Only For You Page 21

  “Thank you Dr. Halthum. Will you please keep me posted?” I requested.

  “Of course.”

  He excused himself and left. The next gentleman drew my attention.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Khan from orthopedics. I performed surgery on Miss Whitney after Dr. Halthum, and in tandem with Dr. Spinel,” he gestured to the remaining doctor.

  “Miss Whitney’s injuries were substantial. She has a fractured left clavicle that required the use of plates, rods, and screws. Her left shoulder was dislocated, and her left ulna was also severely fractured requiring plates and screws. Her third and fourth metacarpi were broken and set with pins. Several fingers on her left hand were broken which have also been set. She sustained several fractured ribs that have been wrapped to help reduce her pain. We identified five broken toes, which have been secured to allow proper healing.” He paused, his laundry list completed, “She will require physical therapy, but she should make a full recovery with minimal residual effects, physically.”

  Dr. Kahn excused himself with his apologies.

  “As Dr. Kahn said, I’m Dr. Spinel. I’m from plastics. Miss Whitney had a lot of damage to her face, as well. I reconstructed her left zygomatic and maxilla bones–her cheek–as well as her nasal bone. She also had extensive lacerations and contusions on her face, which I cleaned and sutured. I suspect she will have several scars she will want to address once the healing is complete. There is one cut on her left cheek that may require surgical scar revision. There is another scar along her forehead, which I suspect will require cryosurgery. Any remaining scars should be easily corrected with dermabrasion. The good news is Miss Whitney will look like herself again, once she is healed and the swelling recedes.”

  As she finished speaking, I noticed another female doctor slip into the room. Dr. Spinel excused herself with her well wishes for Sam.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Bilatus. I apologize for my lateness, but I was just checking on Sam.”

  I liked her already. She was the first doctor to call Sam by her given name.

  “She is doing well. While she is still unconscious, in recovery, she has ample pain medication to ensure her comfort. We will keep her in a medically induced coma until she has healed and is able to breathe independently. This will allow her body time to recover.”

  “Thank you Dr. Bilatus,” I could not help but interject.

  “Please, call me Lauren. I’m the head of Gynecology and Obstetrics at the hospital. I performed an SOEC kit, a rape kit, on Sam. There is evidence to indicate she has been sexually assaulted. She had extensive vaginal trauma that required internal and external sutures, as did lacerations around her anus. I don’t believe her injuries will impede her fertility or ability to carry a child to term, but additional examinations after she has healed will offer more conclusive findings. At this time our biggest gynecological concern will be to guard against infection.”

  Dr. Bilatus paused, collecting herself. “May I speak frankly?”

  “Please,” I consented.

  “Sam will heal physically, I’m cautiously optimistic she will fully recover from all her injuries after consulting with my colleagues. However, the violence of her assault will leave its own scars, ones that are not visible. She may seem fine, but she won’t be. It’s not possible to be okay after what happened to her unless she gets professional help. I know you love her and would probably do anything for her. This is not something where your love and support will be enough. You need to ensure she receives professional assistance to process what has happened to her and to help her heal, even if she fights you. I’m sorry to speak so bluntly, but I have seen so much abuse over the years. I don’t want Sam to suffer more than she already has.”

  “Thank you Dr. Bilatus…Lauren. I understand and I promise I will do everything in my power to heal Sam, including dragging her kicking and screaming to counseling, doctors, and whatever else she needs.”

  “Good.” She seemed to debate saying more. “I had a sister who was raped while she was in college.” I saw the shadows in her eyes as she said, “She confided in me and made me promise not to tell anyone. She said she was fine every time I asked. I watched her so closely, trying to help. She began to change, became depressed. Two years later, she committed suicide. I know it’s not my fault, but I can’t help but wonder if I had gotten her the help she needed would her story have had a different ending. I don’t want that for Sam, or for you.”

  On an impulse, I hugged Lauren. She understood the pain I was feeling and my fears for Sam. I could imagine the pain if I lost Sam because of the attack, whether directly or indirectly—now or later. She returned my embrace and I heard a quiet sniffle before she pulled away.

  “I’ll be checking on her periodically while she is here, and I’ll continue to pray for her after she leaves. Good luck.”

  She slipped from the room, leaving Hunter and I shell-shocked. Neither of us could find the words for several minutes.

  “What hell did she live through?” I asked Hunter.

  “The most important thing at this point is that she lived, angel, she lived.”

  I nodded my agreement outwardly, but internally I was disconsolate. I believed Sam would wake up, she would live, but would she still be the same girl I loved like a sister? Could she be so altered by her horrific experience that she would become someone I couldn’t even recognize?

  A nurse entered to advise us Sam was out of recovery and relocated to the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). Hunter and I immediately headed for the elevators.

  The ICU nurse provided Sam’s room number and we navigated the circular pattern of rooms until we located her. Upon entering, I was struck by the heinousness of the attack. She looked slightly better than when I saw her in the ambulance, the blood washed away, her wounds treated and bandaged. I heard Hunter’s gasp, reminding me he had yet to see the full extent of the damage. I walked to her bed and lightly kissed her forehead on the one tiny spot that appeared unmarred. I wanted to hold her hand and offer her comfort, even in her unconscious state, but I didn’t know where to touch her that would not inflict pain.

