Chapter 13 Perpetrator Toilet Swims
Chapter thirteen
Perpetrator Toilet Swims
Hours later, I sit here in the hospital chair next to Sarah, looking at her in concern.
We're in a private room with the lights turned off, and it's so silent.
Been silent for quite a while. Neither of us knowing what to say, I think.
And honestly, she shouldn't even feel the need to talk. She doesn't have to with me.
I see her.
She's curled under the blanket and just staring off into space. Every now and then, she’ll blink. But that's it. Understandably so. My heart tugs because I can only imagine what's going on in her head right now. Her soul.
About an hour ago I gave her her bag and purse, watching as she texted a number.
I sat here next to her silently while she told the medical officials about the abuse that's been going on and saw her muster up a rather steely resolve when they informed her that they needed to take pictures for their records.
When they asked if she was hurt anywhere else, she showed him her jaw, having to use a wet wipe to remove the foundation hiding the bruising there.
Watching the dark bruise being revealed really fucked me up on the inside. But thankfully I could keep my emotions locked down, successfully hiding what I really think from her. Because this is about her, not me.
They x-rayed her just to make sure nothing was fractured.
I left the room for a second, too angry to feel like I could continue to sit there calmly. But now, I'm back in and by her side.
I look over at her small body huddled underneath several warming blankets in the hospital bed; her almond-shaped, light chocolate nails clutch the blanket under her chin. Her stunning hair spills down her front and side in a near black waterfall of loose waves, slightly mussed.
My face tightens as she sniffs delicately, holding a tissue to her reddening nose.
My heart thumps uncomfortably as I think about Aurora, who’d suffered four miscarriages before the doctors told her she would never be able to have children. My palm itches to grab my phone, but it dings with an incoming text before I can.
Sleeping Beauty [9:58p]: Hey bro, you ok? I feel off but there’s nothing going on with me.
I sigh as I lean forward to reply to Aurora, who never misses the mark.
A [9:59p]: No, I was actually just thinking I wanted to text you but thought it might be too late. You won’t believe what just happened to me. Well….to my colleague. A therapist came to my office this evening to discuss a client.
Sleeping Beauty [9:59p]: The one from last week? The appointment you postponed?
A [10:00p]: Yep. She had a miscarriage in my office tonight.
Aurora sends a string of broken heart emojis and shocked faces.
Sleeping Beauty [10:00p]: Oh my gosh, Alex, is she ok?
A [10:01p]: Not really, sis. She's so….listless….it's heartbreaking.
Sleeping Beauty [10:02p]: Are you ok?
A [10:02p]: I'm enraged. Her boyfriend was beating her, Aurora.
Sleeping Beauty [10:04p]: Is anyone else there with her? And standing her up….that’s not like you at all. Well…things happen for a reason…maybe you were supposed to stand her up last week, so you could be there for her tonight.
“You can go,” Sarah whispers so quietly that I barely hear her.
My eyes flicker to her, momentarily startled by her voice piercing the quietness of the sterile hospital room. I catch her eye, and my heart tugs at the emptiness and pain I find there. Leaning to the side, I slide my phone into my back pocket and hope like hell my eyes look kind as I regard her.
Because our bullshit professional stand-off dissipated the minute I sank down onto that floor with her in my arms.
“No, I’m staying. Why would I leave you?
You have no car, no nothing,” I say softly.
Cognizant of her abuse, I purposefully keep my tone low and non-threatening as I lean forward and clasp my hands in between my knees.
Not even able to imagine what she must be feeling right now.
“Do you want me to contact anyone? Your parents…or a sibling, maybe?”
Her gaze averts away, letting me know that this is a sore spot for her.
“No. No one knew about my pregnancy," she replies, blinking and resuming her stare at the window next to me.
I frown, biting the inside of my cheek before pressing, "Are…Are you sure? It's no problem, I promise—"
"—My parents live in California," she interrupts me quietly, "and…we’re just not that close, honestly. I messaged my best friends to come. So, you can go. You must be very tired.”
Curious that she's mustered any energy to care about how I'm feeling has me tightening uncomfortably.
Staying still, and silent, I stare at her profile as she continues to look off towards the window, her eyes scarily blank.
Selfishly I want her to look at me. But it's not use because it wouldn't help.
