by Kat Kenyon
The prosecutor looks old suddenly. “It doesn’t matter now.”
My skin itches and I try to shake off two strong hands pulling me into my chair again. Both officers are standing in a defensive posture in front of the prosecutor when I lean halfway across the table again. The prosecutor pales, looking at me like I’ll kill him, while I was unaware I even tried to get to him.
Eyes wide, the prosecutor asks, “What about you attacking an officer?”
“They broke into our home and put their hands on my girl,” I rasp. “They’re fucking lucky I didn’t stand my ground.”
“They had a court order, whether you agree with it or not, and I can put you in jail,” he says.
Leaning farther into his face, I smile, cold to the core. “Arrest me then. Take it to a jury. We’ll see how good you look on television imprisoning an eighteen-year-old rape victim.”
My side of the table explodes in efforts to shut me up, but it’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
“Stupid girl is nothing but trouble.” Aunt Margot might think I didn’t, but I hear it like a boom underneath all the talking. Whipping around, I tear her open with a look until she looks away and I turn my glare back on the prosecutor.
“You’re right,” he says. “Prosecuting you will do me, nor the PD any favors. Chances are, no one will ever convict you. But I can be a friend, Mr. Blackman; don’t make enemies where you don’t need them.”
It’s like hearing the dean all over again. Ugly laughter bubbles up when I remember all the “friends” we were supposed to have.
“That’s what the school told us. We’ll take care of it. You don’t need to worry. They told me to stand down and I listened, and look what happened. I’ve heard the people in charge making excuses for not doing the right thing by her for months. Fucking months! You accuse me of being too young, but it was the adults in charge who did this. You’re sitting here, backing a lying druggie, a bunch of badge-wearing thugs, and a two-bit doctor who’s covering his ass. How are you not the enemy?”
The prosecutor looks pained. “I’m here to represent the State, and in this case, her well-being. That’s my job.”
“No. That’s my job. You don’t know her. You don’t care about her. You’ll go home and live your life and what’s happening to her will mean nothing to you. I love her. And I’ll keep her safe.”
Arnowsky coughs. “John, your job is to represent the best interest of Ms. Mathews. Tell me you didn’t just hear the best argument to end this,” he says.
The prosecutor shakes his head. “I’ll admit, Mr. Blackman, you’re focus on Ms. Mathews is admirable. I don’t see people your age willing to take on this kind of responsibility unless it’s family, but your tunnel-vision concerns me. Most don’t display that without being unstable themselves. You seem very angry.”
“Don’t go there,” Arnowsky quips. “You gave him a reason to be hostile, just like they gave her a reason to bite in self-defense.”
Tipping his head, the prosecutor continues, “Fine, regardless of the judge’s decision, if he holds her over, I’ll move that Mr. Blackman has access.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Frenwhit busts in.
Arnowsky hits back. “Doctor, it’s really not your call.”
“Why shouldn’t he be able to see her?” the prosecutor asks the doctor.
“She’s less likely to cooperate with treatment if he’s coming in to support her behavior,” Frenwhit says, eye twitching.
You’re lying, you fucker.
“You’re seriously saying you think she shouldn’t have his support?” My attorney fixes the same stark stare at the doctor. “He has a right to see her. This argument makes it seem like you’re hiding something.”
Frenwhit’s chest rises high and falls several times before he responds. “I’m just trying to look out for my patient.”
Arnowsky is on him before I can say anything. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re trying to stop the one person she wants to see, who makes her feel secure, from seeing her?”
Frenwhit struggles with shallow breaths. “I’m concerned she won’t want to cooperate.”
“Why should she? If you can’t prove to her you’re acting in her best interest, she doesn’t have to. Why are you treating a rape victim like a criminal?” our attorney asks.
“She has to get better.”
Everyone in the room stops, the hollow excuse sitting in the air.
“It doesn’t have to be you to make her better.” Arnowsky turns to the prosecutor and shakes his head. “Your guy has a God complex, or he’s hiding something. I want my client out.”
“Phil, give him a few days.”
“To do what, drug her again? Threaten her? Damage her? What?”
“He won’t do that.”
“Says who, you?” Arnowsky sneers.
