by Chloe Adams
I don’t say anything. I pull my knees to my chest and hug them.
“Shea, if you could get their names,” Chris tells the publicist.
Shea follows the two cops down the hall, and Chris sits beside me. I feel him looking at me. Neither of us speaks for a long moment. Chris looks different, pale. Almost like he cares, even though he’s never given me the time of day.
“Robert Connor,” he says at last. His blue eyes sharpen.
I close my eyes and turn my face away. So I’m the one on trial.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I know what happened to me,” I say, face hot.
“According to the lab results your doctor showed me, your alcohol level was two times the legal limit and you had … drugs in your system.”
“So?”
“So, Mia, based on what I know, you probably have missing time, hallucinations, and an otherwise flawed recollection of what happened.”
“You’re saying this didn’t happen to me?” I look at him, stunned.
“Not at all. Mia, I’m here, because I want to do everything possible to help you. I’m your daddy’s counsel, yes, but I also care a great deal about you as your uncle,” he says with tried patience. “I want to get the people who did this to you, which is why I’m asking you to think carefully about what happened. Robert Connor is the son of one of your father’s greatest allies, one of the most powerful politicians in the country. Can you face him in court and say without a doubt it was him?”
“What do you mean? That’s what you do. You go to court. You handle it.”
“Mia,” Chris chides. “If your case goes to court, you go, too. You have to face your accuser. It’s the law.”
“I don’t want to see him again!” I say, panicking.
“That’s not the way this works. That’s why I want you to be certain. You’ll have to testify in front of him, your father, the jury. I’ll always be there to support you, but this will be something you have to do by yourself.”
“I … Chris … I want this to go away. I can’t …” I don’t want to, but I’m crying. I don’t understand what he’s saying. Why do I have to see the people who did this to me again?
“Mia, if you aren’t certain, the political fallout would destroy the Abbott-Renou and Connor families,” Shea added, closing the door behind her as she steps into the room. “It could damage the entire party to the point where it’s irreparable.”
I’m crying hard, because I don’t know what to do. I know it was Robert. But, even though I saw him, I can’t remember everything. I know he was there.
“Say the word, and I’ll bring in my team to take this kid down,” Chris says. “We’ll go with you to court.”
“Along with every paparazzi in the country. It’ll be on all the news channels and on the front page of every newspaper,” Shea chimes in. “It’ll destroy your daddy.”
“That’s a little harsh, Shea,” Chris says.
I don’t want that. I don’t want to see my monster face in the newspapers or to hurt the family name, which Daddy cares about more than he does me. I can’t bear the thought of seeing Robert again, of telling the world what he did to me. At least, what I think he did to me. I remember talking to Robert and the next thing I see in my foggy thoughts, I’m standing in front of the fountain, surrounded by fireflies.
What if Chris is right? What if I go to court and still can’t remember everything?
“Mia, if you can’t tell me right here who did this, you’ll have an even harder time in court,” Chris says.
“What you’ve been through is horrible, but you have to be careful about this,” Shea adds.
This isn’t some political game! This is my life! I’m crying too hard to say the words out loud. I can’t stand listening to them. I push myself out of my bed and hobble to the bathroom. I lock the door, sit on the floor and cry. My hurt eye aches so badly when I cry. I swallow down a few deep breaths and rest my head against the wall.
God, I’m so tired! It’s cold in the bathroom, but I don’t want to leave. I feel as scared and alone right now as I was last night, when no one was there to help me. Daddy sent his goons to make sure I don’t ruin his reputation more than I already have.
“Mia?” The voice is muffled. “Mia, it’s Robin. I brought you some lunch.”
I haven’t eaten since dinner last night. I’m not hungry, but I’m thirsty. My mouth is dry and icky. Hopefully, Daddy’s lackeys are gone.
“Mia?”
“I’m coming.” I stand up and look in the mirror again. I hate what I see.
I open the door and want to scream when I see Chris and Shea still standing in the room, talking to the un-human doctor who saw me when I came in. Robin isn’t wearing her zoo animals scrubs, but flower scrubs today. She’s staring at them when I take my first step out of the bathroom.
She crosses to me and takes my arm, walking with me across the room. I’m grateful for the assistance. The food on the tray next to the bed looks unappealing. I’m trying to ignore what they say, but I catch Shea’s soft voice.
“… pregnant.”
I look up, unable to help the tremor of fear that goes through me.
“Are you talking about me?” I demand. “I’m right fucking here, Shea.”
The three look at me.
“Your … father doesn’t want you to have the morning after pill,” the doctor says.
“You need consent for a minor,” Chris says.
“I don’t need it,” I say, confused.
“That’s right,” Shea agrees.
“We were able to reach Ms. Abbott’s mother after a few phone calls. She gave her consent,” the doctor says.
“Her father disagrees,” Chris says firmly. “It is both the personal and professional opinion of my client that the morning after pill equates to murder. Any attempt to give Ms. Abbott-Renou the pill will earn your hospital a lawsuit. We’ll shut you down, Doctor.”
“But I don’t need it,” I say more loudly. “Daddy says a woman who’s been … who’s gone through this can’t get pregnant.”
