by K. S. Adkins
My body chooses that moment to unfreeze itself, and I approach her, needing her to stop. He’s dead; the bloodbath is over, only it isn’t. It’s just getting started. Every plunge she yells, every plunge she gets closer to closure. The fact that she keeps going tells me he wasn’t just rough with her; he seriously fucked her up.
“Hate you.” “Trusted you.” “Hurt me.” “Lied to me.” “Forced me.”
Toward the end, she’s barely using force but merely going through the stabbing motions, her voice getting quieter as she goes. Just as I’m about to call her name, making this stop, she whispers it.
The words that changed everything.
“Ruined me.”
Calling her name, she drops the knife, turning to look at me. It’s then that I get that me and her are more alike than I ever thought possible. Jesus, we’re both a fucking mess.
“Princess,” I say, kneeling down next to her. “Look at me.” When she does, I check her eyes first. They are dilated, yet she isn’t shaking or showing any signs of shock.
“Wouldn’t call him Jacob,” she whispers. “Wouldn’t give him what’s in here.” She taps her head to show me. “Couldn’t let him hurt me anymore. Couldn’t let him hurt you.”
“Princess,” I start, “I need to get you to a hospital.”
“Venessa,” she says with conviction. “Save Venessa.”
“Rogan’s with her, all right? It’s time to take care of you now.”
“No!” she says, standing up and pushing past me. “Have to get to Venessa.”
She’s riding the adrenaline right now, so I follow her instead of yelling at her to stop. Staying close in case she falls, we enter the kitchen together to see Venessa standing there with Rogan holding her up.
Venessa walks over to her slowly, careful of Macy’s wounds, and still hurting from her own. Macy looks her over and I see her distress level rising. Venessa must sense Macy is about to go atomic, so she does what she can to calm her.
“I’m okay, Macy,” Venessa says. “Briggs?”
“Dead,” she says, flat staring at her friend.
“How’d he go out?”
“He fell on his knife,” she says. “Several times.”
“Yeah?” she laughs. “Hate when that happens.”
“He should really watch where he’s —”
When Macy starts to go down, I’m there to catch her. Lifting her in my arms, I rush her out to my truck, strap her in, and haul ass to the nearest emergency room, which oddly enough is where she also works.
Rogan sends me a text letting me know as soon as Venessa is cleaned, checked out, and caffeinated, they’ll be there. Years of police work come in handy when you have someplace to be; in this case it takes me under three minutes to get to the ER. I flash my badge and toss valet my keys then walk over, open the door, and bring her back to my arms where she belongs.
As the doors part for our entrance my anxiety spikes; I fucking loathe hospitals. No doubt because I was in and out of them a lot as a kid. My dad was not only abusive, he was a cop, too, so whatever landed me in the hospital was a vacation compared to what was waiting for me upon release if the staff didn’t buy my story. So my Mom being the June Cleaver she was made it a point to rotate hospitals, you know, so no one got suspicious. What a gem.
Walking through the lobby to reception with an unconscious woman probably doesn’t happen all too often, so the initial looks of did this douche bag beat her are quickly put to an end when I give them her name. Shock gave way to concern and she is taken to a private room immediately.
Following the nurse, I sit in the vacant chair closest to her bed. The nurse carefully undresses her, cleans and wraps the wounds, and runs an IV into her right arm. As soon as Macy is bundled like a baby the nurse shoots a look at me and lets me know the doctor is on his way. It pisses me off that this woman assumes I did this but, she also knows I’m a cop, so she keeps her mouth shut. This is the problem with the world, if someone would have defended me just once, my life could have turned out differently. Someone just needed to put their fear aside and say it.
After she checks her vitals and starts to leave, I start with “Excuse me,” and when she turns to me, I plead my case.
“Ma’am,” I begin, “I know what you’re thinking, but you need to know I ain’t responsible for this.”
“I never said you were,” she snaps.
“The looks I’m getting say otherwise,” I snap back. “Look, I’m a cop, and I know you think that if I did this, the odds for getting punished for this act of violence is slim because of who I am. But I did not do this to her, and the man that did was punished. That woman is my heart; I’d cut mine out to keep hers beating. You get me?”
“You’re Jonas I take it?”
“She’s mentioned me?” I whisper. “Holy shit.”
“She has.” She smiles “He was punished, you said?”
I nod then look over at Macy sleeping when I hear the nurse say, “Good, I hope he suffered.” Then she leaves us.
Pulling the chair next to her bed, I need to touch her so I sneak her hand from under the blanket and put it in mine. Looking at the IV, the bloody clothes tossed in a bag, and the massive lump on her right temple has me fighting for air. This is my fault. I may not have put my hands on her but it was my actions that caused her to run; she ran from me and ended up here. She ran from me because of my anger, my issues, so yeah, I’m responsible for this. So on top of my guilt trip, I start thinking of how to handle the crime scene, but no sooner does that thought enter my brain I get a text from the Cap letting me know it’s being handled. Thank fuck for that.
“Jonas?” she grates out, and hearing her so weak is hard. I can’t look at her so I close my eyes; if I look it’s real, so I cannot fucking look.
