Contention (Contention #1)

Chapter 1

When she wakes, everything is blurred and her jaw aches. Aches, like she’s been clenching it for hours on end and her throat feels scratchy and sore. Kara blinks slowly and lies there, trying to catalogue her body and where she is.

The why of it all is eluding her. She’s not home and she’s not in her bed. The room smells of chemicals and everything is painfully bright, invasive.

Distantly, she hears someone say, “She’s waking up.”

They sound so far away, like they’re underwater.

Someone is leaning over her, from the side of the bed, invading her space. She winces, shutting her eyes tight. Why does her head hurt? The person speaks, the acidic scent of energy drink on their breath. “Miss Hayes? Can you hear me?”

Kara tries to reply, but her voice comes out a croak. Surprised, her eyes fly open again and she tries to clear her throat roughly. The sensation in her esophagus is not unlike having tonsillitis. It burns, feels tight and swollen. “I- ahem . It’s just Kara. Where am I?”

It’s uncomfortable to speak and there’s a suspicious stinging sensation in her lower lip. When her sight finally focuses, she sees two people in suits standing nearby, looking at her with serious faces. A man and woman; their uptight demeanor screams cop to Kara.

“You’re at the hospital. You’ve had an accident.” The man is closest to her. Early thirties with an exhausted look in his eyes. His hair looks like it needs a good taming and the scruff on his chin gives him a more rugged appearance.

The woman is pushing fifty, standing by the door, a certain scowl hovering about her face.

Kara groans, feeling her lip pull uncomfortably at all movements of her mouth. Like stitches being pulled too tight. She takes a moment to consider, lying in this bed that isn’t hers. “What accident? Are you cops?”

“We’re detectives at the local precinct,” the female detective states carefully. “We were actually hoping you could tell us what you remember. I’m Detective Collins and my partner is Detective Wellis.”

Well, that confirms that. Cops and a hospital bed; what the hell did Kara get herself into?

Sitting up, Kara doesn’t feel any other pain in her body. Nothing feels broken. She tests moving her fingers and toes and all seem to be fine. She stares at the two people looking at her with disconcerting intensity. Her mind is empty of all reason and explanation, a blur. She remembers being at a club with Bianca, but… “I’m drawing a blank. I don’t recall how I got here or why I would be here at all. I think…I was out with a friend.”

The male detective, Wellis, gives his partner a look. His expression is uncomfortable. “Miss Hayes-”

Ugh . Why is he so formal? Obviously, he knows what her name is. Kara has no doubt that the pair raided her purse for identification while she was out of it.

“It’s pronounced ‘care-uh’,” Kara rasps.

“Sorry, force of habit.” He doesn’t look sorry. “Kara. One of the girls on the row called for us. Said you’d been a little roughed up by one of the usual suspects. You were passing out cold and she didn’t want you to be alone on the street. We’re lucky she was brave enough to call.”

The female detective, Collins, adds, “This isn’t the first time this has happened on that street. I know this is hard to hear, but the doctor mentioned signs of oral distress. We need you to tell us everything you recall; any small detail helps. Please, take your time.”

Oral distress? What the hell is that code for? Assault?

Kara sits up straight, hands fisting the sheets. The words can’t apply to her; it’s like hearing a foreign language. She can see their mouths moving, but the words don’t make sense. This must be a bad dream. “Are you saying I was assaulted ? I was out with a girlfriend at a club, I have no idea what this is about, but it’s a mistake. Maybe I got tipsy and fell down some stairs; I’m clumsy, is that a crime?”

Apparently, something she said isn’t quite what they are looking for. Detective Wellis’s dark eyes harden briefly and his body shifts, shoulders squaring up. Ah. Definitely not happy with something Kara said. “There’s no need to be difficult. You don’t have to lie to us; we’re on your side.”

Something red and sharp spikes in Kara’s chest, but she pushes it down. She’s gained better control of her temper these days, but it’s still there; anger always floats in her veins alongside her blood.

It’s hard to keep the indignation out of her tone. “I’m not being difficult. I just don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong girl.” Her words come out bitingly and she can taste copper on her tongue. “I’ve got a split lip. There’s no cause for hospitalization. Or a witch hunt.”

Both detectives seem generally unmoved by her barely leashed hostility. “Well, girls like you generally don’t make this easy, even when we are trying to help,” Detective Collins says dryly, disdain in her eyes.

That strikes a strange chord in Kara. Something she didn’t catch, her mind still sluggish...from what? Drugs? Certainly not alcohol. She’s been better; she doesn’t fall into the bottle like she once did. “ Girls like me ? What the hell is that about?”

Detective Wellis gives her a hard look. “Look. I’m not going to book you for prostitution. Not with what you’ve been through tonight. We just want to nail whoever did this. We’ve had a few working girls get roughed up, but none want to testify against…well, anyone. Most of them are saying it’s what they were paid to do and have no interest even speaking to a sketch artist.”

Prostitution? Pull the other!

A bark of laughter almost tears out of Kara’s throat, bitter and disbelieving. She holds it in, not wanting to irritate her throat more. “I’m sorry.” Kara licks her split lip, wincing, the copper taste earthy and raw. God, this is a fucking laugh. “Are you insinuating that you think I’m a hooker?”

Her response seems to throw him off, his brown eyes examining her closely. “As I said. I won’t book you. I don’t care about that. But you were on a street known for solicitation after hours. Dressed to party with a few bills falling out of your purse. You were out cold. One of the girls called for help because you were unresponsive. She was worried. Tell me, what’s that supposed to make us think?”

