2. Gwen
CHAPTER 2
GWEN
M y lashes flutter as my eyelids begin to open and then snap closed once more. Trying again, I get them to half-mast before they fall short a second time.
“Gwennie.” I hear my dad call my name. “Your mom and I are right here.”
“Gwen.” This time, it’s my mom saying my name. I feel the pressure of a hand placed on top of mine, followed by a gentle squeeze. “Let us see your beautiful eyes, honey.”
I’m hoping the third time’s the charm. It takes more energy than it should to lift my eyelids and even more to keep them raised, but I manage.
“Gwennie,” Dad says, smiling through his tears.
“Dad.” My voice is a hoarse whisper.
My mom pats my hand from the other side of the bed. “Oh, honey. We were so worried about you.”
My head slowly rolls toward her, and I wince at the pain slicing through my skull. “What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?” Dad asks.
The word no is poised on the tip of my tongue, ready to be uttered, when I’m assaulted with the memories of what, or should I say who , put me in this bed. I press a hand to my forehead, as if that’ll stop the onslaught, and wince again when fire spreads across one side of my ribcage. “I remember. Is he…?”
“Dead?” Dad asks.
“Yeah.”
“Yes, he’s gone. You’ll never have to worry about him again.”
I exhale a relieved sigh and burst into tears.
My mom gently strokes the hair back from my forehead, “Oh, honey.”
My dad takes hold of my hand. “You’re safe, Gwennie. No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”
“I-I was so scared,” I confess in a crackling whisper. “I thought I was going to die.”
“You’re okay. You’re safe now. Mom and I are here,” Dad blurts out, the series of sentences meant to comfort me, and it works. Having both of them grounding me with their touch is also soothing. It reminds me of when I would get sick as a little girl.
“How long have I been here?”
“About four hours. Your mom and I went to the airport as soon as we got the call from the police.”
“What happened to…?” I can’t bring myself to say his name.
“Demi called your local police and, in a stroke of luck, there was a cruiser nearby. The intruder didn’t comply when they told him to drop the weapon. When he raised the knife to stab you, they shot him.”
I close my eyes, hoping to dull the throbbing pain in my head. It feels like my skull’s been split straight down the middle. I reach up and feel a bandage covering the entire left side of my face. I’m assaulted by a memory of the knife slicing through my skin. I can only imagine how badly he cut me. Undoubtedly, I’ll have a permanent reminder every time I look in the mirror.
“Are you in pain?” Dad asks.
“Yes. My head is throbbing, and my ribs are killing me.” It’s not a lie. I don’t want my parents worrying any more than they already are. Telling them details of what happened will only add to their concern.
“I can call for the nurse,” my mom offers.
“No, don’t. I just woke up. I don’t want anything that will knock me out again.” Besides, the pain is a temporary reminder that I survived. I’m still here , and he’s not . Thank God for Demi .
My parents leave me to my thoughts, silently offering their support with an occasional squeeze of my hand or a whisper-soft stroke across my forehead.
There’s a knock on the door, and a man in a white coat walks in. “Hi, Gwen. I’m Doctor Ross.”
“Hi.”
“I’m Trey, Gwen’s father, and this is her mother, Claire.”
He shakes their hands and then his gaze lands on me. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. My left side hurts, and I have a headache.”
“I’m not surprised. You have a concussion. There’s a hematoma the size of a golf ball on the back of your head. We did a CT scan of your head, neck, chest, and abdomen. The results were negative for intracranial bleeding. The CT of your chest and abdomen didn’t show any internal bleeding. There is some swelling, and I’d say some possible broken ribs, which can make moving around and deep breathing difficult for you. We called in a plastic surgeon, and they stitched up the wound on your face.”
“When can I go home?” I ask before he can mention anything more.
“We’d like to keep you for a couple of days for observation.”
“I’d rather go home.”
“Gwen, you need to listen to Dr. Ross,” my dad says.
“If nothing serious is wrong with me, then I’d like to return to South Carolina with you and Mom.”
Dr. Ross adjusts his steel-framed glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “The soonest you can leave would be tomorrow. Head injuries don’t always present immediately.”
“That’s certainly reasonable,” my mom says, patting my blanket-covered leg.
My lips press together with displeasure. “Fine. I’ll stay the night, but then I want out of here.” Ready to put an end to the discussion, I close my eyes while my parents continue conversing with the doctor. When they’re done asking him a multitude of questions, he finally leaves.
“Gwen, we know you’re awake,” my dad says. My eyelids open to meet his steady gaze. “Your mom and I would like you to fly home with us as soon as you’re released.”
“But what about my car?”
“I’ll send someone for it,” he says.
“Okay. I’ve already packed what I was planning to bring home for the summer.”
“That’s helpful. We can take everything with us on the flight back,” he says.
I catch a shared glance between my parents.
“Now that we’ve figured out all of that, why don’t we let Gwen rest,” my mom suggests.
Dad rises and twists from side to side, loosening his back. “These plastic chairs are brutal. I’m going to move my legs a little and call Maeve,” he says, mentioning my stepmother. “I’m also grabbing coffee from the cafeteria. Claire, would you like one?”
Mom nods. “Please.”
Once the two of us are alone, she takes hold of my hand. “How are you really, honey?”
Tears instantly blur my eyes. “I’m not sure. Aside from the pain, I feel numb. I don’t think what happened has sunk in yet. I’m still trying to process it all.”
She nods reassuringly. “That’s understandable.”
“My brain feels fuzzy, and my thoughts are slower than usual. Are they sure my brain is okay?”
“Yes, you heard the doctor say your CT scan results were all normal. What you’re experiencing are concussion symptoms.”
“How do you know? Did you ever have one?” I ask.
“Yep. When I was about twelve, I went flying off my bike headfirst and landed on the sidewalk. Even though I was wearing a helmet, it wasn’t enough to stop me from slamming the side of my face. See this scar right here”—she points to a faint white mark—“it’s from that fall.”
“I don’t think I’ve noticed that before,” I say.
“Scars fade with time. When I first got it, I thought it was all anyone would notice when they looked at me.”
“I have a feeling I won’t be so lucky with mine.” I remember him dragging the knife through my skin. It felt like he was never going to stop.
I catch the flash of dismay on her face before she can hide it. “Oh, honey,” she says, swiping at the tears trailing down her cheeks. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to help you heal from this. It may not feel like there’s anything for you to be grateful about right now, but I promise there is. You’re still here with us. Try to think positively about your recovery, no matter how daunting it seems. Leaning into hope can help make the toughest times easier.”
“Hmm,” I grunt. I’m definitely not ready to be reminded how I need to be grateful.
She pats my hand. “It’s going to be nice having you home.”
“Will you mind if I stay with Dad and Maeve? I want to spend as much time as I can with T.J.,” I say, mentioning my three-year-old baby brother. I haven’t seen him since January, and talking on the phone isn’t the same as spending time together.
She looks taken aback for a moment before she composes her expression. “Not at all. We’ll see plenty of you no matter where you stay.”
“How are Gayle and Dean?”
Her eyes light up at the mention of my stepfather and little sister. “Great. He wanted to be with me, but someone had to stay home with Gayle.”
“Is she as precocious as ever?” I ask.
She laughs. “Yes. She reminds me of you when you were six.”
A long yawn escapes, reminding me how tired I am. “Excuse me.”
“Close your eyes and take a nap. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
“Okay.” My eyelids roll closed, and I sigh. “Mom, I love you. Thanks for being here.”
“I love you too.” I hear the smile in her tone. I take comfort in knowing my mom is with me, and allow myself to drift off to sleep.