Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning, I was given consent forms to sign—ones that released my medical records to the police. I didn’t hesitate until I got to the form that would allow them to process the rape kit. I knew what the results would be.
André’s reaction over learning about the sexual assault broke me.
I didn’t want to put him through this. He didn’t deserve any of it.
Hearing the stories about how happy and care-free he was before all this only made me feel worse.
Rape, assault, battery, attempted murder, stalking…
I was no stranger to any of those words.
Over the course of six years, they’d become everyday conversation for me, but not for him.
I could only imagine how upsetting it was.
His stomach seemed to settle, but I didn’t miss him flinch as if he were being hit every time someone said the word.
“Sign it,” he said when he noticed my hesitation. “If it even has a chance of putting that bastard away until he rots… I know it won’t be me reliving it in court, and my opinion is just that, but that son of a bitch deserves everything he’s got coming to him. I think you should sign it.”
I thought I’d seen André angry before, but it was nothing like what I saw in his eyes then. The look sent a shiver down my spine. He almost seemed like a different person.
So I signed it, and handed everything over, knowing what was going to happen. My most personal information was going to be aired out for a dozen strangers, not to mention the press. Regan’s escape had been all over the place.
But I had other things to worry about. Simply pushing myself to the edge of the bed to stand up was enough pain to make me sick.
I was supposed to have two physical therapists—one on each side of me—but André wasn’t having that.
The therapist didn’t seem particularly thrilled, but she didn’t say a word.
Dylan came and went, along with Penn, Amanda, and Mitchell. André, however, never left my side. They all asked him if he wanted a break or to handle something at work, and he declined every time. He stuck by me every day as I learned to walk farther from the bed.
First, it was just from the bed to a wheelchair, then from the wheelchair to the recliner.
Then it was learning to push the chair myself, and from there I could at least get myself to the bathroom, which meant the catheter could finally come out.
André swore he wasn’t squeamish, but judging by the sickly color he turned after witnessing that procedure, I begged to differ.
It was only then that I let myself look in the mirror—and regretted it.
I didn’t even recognize myself. My entire face was one big purple bruise, yellowing around the edges.
My nose was still covered by a bandage. The plastic surgeon kept reassuring me that the swelling would go down, but that seemed less likely with each passing day.
I didn’t know how André could stand to look at me. I could barely stand to look at myself. My blue eyes were bottomless pits in the middle of all the black and purple. Crying didn’t help, because wiping the tears away was more painful than just muscling through.
It took ten days of physical therapy before I could shuffle down the hallway on a walker, and that zapped every ounce of energy I had.
The staples came out, and the stitches followed.
They’d reopened the healed scar on my stomach, but now I had a matching set: a nasty line that started behind my ear and danced down to my collarbone.
The plastic surgeon had done what he could, but there was no guarantee that it would ever fade.
I couldn’t avoid it when I looked in the mirror.
It would be a constant reminder of what I’d gone through—of him.
After nearly a month in the hospital, I was finally considered well enough to go home. I’d been on IV antibiotics since my admission, and would be sent home with strong oral ones. They offered painkillers, but I turned them down, which meant the rest of the healing process would really suck.
I learned later that André filled the prescription secretly and after one particularly rough night, I thanked him for it.
I still had a special dressing on my neck. Even though I was more than capable of doing it myself—with the help of a mirror—André insisted on learning. I couldn’t help but laugh as he heaved through the instructions.
“I swear, I’m not squeamish,” he said, barely managing not to lose his lunch.
I’d been reluctant to let him touch me too much.
Every time he tried, I flinched, even when I didn’t intend it.
André was a physical person, and I knew that the lack of affection was bothering him.
He didn’t expect to climb into the bed with me, but something as simple as a hug would have made him feel better.
Still, all I could do was pry his hand away from his mouth while the nurse cleaned me up. That was enough to relax him.
“Baby, you don’t have to stay for this,” I told him. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this part myself. Could you just bring me a change of clothes?”
André looked relieved. “That I can do.”
When the nurse stepped away, André leaned down to give me a kiss, careful not to grab my neck.
Such acts seemed so small, but they’d been an adjustment for him over the last few weeks.
They were small changes, but I noticed them.
If none of this had ever happened, André could still hold my right hand.
He could still cup my neck when he kissed me—which I loved.
I loved kissing him. Even if I couldn’t always bring myself to initiate it.
Thankfully, the stolen clothes Regan had offered me had been destroyed. I’d never have to see them again. I laughed when André returned with a suitcase of clothes.