The doctor stares at me. I glance at Robin, who looks just as surprised. Chris hesitates, but Shea looks confident.
“That’s what my client believes,” Chris says after a minute. “End of discussion.”
I feel like I’m missing something. It’s rare when Chris and Shea agree with me. The doctor looks at Chris for a long moment then walks out. She’s weird anyway, but the look on Robin’s face bugs me.
“Is Daddy coming?” I ask.
“Possibly,” Chris says.
“We’ve hired a therapist, a distant cousin, Dr. Thompkins. You’ll start sessions with him tomorrow, as well as go to the family’s personal physician,” Shea adds. “We can’t let you stay for the two days of observation. It’s becoming too hard to keep this wing of the hospital press-free. It’s only a matter of time before someone shows up in your doorway, snapping pictures. The doctor agreed to clear you to leave in twelve hours instead.”
I roll my eyes. Daddy only trusts the family with our most personal business. Shea is another cousin, and most of the people working for us are somehow related. Of all my uncles, Chris is the only one who isn’t a politician and doesn’t have kids.
“I’ve got it handled,” Shea says with a small smile. “It’s what I do. No one will see you leave tonight.”
“Worry about healing, Mia,” Chris says. “We’ll worry about the rest.”
I don’t feel assured. I look towards the door, hoping to see Dom and Kiesha outside. They aren’t there. I pull my knees to my chest again.
“Chris … about Robert ...” Just saying the name makes me want to vomit.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks.
“I can’t remember.”
“It’s okay, Mia. We’ll get through this. Focus on resting, okay?”
“We’ll see you later, Mia,” Shea says.
They leave. Chris almost seemed truly supportive, though Sh
ea was more interested in bad publicity. Somehow, I feel worse.
“These taste better than they look,” Robin says, indicating the two small cheeseburger sliders on the plate.
“I’m too tired to eat,” I say. “Are Kiesha and Dom coming back?”
“I don’t think so. Your father’s … people have closed down this floor.”
I take the glass of water and sip it then gaze around at the hospital room. I can’t sleep here. I feel exposed. Maybe I can sleep in the bathroom.
“I can stay until you fall asleep,” Robin offers.
“Okay,” I reply.
“You’ll get to sleep in your own bed tonight.”
“Yeah.” Maybe Ari will spend the night at my place. I settle onto my left side, the only position that doesn’t cause me pain.
“Mia, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why did your daddy tell you that raped women can’t get pregnant?”
Surprised, I sit up so I can see her with my good eye. Robin is frowning.
“Sorry,” she says. “I’ll let you rest. I shouldn’t have asked you that. Do you need a pain pill before you go to sleep?”
I’m concerned, but too exhausted to address her. I simply nod. My head, eye and ankle are all throbbing. Robin brings me one. I take it then lay back down, but I can’t help wondering what’s bothering her. The painkillers knock me out before I can give it too much thought.
Chapter Three
Just past midnight, I escape the hospital into the back of one of Daddy’s cars. I don’t lower the hood on my sweatshirt until I’m seated in the backseat. Even then, I shrink away from the tinted window.
We drive by the front of the hospital. It looks like a zoo. Press members have staked out the hospital, and there’s police tape marking off the area while cops guide traffic around the crowd. I want to go back to the hospital room and hide in the bathroom. The back of the large car feels too big.
I’ve never liked Shea, but she knows how to do her job. She got me out of there without one single reporter figuring out how I’d be leaving.
“Where’s Daddy?” I ask her. She’s sitting in the front passenger seat.
“Someone on your floor leaked pictures of you. He’s currently meeting with the head of The Left Observer to keep your face out of the garbage papers in grocery store checkout stands.”
Distraught, I pull my hood up again, more comfortable with it on, and hunch into a corner of the backseat. The drive to Daddy’s Virginia home is long and dark. I’m dozing by the time we get there, and I’m not surprised to see more paparazzi in front of the house. I tug my hood forward and hunch as flashes of cameras go off. The gate opens so slowly, but we finally make it through.
“I can’t leave the house!” I say, near tears again.
“Your public personality has been elevated,” Shea replies calmly. “I’m addressing it.”
“Addressing it? To fix it?”
“Time might fix this. Or it might not. Like celebrities that explode overnight. Some fade away, and some don’t. We’re going to put you into the speech circuit when you’re healed in a few weeks. You’ve lived through something that will make female voters relate to you and sympathize with –”
I feel sick at her words. I block them out. My whole life, I’ve largely avoided the spotlight. My half-sister – Daddy’s favorite – loves the attention. Everyone is happy when she’s in the spotlight and I’m hiding out with Ari.
Shea’s cell rings. She’s not on the phone long, but it’s long enough to keep her from harping at me about the speech circuit until the car stops in front of the door.
“Mia, to-” Shea starts.
I open the car door to dash into the front of the house. I’ve seen pics of my sister making out with her fiancé in front of the house in newspapers; I know the paparazzi can still see us. Paul, the butler, opens the door and I hurry in, not relaxing until I’m in the middle of the grand foyer.
“Mia!” Shea follows. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, we’re having a press conference.”
