Chapter 9 Collins #2
Creed pulls back, leveling his gaze on me and brushing my hair away from my face before swiping at my never-ending tears. “What?” he asks frantically. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head in his grip. “It’s…he’s--Riley…h-he was–”
“Hey, shhh, hey, it’s okay.”
“N-no, it’s not, Riley–”
“He’s okay, baby.”
I freeze.
“What? Say it again.”
He smiles, but it’s weary and sad. “Riley will be okay.”
The way he says it makes me feel both relieved and terrified.
Creed reads the concern on my face and continues, “When we found you, he was battling both blood loss and infection. He had a bullet lodged in his shoulder, so they took him into surgery the moment we got here. All went well, but they have him intubated right now to allow his body to fight off the infection and begin healing. He’s stable, and doctors have a positive outlook that he’ll be okay. ”
His words bring me relief, but all that I feel in my heart is a crippling sense of guilt. He never would’ve been in this situation, fighting for his life, if I hadn’t been so fucking selfish. I never pushed him away because I only wanted him closer to me. It’s me that put a target on his back.
“Don’t do that,” Creed softly scolds, crooking his finger beneath my chin and lifting until my eyes meet his.
His tone is gentle, but there’s no mistaking the rage roiling just beneath the surface.
“Don’t you dare sit there and villainize yourself.
What happened to you and Riley, none of that was your fault. ”
My eyes volley between his intense gaze, and I nod in his grip, acquiescing.
Even the acknowledgement feels like a bitter lie.
While I know I couldn’t control the things that Guy had done, I should’ve done more to put distance between myself and those I love.
I put them in danger; through my decision to let them in, I caused this pain.
“None of this is your fault, Collins,” Creed reiterates.
“I know it’ll take time for you to heal and sift through everything that happened, but I will be here for you every fucking day to remind you that none of the blame is for you to take on.
Never will I let that burden sit on your shoulders. Okay?”
Everything he’s saying sounds perfect, but it feels impossible to believe.
I just have to hope that he’s right. That some day I may not see things this way.
So reluctantly, I nod again and bury my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.
He kisses my hair over and over, before holding me tight and humming a beautiful melody that soothes my battered soul.
But just as I relax into Creed’s embrace, a soft knock fills the space before the door to the hospital room opens, revealing an older man with a shock of white hair on his head and an equally white mustache adorning his weathered face.
A stethoscope hangs around his neck, and the crows feet around his eyes deepens with a smile when he spots me across the room.
He’s followed by a female nurse wearing dark blue scrubs, who looks to be about Creed’s age.
She offers me a kind smile before adjusting the messy bun of dark hair on top of her head and sanitizing her hands.
“Well, hello there, Miss Weston.” The doctor’s soft-spoken voice bubbles almost excitedly from across the room. He takes a few steps forward and holds out a hand to me, “I’m Dr. Perry Munn. I’m the attending physician here at St. Raphael Medical.”
Tentatively, I reach out and shake his hand, wincing when I feel something hot pulling at my shoulder.
The doctor notices and gently releases me, taking a step back and clearing his throat. “It’s good to see you awake, Miss Weston. How are you feeling?”
How am I feeling?
I take a moment to look over my body and just feel.
I’m covered in gauze and bandages, but I can’t feel much of anything at the moment, though my fingers still tingle.
I try to explain as such to the doctor, but Creed effortlessly jumps in to help when my voice fails me time and time again.
I explain everything I feel the best I can while the nurse—Jo, she introduced herself—flits about the room, checking my vitals, swapping out med bags, layering me in warm blankets, charting her findings, and finally showing me how to use the pain pump to press when I need relief.
She eyes my wrists and the fact that I am no longer restrained, but says nothing.
“You need anything before I go?” she asks, her tone kind and her attention focused entirely on me.
“Water?” I try to ask her, but my throat feels tight and speaking feels like sandpaper rubbing against my vocal cords. I want to cry for so many reasons, but I keep the tears at bay, even as they well up in my eyes.
Jo looks to Dr. Munn, who murmurs something to her quietly. She nods and quietly slips out the door. The doctor turns back to me.
“I’d like to go over the imaging and lab results with you before I leave you to get some more rest. Do you feel comfortable discussing those results now?” he asks, his eyes darting to where Creed is practically wrapped around me like a possessive koala.
Yes. I mouth, and my answering nod is immediate as I settle deeper into Creed’s embrace. He holds me tighter, knowing I need the comfort and reassurance of whatever the doctor has to say.
“Right,” he says, opening a folder I hadn’t noticed was tucked under his arm before now.
“Prior to your arrival, Mr. McTavish filled me in on the situation, and when you were first brought in, we’d done some initial tests and imaging scans to check for any internal bleeding, injuries, or bone breaks.
Results showed no signs of broken bones and no internal bleeding.
Your blood tests came back clean, no signs of infection, but they did indicate mild anemia, severe dehydration, and malnourishment.
” All of this is no surprise to me, but the reminder of just how long Riley and I were held under these conditions makes me sick to my stomach.
Creed is simmering next to me as Dr. Munn eyes him warily before clearing his throat and flipping to a new page.
“Physical assessment showed a total of sixty-two lacerations and skin tears, all varying in size, shape, and depth. Luckily, only fifteen of which required surgical glue or sutures, which I will point out to you shortly. The worst of which we noted to be your left shoulder. This injury was different than the others, and will need to be treated as such. You may feel some tightness and swelling as they heal, but we’ll go over all the ways to keep them clean.
Please resist the urge to scratch. The glue will dissolve over the next week or so, and the sutures will dissolve shortly after. Any questions on that bit?”
I shake my head, a knot forming in my stomach.