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I brought you some options,” he said, emptying the wardrobe onto the bed.
“Did you have to bring me the whole men’s section of Bloomingdale’s?” I joked.
André laughed, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe I did go a bit overboard.”
“Are you alright?” I asked, selecting a pair of sweats and a matching long-sleeved shirt. “You seem a little anxious.”
André opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of what he was going to say. “I’m just ready to have you home.”
We had a long drive ahead of us since I’d been too unstable to be transferred to a hospital in New Orleans, so André built me a blanket fort in the passenger seat of his car.
Once I sat down, he elevated my legs with pillows, buckled me in, and covered me with another blanket, leaning in for a kiss.
“Try and rest if you can. I’ll wake you when we get there. ”
Nausea kept me from falling asleep at first, but once we merged onto the highway, André placed a tender hand on my leg, and I was able to doze off. I blanketed his hand with mine, and he graced me with a smile. I was thankful for him, and I needed to do my best to show him that.
I dozed enough to keep myself comfortable for the long ride.
I could still hear the roaring of tires on the asphalt, felt every time André slowed down or made a turn, but he never let my hand fall.
Gently, he brushed the tips of my fingers as if he were counting to make sure I was still in one piece.
There, in the passenger seat of that car, with my hand in his, I felt…
safe. I never expected André to be put in such a position, but now I knew that I was protected.
Regan couldn’t touch me ever again. I had a long road to recovery ahead of me, but I also had a strong support system.
I could finally start to heal from everything, and I could focus on loving André the way he deserved.
I didn’t have to be scared anymore.
The car stopped, and André brought the back of my hand to his lips. “We’re home baby,” he whispered.
I pried my eyes open, confused to see… trees and not the concrete walls of the parking deck.
To my left, there was a row of houses. They looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place why.
To my right, the path created an aisle between two rows of trees, coming to an end at a wrought-iron gate.
That I definitely recognized, but my head was just too damn fuzzy.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. By the time I did so, André had my door open and had extended a hand to me. He helped me to my feet, and waited until I was stable. It was dark, but street lights illuminated the sidewalk. There was no doubt in my mind I’d been here before.
“Where are we?” I asked, tucking into André’s side as he wrapped an arm around my waist.
He took a deep breath. “Home.”
I looked around again, confused. “This isn’t your apartment.”
“I know.” André laced his fingers through mine and led me through the gate.
As we walked up the driveway, my surroundings slowly came together. The Victorian house towered over me. There wasn’t a single light on, but I knew the place—it was the one André had brought me to when he met the photographer.
Oh, shit. “That deal you just closed…”
“I wasn’t selling.”
I could have blamed exhaustion for my denial. The painkillers could have also been at fault—but neither one of those was the true reason. No, that honor belonged to the crippling self-doubt that I still struggled with “Y-You bought a house?”
André nodded, pulling two keys from his pocket. “I bought us a house. Everyone’s been rushing around trying to get everything in place before you got discharged.”
“Who’s everyone?” I asked.
“Dylan, Emmeline, Penn, Amanda, and even Mitchell. But your brother said Emmeline is nesting, so she kind of took charge.” He paused, flipping the keys around in his hands. “I couldn’t give you the life you deserve in a bachelor pad. That’s not who I am anymore.”
I gasped, eyeing the house in front of us—our house. “What are we going to do with all this space?”
“Well, I could have an office. You can have a full studio, and not just one you’d have to share with guests. Maybe—I mean eventually—we could fill it up with a couple kids.”
I smiled up at him. “I thought you didn’t want kids.”
“I never thought I’d be in love with someone who might.” Mulling over his response, he added, “I never thought I’d fall in love.”
I wanted to kiss that man silly. I tried my best, but my legs just weren’t strong enough yet. Thankfully, André got the hint and came down to my level.
“I love you,” I whispered, when our lips parted with a quiet smack.
“Mwen renmen ou.”
There it was, that flutter I knew that André could stir up in me.
“Aren’t I supposed to carry you over the threshold or something?” he asked when I came up for air.
I laughed. “That’s when you get married, silly. I think I can walk it.”
André led me by the hand but as soon as I placed my foot on the bottom step, my knee buckled.
“Okay, I think I may need a little help,” I confessed.
With a smile, André instructed me to wait there. He unlocked the door and turned on the light that illuminated the porch. When he returned to me, asking me if I was ready, he swept me into his arms. The embarrassing sound that came out of me was somewhere between a yelp and a squeal.
André dusted a kiss across my lips, and took the three steps with ease. There, he carried me through the threshold of our new home—and our fresh start.