“I don’t care about Daddy’s schedule!” I shout at her. I peel off my hoodie and sling it over the banister of the marble staircase as I go as fast as my stiff ankle will let me towards my room.
“Mia, you are going to give a statement to the press!”
Her words stop me. The vision of me in the mirror flashes back.
“Your daddy’s … negotiations failed with the paper. The only way to take the steam out of this is to strike first. Your daddy wants to release the pictures from the hospital in the morning, and for you to give a statement. It’s a brilliant –”
“Where the fuck is he, Shea?” I scream at her. “My own daddy wouldn’t come to see me in the hospital! I was raped and beaten, and he can’t come to the hospital? If it had been Molly, he would’ve been there in a second!”
I haven’t taken my evening painkillers, and my body is killing me. I start crying again, making my eye and head hurt more. Shea is staring at me in surprise. I hobble up the stairs to my room and slam the door.
It’s dark. The dark terrifies me. I panic and claw at the wall, trying to find the light switch. I feel sick again and sink to my knees, crying too hard to turn on the light. Huddled against the wall, I sense the lights go on.
“Omigod! It was impossible to get through those idiots out front.”
Ari’s voice makes me look up. Her eyes widen as she looks at me. She’s dressed meticulously as usual, her red hair and green eyes standing out from her flawless skin. I always envied her and her ability to wear whatever she wants and look awesome. Her amber perfume envelopes me before she reaches me.
“Oh, Mia,” she breathes and sits down beside me.
I throw my arms around her and sob. My best friend since we were five, Ari and I keep each other sane as we try to hide from our ambitious fathers. She’s been there for me more than anyone.
Ari cries, too, and we sit on the floor, hugging, until I’m too tired to cry anymore. We hold each other the way we did on Halloweens when we were little and afraid the monsters would get us.
“No one would tell me what happened,” she says at last. “Shea finally did downstairs. She said … Mia, is it true?”
I nod. For once, I’m grateful to Shea for calling Ari.
“It’s my fault for not being there!”
“No, Ari,” I say and wipe my good eye. “You didn’t do this.”
“It wouldn’t have happened if I were there!”
“They might’ve hurt us both.”
“No, Mia, we would’ve been okay.”
“I love you, Ari,” I say. I pull away from her and giggle at the sight of her smeared eye make-up, red nose and bloodshot eyes. “You’re the only one who cares.”
“This is gonna be hard to cover up with makeup,” Ari says, touching my black eye. “Did the police catch who did this?”
“No.”
“Well, they will.”
“No, they won’t,” I say. “Ari, I think I know who it is but …”
“Who? You knew him?” she demands. “Omigod, it wasn’t someone we go to school with, was it?”
“No. Ari, I can’t remember much. There were two. One I can’t remember at all. The other …” I think again about what Chris said.
“Who, Mia?”
I can’t say it.
Ari gasps suddenly and leans away. She pulls out her phone. I wonder what she’s doing. Ari spends a minute clicking and swiping. Finally, she holds out her phone. My chest tightens. I take her phone with shaking hands. I remember the picture I sent her, the one I took when Robert went to get my first drink. His back is to me, his head turned so that I can see his profile as he talks to …
Madison.
I drop the phone. I want to throw it outside my room, far, far away from me.
“You called him Robert,” Ari says. “You do know him, don’t you?”
“Chris … Chris says I would have to go to court. It’ll be on
TV. I can’t … remember everything, Ari. What if … what if …I ruin Daddy’s life? It’s Robert Connor.”
“Oh.” Ari’s face grows pensive. She understands the politics better than I ever have. “But he hurt you. Your dad has to help you, even if the Connors are the Connors.”
“I can’t go to court, Ari. I just want this all to go away. I’m so tired.”
Ari looks troubled then smiles at me. “If you change your mind, we always have the pic.” She puts her phone away. She hugs me again.
“Shea’s making me do a press conference in the morning.”
“You look awful.”
“I know.”
“I’m staying with you tonight. I’ll fix you up in the morning. You know how good I am at that.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I’m so glad Shea called you.”
“She didn’t. The police did. Shea didn’t want to let me in the house tonight.”
“What?”
“Some officer called me this morning. Said you asked him to.”
I’m quiet. I vaguely remember asking Kiesha and Dom to call Ari. I guess I’m not surprised Shea didn’t call Ari, but I am surprised Dom remembered. And grateful. I start to wonder if he’s my guardian angel.
“Come on. You need some sleep before the press conference.” Ari pulls away and stands. She helps me to my feet. I limp to my bed and sit heavily. Ari goes to one of my two walk-in closets and returns with a clean t-shirt and pajama boxers.
I smile as she sets them beside me. With her help, I struggle into my sleeping clothes and hobble to the door, locking it. She’s brought an overnight bag and retrieves it from the doorway then heads to the bathroom.
“Ari!” I call. She always leaves the bathroom door open.
“Yeah?”
“Will you promise not to say anything about … you know. Robert? It’s my fault for skipping the fundraiser.”
“Mia, I really think – “
“Promise me. Please.”
Ari moves into the doorway of the bathroom and looks at me, toothbrush jutting from her mouth.