  Hunter dragged a chair near the bed and sat down, pulling me into his lap. We sat silently together watching Sam, her artificial breathing accompanied by a symphony of machinery. Her unnatural stillness was disconcerting. I began to pray to every deity I had ever heard of for her recovery and healing. I prayed Sam would overcome the brand she would carry on her soul from the violation. In addition, I prayed that the bastard who committed the atrocity would get what he deserved. I prayed he would be found, convicted, and incarcerated. Finally, I prayed he would be an involuntary prison bitch every day for the rest of his life. It may not have been the holiest of prayers, but it was from the heart.

  “Why don’t I take you home? You can sleep for a few hours, shower, and collect anything Sam might want when she wakes up. I will follow you back to the hospital later so your car will be here just in case you need it. I’ll even buy you non-vending machine coffee,” Hunter offered sweetly.

  “I don’t want to leave her. What if she wakes up and I’m not here? She should not wake up alone. She’ll be scared and confused. I don’t want her to be scared again,” I pleaded.

  “She’s in a medically induced coma for the time being, she won’t wake while you’re gone. We can even check with the nurse before we leave to verify, and leave your phone number in case there are any changes,” Hunter reasoned with me.

  “Okay. I could use a little rest and a shower, not necessarily in that order. I was planning on collecting clothes and toiletries for Sam soon, so I would be able to check that off my to-do list.”

  We stopped by the nurse station and she confirmed Sam would remain in a medically induced coma for at least 72 hours, best-case scenario. With her reassurance to call if there was any change, we headed back to my apartment.

  On the way I left a message for Mr. Whitney, providing the information learned about Sam’s injuries and the prognosis. I didn’t go into any fu
rther details. It felt wrong to divulge such personal information, even to her father. It would be Sam’s choice who she would and would not tell. Perhaps she would wake up and not even remember any of the attack or rape, some type of trauma-induced amnesia to protect her mind and spirit. Would that be better for her? Would she heal better knowing or wondering? I was too tired to ponder such difficult questions.

  Hunter parked near my building and we walked in together. After I unlocked the door, Hunter walked through the apartment inspecting every room and closet for intruders. When he was done, he gave me a thumbs up and headed for the door.

  “I’ll see you in a little bit. Try to rest.”

  “Please, stay. I don’t want to be alone,” I begged.

  “I’m just going to run home and get a change of clothes, I will be back in a little while. Take your shower and try to eat something. Why don’t you give me your key in case you fall asleep before I return?”

  I handed him the spare key from the junk drawer. I didn’t want him to leave, but understood the desire for clean clothes. He was not being unreasonable, but that didn’t bring me any comfort when I was afraid.

  “I know you’re scared, understandably. Your apartment is safe, lock the deadbolt behind me. I will have my cell with me at all times,” Hunter tried to calm me.

  “Alright.” I was only mildly pacified.

  He kissed the tip of my nose and left, closing the door behind him. I locked the deadbolt and checked it had engaged three times before I was satisfied.

  I decided to take a shower first, locking the bathroom door as soon as I was inside. After starting the shower, I quickly stripped to my birthday suit. I was thankful for the glass doors on the shower, if we had a shower curtain I would have left it open, water be damned. My eyes were glued to the door the whole time, causing me to get shampoo in my eyes, which initiated a new flood of tears. They began as shampoo tears, but quickly transitioned into sobs of grief for Sam. I slid down the wall to the floor of the shower, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them protectively, as if I could hold myself together. I repeated “why” like a mantra.

  After an indeterminable period, I wiped my face and finished my shower. Coming back to my senses, I noted that the next time I decided to have a breakdown in the shower I should apply my deep-conditioning treatment first. Then I could cry to my heart’s content while repairing my hair. If there was nothing I could do to repair my heart, why not fix my hair instead?

  Shaving required too much effort, so I washed my face and exited the shower. After wrapping a towel around my hair, I dried my body and moisturized. My teeth felt grimy so I brushed them, too. I debated hiding in the bathroom until Hunter returned, but I decided to put on my big-girl panties and conquer my fear. I unlocked the bathroom, opening it a cranial width and popped my head out. My eyes met Hunter’s and I screamed, startled to find him in the hallway only ten feet away. I knew I had startled him too because he tensed. I must have looked like a rabid prairie dog.

  “Sorry, you scared me.”

  “I was just coming to knock on the door to let you know I was back so I didn’t scare you. Obviously that plan is moot. You okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine, just a little jumpy. The shock was good for me—once the adrenaline stops coursing through my veins I will crash and actually get some sleep.”

  “Now that’s looking at the bright side. Did you eat?”

  “No, I showered first.”

  He nodded, and was kind enough not to mention my exorbitantly long shower.