“Jonas,” she tries again, squeezing my hand to comfort me. Me. I wasn’t the one nearly raped and killed, and yet here she is making it better for me.
“I’m here,” I choke out. “The doctor is on his way.”
“You came for me,” she whispers, squeezing my hand again. “You came, for me.”
“Of course I did,” I tell her. “You’re not getting away from me that easy, Princess.”
“I’m sorry.” she says, closing her eyes.
“Stay awake for me, Princess. Open those eyes.”
“Venessa?” she asks.
“On her way here,” I reassure her.
“It’s done, right?” she asks, unsure. “He isn’t coming back?”
“He isn’t coming back,” I say.
“Jonas?” she asks, starting to doze.
“Yeah, Princess?” I return.
“I’m going to love you,” she says, groggily. “You’ll be the first.”
She drops that bomb and I’m squeezing her hand because now I’m in shock, I watch her drift back asleep but just before she’s totally out, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “And your last.” She gives me a small smile, and then it’s lights out.
Staring at her asleep, I still can’t let go. I don’t want to let go. If I can get her to love me, really love me, she’ll be the first person I’ve ever loved in my entire life and she’d love me back. That’s a pretty fucking major first.
Being a nurse makes for a horrible patient; it’s totally true. Understanding that until the doctor looks me over I’m going to sit here in pain pisses me off, and I’m in too much pain to be pissed off right now. Getting my bearings, I notice he’s holding my hand, anchoring me, and until I realized it was there I hadn’t realized how much I needed it. Squeezing his hand, he takes a deep breath, and I feel the bed dip.
“Princess,” he whispers. “Do you hurt?”
I squeeze his hand as a yes.
“I’ll grab the nurse.”
I squeeze his hand again, asking him to stay.
“You want me to wait?”
I squeeze his hand as a yes.
“Okay I’ll wait —”
As Jonas pauses I hear someone enter th
e room, then check my vitals. He addresses Jonas, asking if I’m awake, and Jonas confirms I’ve just woken up. So it’s Dr. Shinn then, shit.
“Macy,” he says in a loud voice, causing me to wince.
“Do you not see the lump on the side of her head, fuckbag? Her head hurts, lower your goddamn voice.”
“My apologies Mr …?”
“Detective,” he tells him.
“All right, Detective,” he says. “Macy, are you able to speak?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good,” he praises me. “I’m going to give you a dose of morphine to take the edge off. Once the pain subsides, I need to check your injuries, all right?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I’ll put in the order,” he says. “I’ll be back quickly.”
I squeeze Jonas’ hand; he squeezes back.
He runs his left hand up and down my arm, and it feels so good I start to drift, but he keeps me awake by talking to me until the doctor comes back. He tells me random things about work, his house, and oddly enough, the cartoon marathon we’re going to have when I get out of here.
Dr. Shinn makes his way over, moves the tubing, and gives me a few cc’s of morphine. My veins warm, muscles relax, and just like that I can open my eyes. In case you’re wondering, this is why I chose medicine; it’s miraculous stuff.
“Better?” asks Dr. Shinn.
“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Let’s talk,” he says. “Then we’ll get you some water.”
“Okay.”
“What happened, Macy?” he asks. “You’ve got lacerations on your back, sides, and chest. They are shallow, so bandages will keep them together, but it’s your head I’m concerned about. I ordered a CT scan but wanted to get you comfortable first, so tell me how you got here.”
“Jonas brought me,” I tell him.
“I realize that,” he says. “But what happened in order to bring you here?”
“I was rolled.”
“Again?” he asks.
“I live in a high-risk neighborhood, Chris, so yes, again.”
“I’m sorry, Macy,” he says. “I don’t buy it. This is the fourth time something like this has happened, and unless I’m off base here, muggers don’t generally cut their victims. The likelihood of you being rolled by the same guy four times doesn’t jive so, why don’t you try again? ”
“Why don’t you just send me to my CT scan, write me a script for ibuprofen, and advise me to follow up with my family physician this week? Because that, I’ll do.”
“I’ve treated you for this twice myself.” He leans in closer and lowers his voice. “I also have eyes; I read your file. When you were brought in, you were covered in blood. Stop bullshitting me, Macy. I’m your friend; talk to me.”
Knowing the drill, sticking with what works, I do what I always do; I lie my ass off. Because yeah, women don’t like telling people their stories of abuse, friend or not. Especially not in front of the guy she’s interested in. Looking him in the eyes I say it with conviction, “I was rolled, Chris.” I tell him, “But you should see the other guy.” Then I turn over giving him my back, which hurt like a bitch, but I was proving a point.
“Detective,” he says, walking away from me, knowing I’m done. “A word, please.”
Nodding to the doctor, I follow him out into the hallway because she shut down. I know it; he fucking knows it. He also knows she’s full of shit, but that’s the least of my concerns right now. Four times? Four fucking times she’s given that story? The doctor has her file, treated her before, and works with her, so yeah, he can call bullshit. I’ve been in her shoes, so I see the bullshit for what it is. People like us? We call it armor. Because when the walls close in it’s all we’ve fucking got.
