57. Report
REPORT
Monitors beep around me. They beep through the throbbing, pulsating pain drumming across my entire face. Heat swirls around my nose, throat, and stomach. My throat is parched, and when I swallow, it’s a painful struggle.
I raise my arm without opening my eyes when this immense pressure and irritation shudder across my hand. I furrow my brows, but it hurts even to do that.
“Noya,” his voice breathes. “Noya, baby, I’m here.” I feel his touch across my hand. My lip trembles, and I pull his hand closer until I cradle his arm, keeping it close. “Mum, she’s waking,” Conner says softly.
“I’ll call the nurse over.”
“C-c-c…” My throat feels tight and constricted.
“Don’t talk. There’s still a lot of swelling around your tongue and throat. At least that’s what the doctor told me to tell you.”
I furrow my brow. Unable to speak, too afraid to open my eyes, I sift back through my memories. Images with no sound come first—the livid look in Dad’s eyes. The seething of hate and anger as his hands went around my throat and tightened.
Then, the sound comes back to me. My face hit the tiles, and the sickening crack was prominent.
I flinch at the sound, struggling to ward off the horrid memories I unlocked.
The crimson was sleek on the tiles. I crawled, yearning to escape.
Desperate for an escape… and… everything went black after that.
Am I maladaptive daydreaming this?
No, the pain across my nose, stomach, and throat is too vivid for this to be a dream. If I were dreaming, I’d be in a minivan with Conner. It would be sunny and warm. We parked on a busy street, and groups of people were buying our art.
This… this feeling is too real to be a dream.
I clutch Conner’s hand, keeping it by my side. It is the only sense of reality I can focus on.
“The doctor is here,” I hear Mrs Jones’ voice.
Slowly, I open my eyes. Intense light shines on me, and my eyes water, making me blink a lot to soak as much back in before the tears fall.
An Asian man stands before the hospital bed wearing a long white cloak that doctors usually wear.
“Noya, I’m Dr Kim, and I will look after you for the rest of the evening.
Your neck has some damage around the jugular.
I want you to rest your voice for today.
When you talk, your voice may sound raspy.
” He glances at the papers bound by the clipboard.
“Eating and drinking will be difficult, so we will give you softer foods. Soups, yoghurt, mashed potato: those sorts of food until your throat recovers.” I open my mouth when Dr Kim raises his hand and says, “Nod or shake your head, yes or no.”
I nod once.
I shuffle into a sitting position, my hand still clinging to Conner’s.
My fingers drag across his knuckles. My eyes drift away from Dr Kim toward the two people beside me.
Mrs Jones smiles when she notices me looking at her.
Conner is beside her, leaning forward, for I have a grip on his hand.
His hazel eyes soften, making me blush before looking back at Dr Kim.
“Your name is Noya Dawn Taylor?” he asks.
I nod once.
“And your birth date is November twenty-second, two-thousand and three?”
I nod again.
“All right, let’s get to business.” He moves toward me, but then pauses. “If you’re uncomfortable with anyone in the room, perhaps they should leave now.”
Mrs Jones rises from her chair and says, “I will wait out here. I need to call Milo to tell him that Noya’s awake.”
Conner shuffles, but I have a firm grip on him. I turn to him and shake my head, hoping he knows I don’t want him to leave the room. I need him to stay put here… unless he needs to go to the bathroom.
“I’m staying,” Conner answers, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
When the doctor is over me, I release my grip on Conner’s hand. Dr Kim tells me he has to see how the swelling is going around my abdomen. Recalling Dad punching me there, I flinch and then nod.
I’m wearing the hospital gown, so when I lift it upwards and lie flat on my back, I can’t look at myself or Conner.
However, as the doctor presses gently against my stomach, asking if there are sharp pains, I can sense Conner’s presence in the corner of my eye.
His jaw clenches, and he flexes his hands, and those brilliant hazel eyes are so dilated that I can’t see any colour.
Dr Kim checks my temperature and pulse, and I wince when he changes the bandage around my nose.
“Your nose is broken. It will take about three weeks. Your bone cut through the nose on the right side. I had to close the cut with stitches and then realign your nose. After two weeks, you can take the splint off. You will have some difficulty breathing. Try not to touch your nose that much.” He leans away and writes something on the paper attached to the clipboard.
“I’m going to prescribe you pain medication that you will take twice a day for a week.
