7. Clara
CLARA
WICKED
As soon as Maverick closes the door, Rosie pushes a cart with the collected items to the foot of the bed, then gives me a long look reminiscent of my mother.
“Okay, darling. We’re gonna get this catheter out.
” The smile she had on her face just a second ago disappears.
“Before I do that, I need to ask you a question.”
My brows furrow, and I tilt my head, attempting to process what she just said and what question she needs to ask me. She went from jovial to serious in half a heartbeat. “What is it?” I can’t seem to raise my voice beyond a whisper, and I’m reluctant to speak.
I’m overwhelmed.
“The handsome gentleman tell you what brought you here?” Rosie nods in response to mine. She mindlessly rearranges the cart items for a moment before she continues. “The doctors did a physical exam when you came in, just to assess your injuries and make sure everything was as it should be. ”
Rosie pauses, causing my anxiety to increase. At the rate my heart’s been beating tonight, I worry it’ll give out soon.
“Your physical exam… suggested signs of sexual assault, my darling. Dr. Callahan would like to do a forensic exam for DNA. We can usually get viable evidence within 72 hours, and she wanted to wait as long as she could. She was hoping you’d wake up and consent.
We’re nearing the end of the 72-hour window now… What do you think?”
“What would’ve happened if I didn’t wake up?” I answer her question with a question because I need to know.
Rosie sighs. “If you didn’t wake up, Dr. Callahan would’ve asked the ethics committee and medical team for consent.”
My eyes look in her direction but stare at nothing as I process the implications of that. They want to do a forensic exam to see if I’d been raped. To see if he left any evidence inside me.
I was.
And he did.
I’m scared, and I wish Tamara were here to hold my hand through all of this. I don’t even know if they called her to tell her they found me. I want to ask Maverick when he comes back.
The silence is heavy for a few minutes, but I break it with an almost inaudible “Okay.”
Rosie looks relieved. She dons a pair of gloves and starts removing medical items from their sterile pouches. “I’ll make this quick, darling. I’m gonna remove the catheter. It shouldn’t hurt, but you might feel some discomfort.”
I nod and squeeze my eyes shut. I just want to get this over with.
“I’m gonna lay your bed back, then I’ll sit you up again after the exam.” She presses the button that lays me flat and moves the blanket from my legs.
I wince when Rosie removes the catheter, but she makes quick work of the procedure.
“Alright, my darling, we’re done! I’m gonna call Shelly. She’s our trained Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner, so she’ll come in and do the exam. She’ll take care of you.”
The idea of someone new in the room is too much. I start to shake my head, keeping my eyes closed, when I feel a warm touch on my hand. “Would you like me to stay with you while she’s here?”
“Yes, please.” I feel like a child. I haven’t spoken to my mom in a little over five years, but in this moment? I really, really fucking want my mom. I can’t tell if the tears are from loneliness, fear of the exam, or both.
Both.
Rosie gives my hand a gentle squeeze and tells me she’ll be right back.
And she is. Within moments, the door opens again, but this time another woman follows Rosie into the room.
She’s younger—possibly the same age as me—and tall with blonde hair cropped close to her head.
As she moves closer, I notice her hospital badge has her name and picture with “SANE” in bold, white letters beneath them.
“Hi, Clara. My name is Shelly. I’m a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner. Rosie told me you consented to the forensic exam?” Shelly poses the statement as a question.
“Yes,” is all I manage to say.
“You’ll be in control of this entire exam, Clara.
” Shelly speaks softly and cautiously, the way someone would to a wounded animal.
I’m not sure how I feel about that, despite knowing she’s just trying to keep me calm.
“You can refuse any part of it. If you’d like to collect the evidence yourself, I can walk you through that. ”
Wait, what? Collect the evidence myself? No. I don’t want to do that.
The look on my face must broadcast what I’m thinking because Shelly quickly adds, “You don’t have to do it; it’s just an option available to you if at any point you’re uncomfortable.
Remember, you have full control over the exam.
I’ll ask permission before we start and before I collect any evidence.
I’ll tell you exactly what I’m doing and explain every step.
If any part of the exam is uncomfortable, tell me, and I’ll stop. ”
Maybe I do like Shelly.
“You also have the option of getting an STD test. I can do that for you while I’m here, if that’s something you’d like. We can also talk about birth control if you aren’t on it.”
My head is reeling. I hadn’t even thought about any of those things. I have a birth control implant, and I’ve never been more thankful for it. But an STD? That bastard could’ve given me something.
“I’m on birth control. I have an implant.” My voice cracks as I speak. “And I’d like an STD test, please. ”
“Okay, Clara. We can do that. Are you ready? Remember, you have full control.”
No.
No, I’m not ready, but I nod reluctantly anyway.
I’ve read books where the female main character disconnects from her body during traumatizing events.
She would somehow dissociate and find solace in her mind.
It’s a survival strategy. A coping mechanism.
I tried to do it when Shelly was collecting evidence from me, but I suppose there’s a reason it’s called fiction.
It didn’t work.
Or maybe I just couldn’t not focus on what she was doing. It was hard to disconnect when she was constantly asking for permission to touch me. I appreciated it, but I also just wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening.
I felt raw.
Exposed.
Once the exam was over, Rosie helped me shower. She brushed my hair, then gave me a hug and told me she’d be back to check on me soon. She said she’d ask Dr. Callahan about food. I nodded, but I’m not hungry. I don’t even think I can eat. I hope she doesn’t come back with a food tray.
I asked her to turn off the lights before she left, but as soon as the room went dark, my heart rate skyrocketed, and my breathing turned shallow. She had to turn them back on .
The lights illuminate every inch of this hospital room, and the bathroom door is wide open. That light is on, too. None of it brings me comfort.
My body is exhausted. Hell, I’m exhausted.
I’m terrified of sleeping. What if I wake up and find that this is all a dream?
That I never left that godforsaken wooden box?
Or maybe that was a nightmare, and I’m really still in that warehouse.
I don’t want to chance it. So, instead, I lay the bed back and pull the sheets over my head, curling into a ball with my back against the guard rail.
Beneath the blanket, tucked in my cocoon, I crumble. The pillow is soaked with tears, and I shake uncontrollably.
I hate what he’s done to me.
I hate that I don’t feel like myself.
I’m deathly afraid he’s taken pieces of me I’ll never get back.