He cut me that many times? I hardly remember much of my time there.
I can recall the painful sensations of each cut, but my mind kept me buried as deep and as far away from Guy as possible.
My only memories were the brief moments I was awake with Riley.
As if sensing my inner distress, Creed strokes my arms gently, careful to avoid the tender flesh beneath the bandages. My skin beneath his touch feels sticky from sweat and God knows what else, and I long for a hot shower to cleanse all traces of him from my skin.
Dr. Munn pulls a rolling stool from beneath the computer and takes a seat.
“I’ll also put in a consult for PT and OT to come in and do an assessment and work with you before putting a care plan together for after discharge.
” He looks down at his notes before raising his eyes to mine again.
“I see you have old medical history, surgery to remove vocal polyps?” I nod.
“But no therapy follow-up?” he questions, and Creed stiffens beside me, his arms tensing around me.
I shake my head. Dr. Munn nods and scribbles something on his paper.
“I’ll also get speech therapy in here to do a swallow test before we clear you for a regular diet.
I’ll have them bring some low tech communication options so you can rest your vocal cords. ”
I nod, knowing it’s going to be a very long road before I feel any kind of ‘okay’ again, but the hope I should feel for finally healing seems to be just out of reach when the doctor says, “There’s one more test I’d like to complete, but we wanted to wait for your consent before proceeding.”
“What kind of test?” My question is almost audible as it passes my lips, and my heart starts to race again. What kind of test requires patient consent?
“Given the bruising and bleeding we found on your upper thighs and perineal area, I believe it wise to perform a SAEK test,” he declares. Immediately, the blood drains from my face and I feel faint. A SAEK. Sexual Assault Evidence Kit.
Creed goes deathly still when I don’t immediately protest.
And just like that, I’m no longer in the hospital room, but back to being tied down to that dirty bed with Guy hovering over me, that sick, sadistic smile painted on his face.
I can hear Riley’s cries for mercy, I can feel Guy’s assaulting fingers tearing me from the inside out as he forced the scream from my body.
Breaths saw in and out of my burning lungs, and I feel as if I’ll pass out as flashes of my time in that place play on a loop in my mind.
“Collins!” I hear Creed calling my name and another voice speaking to him…the doctor?
My world slowly tilts as the bed shifts beneath me. “Get her feet up and elevated. I’ll grab a wet washcloth.” The doctor's words sound extremely muffled, but hearing him and Creed work together helps to ground me.
“Breathe, baby,” Creed commands, soft yet firm. So I do, shakily. “That’s it,” he croons, “that’s my girl.”
The cold dampness of the cloth presses against my forehead; the sensation is both shocking and welcome.
I focus on my senses again, breathing in sync with Creed until the world slowly comes back into focus.
I hate the look in his eyes. Sadness. Pity.
I understand why he feels this way, but I was strong enough to survive and yet that physical strength is outshined by the weakness of my mind.
The doctor shuffles around, checking my vitals and asking various questions before Creed helps me to sit again. I know the question is still lingering in the air, so I look the doctor in the eye and fight the urge to hide my face as I speak.
“I don’t need a kit. I know exactly what he did to me,” I mutter quietly, with as much strength as I can muster, squeezing my hands into fists until the sting of my nails bite into my palm.
I refuse to look at Creed, whose eyes bore so intensely into the side of my skull that I can feel their heat searing me.
I swallow, my throat tight. “I wasn’t…he—he didn’t…
” I sigh, not wanting to say the words out loud. “It was by his hand.”
Dr. Munn nods and makes a note in my file before looking back to me. “Do you have any pain or discomfort?” I try not to squirm as I nod. Another scribble on paper. “I think a physical exam would be beneficial to check for tears or injury. Do you consent?”
I’m fucking sick of being poked and prodded and cut and tortured. I’m tired of unwanted touches and being left in vulnerable positions. But I know I can’t risk an injury like this, so I reluctantly nod.
He explains the process as he preps and asks if I’d like some privacy for the exam.
Meaning, do I want Creed to leave. I shake my head and reach for him.
Creed takes my hand, silently fuming the entire time despite his comforting touch, but he remains silent as he waits for the doctor to finish.
He tells me that there is some mild internal irritation, but otherwise, I look okay.
Shame floods my body, taking over until it’s all I can feel, but I swallow the emotion, trying to put on my brave face.
He goes over each of my wounds that require medical attention and the proper care for them.
Dr. Munn leaves, but his short visit has me so physically exhausted that I can hardly keep my eyes open.
But I fight to stay up because I’m still terrified that when I wake, this will all have been a dream, that the safety I feel right now in Creed’s arms will be ripped from me.
I scoot over, making room for Creed as he carefully settles in beside me while I wrap myself around him as much as I can with all the tubes and wires still attached to me. Burying my nose in his neck, he places a kiss on my temple before pressing his cheek to the top of my head.
“Sleep, my sweet stardust,” he whispers.
“Asher will be here later tonight to see you. I’m going to check on Riley once Ash gets here, before I find my dad and talk to him.
” He chuckles, his fingers stroking my arms around each cut and bruise carefully.
“You have so many people who can’t wait to meet you and see your pretty face again, especially the rest of the crew. ”
“Okay,” I mouth, even though he can’t see it.
The thought of seeing my family and friends again ignites the tiny spark of life that had remained hidden within my heart as a soothing warmth floods my body.
I don’t want to let him go, but knowing that he’ll be with our Riley, doting on him much like he is with me brings a sense of comfort I haven’t felt in so long.
“I’ll get to see Riley soon, right?” The rhythm of his heart thudding beneath my palm pulls me deeper into the darkness of sleep before I hear his answer.