She’s too tired for this and Kara’s head is pounding. Her jaw aches, making her neck feel stiff, hard to move. Her night wasn’t supposed to end this way.

As if speaking to a child, Kara rolls her eyes up towards the ceiling, counting the cracks. Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t lose your temper. “I’m an associate at Benson it isn’t like anyone actually cares . “Am I okay? Sound to go home?”

The doctor glances at her chart and sighs. “You are. Nothing is broken. You were roughed up. Some bruising along your jaw. From…well I’d speculate being grabbed. You also had drugs in your system.”

Ah, yes. The club. Kara remembers being out with Bianca. Remembers the moment she realized that someone had probably spiked her drink. How she’d pulled Bianca aside, dizzy, fading, telling her that something was wrong.

“I think someone put something in my glass.”

Bianca had smiled drunkenly, wide and with far too many teeth. “Oh, shtaap. It’s just the alcohol talking. You know it’s because you’re a lightweight! Get loose, Lord knows you need to.”

Kara worked hard, sometimes too hard. Late nights and long weekends. Bianca had soured over the fact, bitter over the circumstance that Kara had thrown herself into her career with a one-track mind. Working to keep her mind off the past, off things she’d rather not think about.

The way she worked hard to forget how lost she felt inside.

The memory fractures slightly, bright lights strobing in the darkened club. The world was tilting and her body felt like it was in quicksand. “I didn’t drink that much, B. You know I cut myself off at one.”

Alcoholism runs in her family, after all. Is Kara an alcoholic? Probably not, but once upon a time…

Okay. So, she’s had problems in the past.

Her friend had grabbed her by the chin and booped her on the nose. Bianca was too drunk, lost in the night to sense the concern in Kara’s slurring voice. “You’re fine. I’m getting another drink. Wait here.”

Kara didn’t wait and that’s the problem. Too independent, too strong willed.

She had wandered out of the club, intending to find a cab home. Not thinking straight, getting worried. The problem was, she didn’t see any cabs. Or maybe she’d taken a wrong turn. Either way, she found herself walking alone in the dark, on a street with a few strangely dressed characters. Bright clothes, pretty clothes, big heels, scattered up and down the street.

Perhaps a car had pulled up. A large car. Filled with voices. Other sounds. A limo.

Blinkingly the fuzzy thoughts away, Kara gets to her feet. “I was drugged at a nightclub. I left in a haze. It wasn’t intentional. If that’s all, I’d like to go home.”

Something akin to pity appears in the doctor’s gaze. “Are you sure you don’t want a rape kit done?”

A snake coils in Kara’s belly, tight and angry. She’s not a victim and nothing happened . She fell. She’s fallen before, back when drinking helped numb her mind and body, shielded her from all the anger burning her alive from the inside out.

Besides, she doesn’t want the cops to get a handle on her DNA from the rape kit. Last thing she needs is for the cops to decide they want to detain her as a prostitute even though she didn’t do anything . They could still threaten her with it, to get her to talk about this odd night. Whatever happened…it didn’t happen to her. She doesn’t even recall. The issue doesn’t exist.

Kara lifts her dark gaze to the doctor and stiffly says, “I don’t. What I want is to go home and forget about this inconvenience. I have work to do. I don’t have time for any more distractions.”

The older woman inclines her head. “Not even a swab of your mouth?”

Nothing happened to me, I’m not weak, I’m not a victim

Kara ignores the question. Feeling underdressed in the hospital gown, Kara looks for her purse and grabs it. “Where are my clothes? I’m going home.”

The detectives watch with disappointment in their eyes as the doctor hands over her little black dress, along with her scarlet red heels.

When she has her items, she storms into the bathroom, changing with irritated movements. Whatever drug was in her system is long since gone, leaving her alert enough to know that she wants to be home in her own bed. Maybe with a cup of hot water and lemon.

Why does my jaw hurt? What about my throat?

Stop. You’re fine. Nothing happened.

Kara pauses in front of the mirror, staring at her face. She doesn’t know what to feel, looking at her chocolate eyes, rimmed with smudged eyeliner and mascara. Look at those disgraceful raccoon eyes , her mother would have said to her. You look like a whore.

Her brunette hair is a mess, so she digs into her purse and puts her hair up in a clip to get it out of the way. The split lip looks worse than it feels and there is dark bruising along her jaw. As if someone had held it open. Vacantly, she moves her jaw, feels the stiffness there and shuts her eyes, cringes.

No. Don’t think about it.

When she’s clothed, she walks out of the hospital room and bids them all goodbye.

“Wait,” Detective Wellis says after her. “Let us at least drop you off at home. Make sure you get inside alright.” His partner looks irritated about the offer, giving him an odd look.

Kara stares at him, debating telling him that she doesn’t want to endure a ride to her building with two cops that want to pry open her mind like a couple of vultures. But. It beats paying for a cab. Look how well that went earlier anyway.

“That would be nice, Detective Wellis. Thank you.”

They bring her to her building, stopping out front. Wellis hands her his card. “If you remember anything or just want to talk, call me.”

Kara gives him a weak smile that hurts, feels the wretched pull in her lip. “Sure thing.”

It’s a lie, of course. She isn’t going to call.

She’s not going to call because nothing happened and the bruising around her neck means nothing at all.

It’s nothing a fashionable scarf can’t hide.