blocked off by snow.

“I’m just in a lot of pain,” I say, more sharply than I intended. “Can’t you hurry things up?”

Polly blinks at me in surprise, and I feel a stab of guilt. I didn’t mean to speak to her so angrily. She already has a husband who abuses her—she doesn’t need another person in the house who is pushing her around. We are supposed to be allies.

“I’m sorry…” I say quickly. “I just feel like that’s a long time to wait for a plow to arrive. Can’t they come sooner?”

“I…I wish it could be different, Tegan. I truly do.”

“I don’t mean to complain,” I say again. “I’m just in so much pain.”

“Yes,” she murmurs, her brow wrinkling. “I can see that.”

I open my mouth, not sure what to say. There’s clearly nothing Polly can do for me at this point. She can’t move mountains of snow. But I also know that I need a doctor to look at my ankle if I ever expect the fracture to heal right, and I need them to make sure Tuna is unharmed. At the very least, I need somebody to get this boot off my left leg.

“Look,” she says. “As soon as we get our phone service back, we will call for an ambulance. Or if they plow before that, Hank will take you straight to the hospital. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I murmur.

“And of course,” she adds, “we’ll be sure to let Jackson know you are okay if you can give us his number.”

I look at her blankly. “What?”

“Jackson,” she says again. “Your husband ?”

Oh, right. I forgot all about my stupid story. Jackson—my handsome attorney husband. Why didn’t I just tell her there was no husband on the horizon? But now I’m embarrassed to admit it, so I have to continue the lie. “Yes, sorry. Thank you.”

“Now”—she smiles at me, forcing on a mask of cheeriness—“what would you like for breakfast?”

I lie there for a moment, waiting for Tuna to talk to me and tell me what she would like to eat. But she is silent.

“Maybe just some toast,” I murmur.

“Coming right up!” Polly chirps.

Polly darts up the stairs, taking them two at a time. It isn’t until she disappears behind the basement door that I recall the pepper spray missing from my purse. And the phone that I couldn’t find even though I’m sure I dropped it back in my purse.