  “I’ll prepare something while you get dressed. I brought decaf coffee, so you wouldn’t have to wait for it to brew. Go throw on some pajamas and meet me at the table.”

  After dressing I headed to the kitchen, but Hunter shooed me out of his way, handing me my cup of coffee and telling me to sit down. Whatever he was concocting smelled delectable. I was not hungry, but my body needed nourishment. It had been more than twenty hours since I had last eaten. I sat, sipping my coffee as Hunter worked efficiently, quickly locating items and utensils he needed. He cleaned as he cooked, leaving the kitchen immaculate. He would make a good roommate, but I already had a roommate and I wanted her back.

  Hunter carried two plates to the table before returning to carry in two glasses of water. I studied my plate. An egg white omelet with ham, onions, tomatoes, and cheese, accompanied by two pieces of whole-wheat toast with butter and jam. Perfection.

  “This looks fantastic. I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “You don’t know everything about me.”

  “What else don’t I know?”

  “Ask me anything.”

  “I know that. I was looking for random factoids, selected by you.”

  I took a bite of my omelet. Dang, it was scrumptious!

  “Random? Hmmm…I was missing my deciduous upper lateral incisors. Both of them.”

  “Deciduous upper lateral incisors? What the heck are you talking about?”

  “I was missing the baby teeth on top that are supposed to be between the canines and eye teeth.”

  “That is weird. Finally, proof you’re not perfect. You are defective, that is encouraging. Still, deciduous?”

  “Second factoid: I have a word of the day calendar.”

  I laughed. He was ridiculous. I love it! This was a perfect distraction from my melancholy, which I was confident was his intention.

  “I need more. Keep ‘em coming.”

  “You’re greedy.” He paused, deep in thought, “I’m double jointed.”

  “That one was pretty boring.”

  “If you think you can do better, you try.”

  “Nope. I want to listen and learn about you. Continue,” I gestured my hand regally.

  “I can break a 2’x4’ wood plank with my hands, feet, or head.”

  “Predictable.” At least for Hunter.

  He raised an eyebrow. Yep, I was hard to impress today.

  “I speak four languages: English, Spanish, Russian, and Japanese.”

  “And by speak, I presume you mean more than just curse words?”

  “Yes…sí…da…hai,” he responded.

  “Impressive,” I repeated my regal gesture urging him to continue.

  “I can wake up, shower, dress, and be out of my house in under five minutes.”

  “You’re a man, that’s not impressive.”

  What was impressive was how good he would look after those five minutes. Now that was unfair.

  “You Miss, are a tough audience.”

  I shrugged, not offended in the least.

  “I have perfect vision, literally. I’m 20/5 in both eyes.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I turn down the music in the car when I’m not familiar with an area and need to read street signs.”

  “Because turning the music down improves your vision?”

  He shrugged, aware of how silly the habit was.

  “I have a tattoo.”

  “You do? Where? What of?”

  “I’m not telling. I need to keep some mystery.”

  “That’s just mean. You know it will drive me nuts not knowing.”

  “I do,” he chuckled.

  “Please,” I whined.

  “I’ve never heard you whine. It’s strangely cute, and persuasive. The tattoo is on my chest, and it’s the Japanese word “eien,” which means forever or eternal.”

  “Can I see it?”

  I had never seen Hunter’s chest before. Screw the tattoo; I just wanted to see bare skin.

  “Sure,” he sighed, sounding slightly put out, but placating me nonetheless. He lifted his shirt to expose his chest. On his left pectoral was an intricate design in black ink.

  The tattoo was interesting. His chest was enthralling. He had perfectly defined pecs. I could glimpse the top of his abs before the table blocked my view. He was ripped. I could wash my clothes on his stomach if there was ever a nuclear event that killed the world’s power sources and we were forced t
o revert to pioneer living. Thank you sir, may I have another?

  I cleared my throat. “Very enlightening. More.” I really wanted to see more of his body, but I settled for more Hunter particulars.

  “I have three testicles.”

  “What?” I nearly spit out my water.

  “Just checking if you were paying attention.”

  “Ever the comedian, Mr. Hunter.”

  “I have never said ‘I love you’ to a woman, excluding family.”

  “Why not?”

  Maybe it wasn’t me, maybe he was incapable of love or commitment. That was mildly comforting. It still sucked, but at least I knew it wasn’t me.

  “Because I didn’t, and I was not going to lie.”

  “That is respectable.”

  “Last one for today.” I nodded my acceptance. “I like to drink pickle juice from the jar once all the pickles are gone.”

  “That is disgusting, you’re a freak. Do you know how much sodium is in that juice? Does it even qualify as juice? Isn’t it more of a preserving liquid?” I pondered in disgust.

  “Don’t judge me,” he repeated the command I had given him more than once. “Time for you to rest. Off to bed with you.”

  He turned me around by my shoulders and directed me toward my bedroom.

  “Hunter, will you sleep with me?”

  I didn’t want to be alone. I saw the conflict in his eyes and realized my poor word choice.

  “Let me try that again—will you lay with me, fully clothed, while we both sleep? I don’t want to be alone.”