Chapter Twenty-Eight
Waiting is miserable. Every minute feels like an hour. Danika’s parents are with her beyond the emergency room doors. My mom is with me. Collin texted her when she started calling. I didn’t have the voice to answer. I still don’t. Not a single word to describe the internal trauma I’m experiencing.
My dad and Collin are out getting something.
Coffee? Food? I can’t remember. I wasn’t listening.
Jonathan made it as far as the entrance before Collin intercepted him.
He must’ve told him not to be here because I haven’t seen Jonathan since.
I’ve been staring at the doors leading to the emergency rooms, waiting for someone to come out and tell us something.
Danika didn’t speak in the ambulance. She couldn’t. The EMT asked me to keep her calm because crying would cause more swelling. And she was already having a hard time breathing.
So, I held her hand and told her how strong she was. How much I admired her. That I loved her. And would be here for her through all of this.
I don’t know if she heard me. Probably not. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing into the oxygen mask. I watched the slow rise and fall of her chest with each labored, wheezing breath.
Sitting on the other side of me is the person who was there for Danika. The one who heard them arguing. Who heard Oren tell Danika to shut up. To stop talking. That she didn’t know what she was saying.
“Don’t. Speak. I don’t want to hear what you’re saying.”
His hands around her throat.
Her back slamming against the tree.
Her nails clawing for air that wasn’t there.
“My mom is here,” Laurel says. “I have to go to the police station to tell them what I saw. Will you text me when you hear anything?”
I nod. She releases my hand. I don’t know when we grabbed on to each other. But we haven’t let go until now. Today, I’m grateful she no longer lives in Brooklyn.
My empty hand shakes. My body trembles. My eyes blink back a new wave of tears.
Mr. Argent pushes Danika in a wheelchair through the open doors. Mrs. Argent walks beside the ghost of her daughter. Dark circles emphasize her round eyes, speckled with red dots. Her face is bloodless. Hints of bruising collars her neck like a shackle. That she broke free from today.
I stand. As does my mother. Collin and my dad too. I don’t remember when they returned.
The chair rolls to a stop in front of me. Danika reaches for my hand. I take hers and hold on with both of mine.
“Is there anything we can do, Gretchen?” my mother asks.
“No, but thank you. They wanted her to stay the night for observation. But we can do that at home.” I nearly forgot that her mom works at the hospital.
She looks to me. “Thank you for being there for my daughter today. I know you want to be with her, but the doctors don’t want her speaking until the swelling goes down. Maybe you can come by on Sunday?”
I nod and press my friend’s hand to my cheek before letting her go.
In an unexpected gesture, my mother puts her arm through mine and braces me against her. “Why don’t you and I drive together in your car? Your dad can take Collin home.”
I watch Danika being helped into the idling car outside the entrance.
Collin’s in front of me. I let him hug me. I don’t know if I hug him back.
Did you see it happen?” my mother asks. She maneuvers the car slowly down familiar snow-covered streets that lead us home. Everything is still and quiet, covered in white.
I shake my head.
“I’m so sorry, Sadie. I really am.” Her voice is thick with emotion. When I look at her profile, a tear rolls down her cheek. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom cry. “It’s hard to know what to do when we watch the people we love being hurt.”
I close my eyes, consumed by the slow drip of my heart, bleeding into the chasm. I let it happen. Over and over again while they dated. I didn’t do anything. I turned my head and wished it away. Wishing doesn’t protect anyone. It’s a feathered sword. And he almost killed her.
Why wasn’t I a better friend?
Jaz and Darcy are waiting in my room when I walk in. They arrived for our sleepover, not knowing what happened at the bonfire until Magda let them in and told them why we were at the hospital.
My friends jump up from my bed and embrace me in a group hug. We squeeze each other for a long time. Their eyes shine with worry.
“Is she okay?” Darcy asks.
I close my eyes to contain my unshed tears and shake my head.
“How can she be?” Jaz replies for me. “The person who swore he loved her tried to end her.”
I swallow. The marks he left behind are branded in my mind.
“We’re staying over,” Jaz says. “So you better like being spooned because that bed is somehow going to fit all three of us.”
A shadow of a smile forms on my face. I’m suddenly exhausted.
I grab clothes that are oddly folded and stacked on my chair next to the bookcase and head into the bathroom. When I return, I look around. My room is clean.
“We were waiting a long time,” Darcy explains. “And I needed something to do.”
“Get in here,” Jaz beckons, folding back the covers.
I crawl in and am sandwiched between my friends. Darcy clicks off the bedside light, and the room darkens. As exhausted as I am, sleep doesn’t come easily.
We don’t wait until Sunday. Right after breakfast, the three of us are at the Argents’ door. Mrs. Argent reads our determined faces—we’re not going anywhere until we see Danika.
“Promise not to let her speak?”
We agree and then invade her bedroom. Danika is propped up, sipping tea. She’s not as pale, although the dark circles haven’t faded. Pinprick red dots freckle her lids and both eyes. And the bruising on her neck looks angrier than ever.
“Oh, Danika,” Darcy cries, seeing the damage done.
“She’s okay, baby,” Jaz whispers in her ear. “We’re here to make sure of it.”
Exhaustion paints her face. And her eyes don’t shine as bright. Yesterday changed her, I know. It’s changed me too. But the fire’s still in there. She’s still my bold, unapologetic best friend. We just need to make her feel safe, so she can light up again.
“You’re not allowed to talk,” I announce, trying to lighten the mood.
“But that’s what this is for.” Jaz presents her with a small whiteboard that we framed with jewels, various shades of neon nail polish and stickers.
None of us could sleep, so we got up early and raided my craft supplies—after purchasing the polish and board at the convenience store.
Danika looks between us with a small smile, her brows furrowed in permanent sadness. She takes the board and writes, Thank you. She purses her lips, searching for words that aren’t easy to write. Or say. I know what it’s like when words aren’t enough. Sorry will never feel like enough.
She erases the words, then scribbles quickly, like she’s in a rush to get it out: I love you all for being here, but I really want to be alone right now.
Danika averts her eyes, blinking back tears.
My chest constricts. But I understand. I failed her. She wanted me with her to keep something bad from happening. But I was so wrapped up in my own drama, I wasn’t with her when it mattered.
“Why?” Darcy asks. The only one of us who’d dare question this. “Are you mad at us for not doing anything to protect you? Because we’ve been talking.” Jaz and Darcy have been talking; I’ve been listening. “And we feel like the worst friends ever for not saying something sooner.”
Danika’s eyes widen. She shakes her head frantically. No. Not your fault. I was stupid.
“Stupid is contagious when love is involved,” Jaz says simply.
“Never again,” I vow. The girls know exactly what I’m saying after our conversation last night.
“Never again,” Jaz and Darcy echo. Danika nods, tears clinging to her lashes.
“Now move over so we can watch Thelma & Louise,” Jaz insists, searching for the remote to turn on the DVD player.
I sit beside Danika with Darcy cross-legged on the other side. She rests her shoulder against mine. I erase everything after I love you on the whiteboard and draw a heart around it. Danika lets the tears fall.
Maybe we should’ve given her space to heal. Or maybe healing is being surrounded by friends who love you so much they recognize they need to take better care of each other.
Either way, we stay. And we cheer, holler, and cry for our friend who cannot speak. We are her voice. We promise each other we won’t be silent. Never again.