“Detective,” he says, staring me down like I’m a piece of shit. “I’ve known Macy for some time now, and I care for her deeply. Patient confidentiality aside, is there anything you’d like to tell me so I can help her and assist with your case?”
“Why don’t you go ahead and tell me exactly what caring for her deeply means, Doc?”
“Excuse me? he says. “That’s none of your business.”
“Neither is why she’s here,” I growl. “She told you what happened, so do what she said, treat her and drop it.”
“Macy and I —”
“There is no Macy and you,” I say, getting in his face. “Or is there something you wanna tell me?”
“Uh, no, not really,” he mumbles. “I’m just concerned is all, she’s a valued employee, and I just —”
“You just what?” I ask, stepping into his space. “You into her, Doc?”
“Jesus, what is your problem?” he says, taking a step back. “I’m concerned about her, all right? I’m trying to help your case.”
“I’ll ask again,” I say, stepping into his space. “You into her?”
“And if I was?” he asks, retreating.
“You like working here?” I say, getting closer. “You like your job? Your life?”
“What?” he asks, looking around. “Jesus, are you threatening me?”
“Just asked a question, Doc,” I say. “Looking for an answer.”
“Yes, I like working here,” he says, getting pissed. “Yes I like my job, and my life. What is the matter with you?”
“Not a thing,” I say, smiling. “You like those things, guessing you’ll want to keep them. Am I right?”
“Of course!” he says, looking for an escape, but I won’t give him one. Leaning in with my nose to his nose, I look down and grab the pen out of his fancy pocket and rest it in my hand. Glancing up, I keep it simple.
“Did you know with the smallest amount of pressure in the right spot I could end your life with this very expensive pen? It doesn’t look like much, does it? I mean, it’s just a pen, but when used properly, an effective weapon.” When he pales, I continue. “See, I may be just a detective, my pay grade is shit, my hours suck, and I have fuckall for insurance, but here’s the thing, Doc: there is only one thing in this miserable fucking world I care about, and she’s in there on a hospital bed. So if you like your life just as it is, you’re gonna see to it she’s taken care of, and to show you my appreciation, I’m gonna let you keep enjoying that life, because you took care of her. You feelin’ me right now, Doc?”
“She always turned me down. Jesus, put the pen down, all right? I won’t bother her ever again, I swear it,” he pleads, and it isn’t until he mentions it that I realized my arm has moved, my fingers had folded around the pen, and it is pushing into the soft tissue of his throat.
“Give me the pen, partner,” says Rogan, coming up next to me.
“Shit,” I say, handing it to him. “I wasn’t going to hurt him.”
“No?” he says, taking the pen. “Why’s he bleedin’, then?”
When I didn’t have answer, Venessa chimes in. Which honestly amazed me it took this long.
“I want to see Macy,” she declares. “Rafe, show me the way.”
“We done here, Doc?” asks Rogan.
The doctor nods and walks away quickly, although I could swear he was jogging.
“Just so you know,” says Venessa, “I approve.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.” I laugh.
“Please, you know he approves, too,” she giggles. “He just won’t say it out loud.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says, pulling me down the hall.
“Before we go in,” I tell her, “I need to ask you something.”
“She always turned him down, Rafe,” she says. “He’s persistent though, I’ll give him that; drove her bat shit, too. But she was never into him. He’s a coworker and, I don’t know, a doctor. At some point, when you get this rage out of your system, you’re going to have to apologize to him.”
“I’m not worried about that guy right now, I wanna know how many times has this happened?” I ask. When she looks at the ground I ask again, “How many
times, Venessa?”
“To my knowledge, twice,” she whispers. “But I know she doesn’t share with me because she was embarrassed about it so, it could be more.”
“Fuck,” I grate, running my hands through my hair.
“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” she says, looking up at me.
“No use with the what-ifs, Venessa,” I say. “He’s dead now, doesn’t matter who did it.”
“But it does, Rafe,” she whispers. “I should have done it, never Macy. You didn’t see —”
“She’s solid, Venessa,” I say. “She’s handling her shit.”
“That’s the problem, Rafe,” she says. “Macy always handles her shit. Is she upset? Crying? Anything?”
“No but —” I try.
“And she won’t, either,” she says. “That’s the problem, that’s why I should have done it.”
“Shit, what aren’t you telling me now?” I ask, confused.
“Macy wasn’t raised like me, Rafe,” she begins. Then Rogan comes up and wraps his arms around her, and she continues. “I had great parents; she didn’t. I knew love and happiness; she didn’t. I know the difference; she doesn’t. You think I’m unpredictable? You’re wrong; she’s unpredictable. She won’t react to this; she’ll bury it and move on, yeah? Because, it’s what she’s used to. One day she’s going to lose her shit, and when she does, she’ll go big. She doesn’t like to fail at anything, so Briggs getting ahold of her again? Yeah, she’s about to backslide. I don’t think you’re ready for ‘unpredictable Macy,’ Rafe, because nobody can be ready for that.”
“How do you even know this?” I ask.
“I just do,” she says. “Now you do, too.”
“Will she let me help her?” I ask.
