Falling (Bits and Pieces, Book 1)

by Shirley Miranda

  * * *

  The police came by to talk to him before he was discharged. He didn’t have much to add except that the only person he accepted a drink from was Becca. Mostly because he couldn’t remember much after that. He didn’t remember me talking to him or my fight with Becca. Apparently, it was very common for someone who was roofied to have a complete blank of the night. It usually was other things that would tip the victim off that something bad happened. In his case, waking up in the hospital.

  The crew didn’t wait long after I called them to stop by for a visit. They wanted to see for themselves that he was fine. Aside from having no memory of last night after our time in the game room, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him. Lindsey took the opportunity to convince her mom to get some air and something to eat.

  Up to that point, I had successfully avoided telling him the details of how we got him away from Becca. Lindsey knew I was concerned about how Patrick would react to me retaliating, in any way, to Becca. Of course, at the time we talked about it, I didn’t think I’d be trying to get Patrick away from her for his safety. Still, it was something that could wait until he was out of the hospital. He would eventually find out. No doubt, it would be part of this year’s epic stories of Dylan’s party.

  It was easy for Patrick to ask them what happened. They came in, excited to see him and talking about how worried they were. Emily seamlessly switched gears from sharing her fright to her awe and amazement. “You should have seen it, Patrick, Liz was amazing. I couldn’t believe it. She really let Becca have it.”

  Great. So much for waiting until he was out of the hospital. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. Emily and Cassie were more than happy to share what happened. I just sat there on the little couch barely moving and carefully watching his reaction.

  They told him how we were singing, then how I got worried and went outside when he didn’t return. From there, I hadn’t heard her version of the night. Hearing about the night through her perspective was surreal. Did Patrick feel the same way? He attentively listened and occasionally would look over at me, frozen in my seat.

  He almost looked like he was hearing a story about someone else. Not me. Not him. When he glanced at me, it was with disbelief and shock. The crew sang my praises and credited me with his safe escape.

  His brows raised and head shook in disbelief. “Wow.”

  Bobby stared at Patrick, me, then Patrick again. “You didn’t know?” He turned back at me. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I was going to…later.” Eventually.

  Patrick’s gaze was intense. “Come here.” He waved his hand and motioned for me to stand next to him.

  I walked over and circled around the crew, who stood on both sides of his bed. I hid even more behind my hair, keeping my head tilted down. It covered the half of my face that made the most contact with Becca and the ground. I stood next to his bed, closer to him than I had all night. He brushed my hair aside to see my entire face and tucked it behind my ear. My scars and stitches exposed. My chest tightened and my face scrunched up. Without turning, he asked the crew, “Can you guys give us a minute?”

  I heard them leave, wishing they wouldn’t. I wasn’t afraid of what he’d do, but what he might say. What if I presumed wrong last night? I didn’t think I did, but what if? What if he was mad that I was in a knock out, drag out fight with Becca, especially the way Emily told it? Even though they broke up, I knew he still cared about her, maybe even loved her.

  “Relax.” He gently spoke, carefully lifting my chin. “Please look at me.”

  I looked up to meet his eyes, frightened at what might be coming next. I held my breath.

  He searched my face and finally spoke, “I’m not mad. If that’s what you think. Not at you, at least.”

  My voice cracked. “You’re not?” Surprised, I started to breathe again.

  “Of course not.” He chuckled softly. “You’re my hero. My own personal Superman. Or should I call you Wonder Woman?”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “Ow.” The sharp pain in my side reminded me that I wasn’t invincible like a superhero. “I wish I was.” I pulled my arm close to my side, as if to protect it.

  Patrick winced in sympathy and worry. “Are you okay?” He reached out to me, but stopped like he didn’t know where to put his hand without hurting me.

  “I’ll live.” I simply said. Hoping he wouldn’t notice I really wasn’t answering his question.

  He did and sighed, “That’s not an answer.”

  I bit my lip, trying to think of what to say that wasn’t a lie. The silent seconds ticked by which felt like minutes.

  He broke the silence. “That bad huh?”

  My face fell. I felt like I let him down. I wanted to be strong, I just wished it didn’t hurt so much. Because it did, I was afraid that I wasn’t. But if there was anyone I could always be completely honest with, it was Patrick. “Yeah.” I reluctantly whispered. I didn’t want him to feel bad, but I didn’t know what else to say.

  “How bad?” His voice was steady. If we weren’t in the hospital, I would never have thought anything had been wrong with him.

  “Don’t be mad.” I begged him.

  He shook his head. His voice was incredulous. “Why would I be mad at you? You saved me from…”

  “Yeah…I know.” It was at that instant that I knew what he must have felt when he heard what happened to me in San Francisco. Only, he was hearing about it after the fact and there was nothing he could do to stop any of it from happening. I was in the position to do something about it. I had the same rage last night that he had the day of the trial. I threw myself in front of a train to stop him from getting hurt. I know he would have done the same for me.

  I knew what he was feeling at that moment. When you realize how close you were to being raped. Petrified isn’t strong enough. Terror, maybe? Disconcerting doesn’t cover it. It’s like the foundation of yourself has cracked and you falling through some chasm. No matter what people or logic says, you feel like you shoulder at least part of the blame. You know you shouldn’t, but you do.

  I slowly lifted the side of my shirt up to reveal the palette of reds and purples. I carefully watched his reaction. His eyes widened in disbelief. He reached out to touch my side. I braced myself for the contact. His fingers lightly touched my bruises, it was like a feather, so it barely stung. Maybe it was also because I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

  His eyes were warm and grateful. “Thank you. It doesn’t seem to cover it. I just wish you weren’t hurt.”

  I lowered my shirt and took his hand. I didn’t want him feeling guilty. I had to be strong, so he wouldn’t feel that way. “I know. But I’d do it again if I had to.” I thought for a second. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until I healed first.” I cracked a little smile to let him know I was really okay with it all.

  He laughed. “Deal.” He gave my hand a squeeze and smiled. “Seriously though, thank you.” He pulled my hand to his face and kissed it.