I wish my eyes could offer hope and warmth like other people do.
Maybe I could help heal her if they did.
The nurse verified she was twelve weeks pregnant, right at her second trimester. The fact she was so far along and hadn’t told anyone about it is just as concerning as it was heartbreaking.
My hands clench helplessly as a singular tear slips out of her eye, falling across her nose and hitting the pillow under her head.
She stays unmoving. Needing to be closer to her, I rise and drag my chair up to her bed.
"I'm not tired, sweetheart," I murmur. Daringly, I reach forward and wipe gently at her face with my thumb, smoothing her tears away, caressing her soft skin.
There's just something about this woman that speaks to me.
Sighing to myself, I lower my hand and place it onto hers, feeling she's ice cold. She's got her delicate fingers wrapped around the blanket, but I work my hand over hers and grip it tightly. Rubbing my thumb along the veins present under her skin, I take a deep breath before speaking.
“Sarah, you’re going to get through this.” I lean forward further, tightening my hand slightly more on hers.
She doesn't squeeze back. The blank look in her eye is worrisome; the girl that was so full of life in my office just last week looks like she's dying. She stays silent, and a pinched feeling starts in my chest.
I don't want this for her, no matter our professional history.
“Can I get you anything? A change of clothes? Anything?” I enquire quietly.
The door opening and the nurse walking in grabs my attention, forcing me to cut my words off.
She gives us a quiet greeting, and I observe carefully as she looks at Sarah’s vitals before leaving us alone once more.
Sarah turns her head to glance at me and takes a slow, deep breath.
“My friends are coming to get me, and then they're going to stop by my office so I can change my clothes.” She pauses. “You really can go…it’s very late—"
"Please don't ask me to leave you again," I say hoarsely, feeling my face warm. My eyes prick with emotion too acute for me to name right now, but I do know this: I'd rather walk on glass right now than leave her side.
"Okay," she whispers, her eyes welling with tears. "Thank you for staying with me.”
I take a second to observe her quietly, seeing the rosy flush to her nose, her cheeks, and the red tint to her eyes. The poor girl looks tired, distraught, lost. I frown, her words finally sinking into my consciousness making a warning bell go off.
“Your office…for a change of clothes?” I parrot back, trying to understand.
Just then, there's a loud commotion in the hallway, and a young, fit but slender African American man comes barreling into the room.
He spots Sarah quickly, and a distraught expression crosses his features before he quickly schools his expression into one of quiet strength.
As the man marches up to the bed and leans down into her face, I get up hastily, preparing to throw myself at this person.
However, the man starts talking, ignoring my presence.
“SJ! Look at me, baby girl,” he says, his tone strained.
His black eyebrows knit together as his hands came out to move her head slightly to look at him.
Concerned, I look down at Sarah, seeing she stays staring, like she doesn’t hear.
The man continues, “Sarah, Brandon is here!” His brow lowers into a thunderous expression.
“And what the fuck? He did this to you?"
"Brandon?" Sarah's squeaks. Her eyes go wide with fear as her hand tightens on mine, becoming clammy and cold.
"Yes, and Christopher!" His eyes flash with worry and anger as he shoves both of his hands over his head and half-turns. "Fuck, Christopher is going to kill him!” He blows out an exasperated breath before flicking his eyes to mine and then down to my hand in Sarah’s.
“Uh, who the hell are you?” He glances sharply at me.
Not willing to let go of her just yet, I take my free hand, holding it out to the stranger. He takes it in a light grip and shakes it abruptly. There's another commotion outside. I flit my gaze down the man's body, arching my eyebrow.
“Dr. Richardson," I reply. "So, who’s Brandon and where is he again?” I purposefully keep my tone nonchalant, yet feeling anything but.
“My name's Jerome," he replies curtly, "and Brandon's her boyfriend. The fucker that did this to her. He’s out in the hallway with Christopher. The nurses are about to call security.” Jerome's face is pulled tight with barely restrained fury, but I'm out the door before he can even finish saying the last sentence.
I round the doorway and see two young men loudly facing off in the hallway. I don’t know who is who, though, having never seen them before. My steps slow as I take them both in. There's a black haired, stockily built guy, and a taller, blonde man with dimples who looks like he could be a model.
“Brandon?” I call sharply, tilting my head. My gaze flickers between the men.