” Dr Kim sighs while lowering the clipboard.
“This is where I’d like to say that you’re free to leave after tomorrow morning.
However, because of your circumstances, the police recommend that you stay for an extra night. ”
I dart a look at Conner and then away.
“They’d like to talk to you sometime tomorrow.”
I bite my lip, and my hands tighten on the sheet covering my legs.
Conner’s hand touches my arm, and he squeezes reassuringly. My breaths slow, and I sink back into the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, I nod, agreeing.
Dr Kim smiles. “You’re a courageous girl, Noya.”
Courageous? I can’t find anything I’ve done that I would consider brave.
I did things out of fear. And I think earlier today…
I don’t even know what day it is… The day Mrs Crawford saved me was out of desperation and fear.
I wanted to leave because I was afraid, not because I was brave.
Nothing I’ve done was heroic. Mrs Crawford coming to my rescue is courageous.
I need to thank her.
Dr Kim leaves after a few more questions. I turn to Conner and point at his phone on the table beside him. He hands it to me, and I type.
Me: Where’s Mrs Crawford?
“She spoke to the police earlier today. Then she told me she would be back tomorrow to see how you were.” He reaches for my face but hesitates. I think it’s because of the nose. “Are you okay, baby?”
I smile.
Me: Yeah, I’m okay, Conner. My head hurts a little, though.
When did you get here?
“I was at home when you called my mum. I pulled up in front of your place as soon as the police arrived. When Mrs Crawford had you in her arms…” His eyes water, and he drags his shaky hand through his hair.
“I was fucking scared, Noya. I thought… I thought.” Conner’s lip trembles, and tears slip down his cheeks.
I can feel the sting behind my eyes seeing him this distraught.
I pull him towards me, and his head rests against my lap. I drag my hands through his hair while I lean back. Closing my eyes, I let Conner get all these emotions out. I know if our roles were reversed, I’d be so broken and emotional that there’s nothing I could do to prevent what happened.
My body drifts. The pillows, mattress, and sheets. They all swallow me until I can’t feel any more pain.
Later that night, my face flushes when I peel the hospital gown away from my skin. It falls to my feet, and I move to the shower in my room. I sit on the chair, feeling the water rush down my back as Conner drags the sponge across my skin, washing away the blood clinging to me.
The dirty, dead crimson flows down my feet and swirls into the drain. My hair rises, and Conner washes my hair while I drag the sponge down my chest, removing sweat, grime, blood, and the layers of fear that stuck to my skin for the many years trapped in the home.
Whenever I drag the sponge across my arm, I remove a haunting memory.
I wash away the bruises that used to swell there and the finger marks taunting and corrupting me.
I feel like a snake shedding its dead skin.
Only it’s not skin, but everything wrong that has happened to me.
I’m removing it all, tearing it all down until glowing, red skin throbs to the surface.
Until I can see the blemishes and freckles, oddly placed, which I’ve never focused on before.
It’s good to see me again.
“D-Do I sound bad?” I croak.
Dr Kim holds no emotions. “No.”
I know he’s lying.
Dr Kim wants me to practice asking a few brief questions the next day before the police arrive. I’m nervous. My fingers clutch the sheets, and my body keeps shifting as if I cannot get comfortable.
I don’t do well with the police. All my life, I’ve feared them. Thought of them as the enemy, as Dad goes to work there. He controls us and holds us like puppets on strings. And now, they’re here to help me.
I don’t think that’s entirely true. I suspect they may downplay, perhaps even twist things in their favour, to protect the monster. If that’s the case, I don’t know how well I’ll cope.
Dr Kim steps out of the room to get the police waiting outside. Mrs Jones isn’t here. The police want to question her as well. She’s my old therapist, and she questioned where my file went and why I didn’t get the help she requested eight years ago.
The police enter the room. A chill shudders at the sight of them and their leering, piercing gazes. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but the swelling hasn’t entirely gone down yet. Instead, it feels like I swallowed a mouthful of air, and it lives in the back of my throat.
“Noya Dawn Taylor,” the woman speaks, her voice soft and her eyes sincere. “Would you be able to answer a few of our questions?”
I dart a look at Conner, my life support, then back at the woman and male cop. “Yes,” I agree.
“Can you run us through the events of yesterday morning as thoroughly as possible? Any important information leading up to that incident will also be of great value to us.”
“Okay…”