49. History
forty-nine
History
“ A re you trying to say that would have been better? If he had gotten to her, left some evidence?” Jacob sounds mad. At me?
Another man’s voice, “I’m just saying how it looks. What he said when they brought him in.”
“He’s lying.”
My head hurts. I try to open my eyes, but the room is too bright. I can’t focus. We were playing paintball. I fell out of a tree. I must have hit my head.
No.
His name comes to my lips. “Brad!” I sit up fast. A wave of nausea clutches at my stomach, I double over.
The curtains part, and Jacob comes in. I try to focus on his face. He has a bandage over his right eye. He sits on the edge of my bed, grips my hand, “Jess, are you okay?”
I want to say yes, but I double over again. A quick nurse holds a basin in front of me. I vomit. Right in front of Jacob.
“No blood,” she says. “That’s good.” She hands me a cup, and I wash out my mouth.
Jacob is still gripping my hand. I’m humiliated, but he doesn’t look disgusted, just worried.
A police officer pushes his way through to my bed. “Are you up to making a statement?”
I look up at Jacob, my hand trembling.
“Leave her alone,” Jacob’s voice wavers. “She needs to rest. She just went through hell.”
The officer looks at Jacob. Then at me. Then at the nurse. She nods. His voice softens. “We need to get your statement as soon as we can.”
“I’m not sure.” Memories come flooding back, prom, Gage and Jasmine, Brad, Jacob, the barn, a gun. Jacob looks like he's in pain too. I need to be okay. “I think I can do it.”
“You’ll need to leave,” the officer says to Jacob.
I grip his hand tighter. “No.”
“He has to go,” the officer’s voice is gentler now.
“No.” I won’t let go of Jacob’s hand. “He was there. He can tell you what happened.”
“That’s the problem, Miss,” the officer says. “We need to get the stories straight. And we can’t do that with him here.”
“Why?” I look at Jacob, confused.
“Brad told them I did this,” Jacob spits out. “He told them I’m the one who hurt you. He said—”
“You need to keep quiet,” the officer snaps. “Or I’ll put you under arrest for interfering with an investigation.”
I look up at the police officer. “No, it was Brad. Jacob saved me. If he hadn’t been there—” Nausea rolls my stomach again. I swallow hard.
“Mr. Wilson has a different story.” The officer says. “He said there’s a history of abuse.” He nods towards Jacob, “from him.”
I look at Jacob. I'm confused and afraid. I know it shows on my face. The nurse and the officer exchange glances. It looks like I’m being coached by my abusive boyfriend on what to say.
The police office looks grim. “We can’t take your statement with him here.”
I can’t let go of Jacob’s hand, even as he gently pries my fingers away. “It’s okay. Just tell them what happened.”
The officer shoots Jacob another look.
"I'm going," he says.
“No." I can’t stand what they’re accusing him of. “It was Brad. If anyone has a history of anything it’s him. This isn’t the first time he’s tried something like this.”
Jacob's face twists in horror and rage.
I duck my head and continue, “When we were dating, he put something in my drink, he—” I meet Jacob’s gaze for a second, then look away. “It didn’t go anywhere. I figured it out. I got away before—” I look down at my hands.
“Do you have any proof?” the officer asks. “Was anyone else there? Can anyone verify your story?”
I can see them again. The sea of laughing faces. Brad probably told them all I was drunk, or high on something. And they believed him. Because everyone believes Brad.
I keep my eyes down. “No.”