“Yes.” the prosecutor huffs, rolling forward.
“Really?” Arnowsky rolls his eyes. “Did you tell them to drug her today? Did you know they were turning her into a zombie, incapable of speaking for herself?”
The prosecutor jerks back, his pen falling to the table. “No, damn it. You know I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”
“I want her moved, then,” says Arnowsky.
“She’s too fragile right now,” mumbles Frenwhit. “She might be able to be moved in a couple days but at this time, we’re having to medicate her. Give us a few days to stabilize her and then send us the details on what facility you’d like, so we can ensure it has the proper resources, then we can discuss it.”
Glaring at Frenwhit, the prosecutor grits his teeth. “Phil, if Judge Baker sends her with you, we’re done. I’ll be fine with it. If not, you need to quit making me the enemy. What I’m telling you is, I’m agreeing Tyler should have access. I won’t fight your motion.”
His eyes move to the doctor. “Doctor Frenwhit, you may have concerns, but you can’t just cut her off from her primary source of emotional support. There’s no record he’s done anything wrong, and the damage done to this young woman is catastrophic. I won’t be a party to making it worse. He can’t live there, but you can’t lock him out.”
I meet Frenwhit’s pale washed-out blue eyes. If I had my way, he’d shake a hell of a lot harder than he is.
• • • •
Rayne looks a little more lucid, but she’s still strapped down. Her eyes stay on me while Judge Baker sits and begins.
“I’m aware a great deal has gone wrong in this case, and I wish you could all come to a mutual agreement, but since you can’t, that leaves me with a decision that may have a lasting impact on this poor girl. I’m also aware the Court, in issuing the initial order, was acting without full knowledge”—you mean it was bullshit—“but, I have to listen to the current concerns about the patient’s health and safety.”
The judge finally looks at me, an apology already there, and I feel like I’m falling through the floor.
“While she was getting better before this incident, the health professionals in charge of her care say she is unstable now. So, we are holding her over for thirty days under fifty-two seventy—”
“Your Honor!”
We’re in hell.
“No, Mr. Arnowsky, I’ve heard you. But Miss Mathews is in serious trouble, and Mr. Blackman is only eighteen.”
He’s really doing this!
“He’s nineteen, Your Honor, and he has a right to make decisions for Miss Mathews.”
“He can see her. He’ll have reasonable access. But, Dr. Frenwhit and his staff need to make sure she isn’t a danger to herself or others. Right now, she isn’t eating, she isn’t taking care of herself, and until she is capable of doing those things, I won’t release her until I’m convinced she isn’t a danger.”
The gavel is a shotgun to my heart.
I see her eyes meet mine and the window into her soul closes as she shuts them. She doesn’t open them as I call her name.
Chapter Seven
Rayne Mathews
> I won’t release her until I’m convinced she isn’t a danger…
I couldn’t watch him walk away. It hurt too much.
I didn’t notice much after the judge said I had to go back to the hospital. The drugs were wearing off, but not enough for me to speak properly. I’d been telling myself I was going home. Now, they’re keeping me. Like I’m piece of property to be given to whoever they choose.
Being taken back douses any light I was feeling, because they’re taking me farther away from Tyler. So, I don’t open my eyes when they shut me in the back of the van. I don’t feel the ride back, and my jailors don’t notice the hole in my chest. The whole experience has been a surreal trip to hell, where I’m teased with what I want most, only to be slammed with my greatest fear. This isn’t medical help, it’s punishment. Cruelty I hide from as soon as they close the door to the tiny, white room they dump me in. With its narrow bed, nightstand, and chair, my hell has frozen over. Cold. Barren.
How could they take me? How can someone come into your home and throw you in jail? I never thought the police could just take you.
Looking around, I feel a surging vibration in the pit of my stomach. I want to destroy something…but there’s nothing. They keep it that way to make sure I won’t hurt myself, but I’m not a threat to my health. I may feel dead, but I won’t do anything to make the feeling fact. I swore to Tyler I wouldn’t. The warm spark of life I was feeling before has transformed; cold rage, filling the spaces between the pain. No, I won’t hurt myself; I’m far more likely to harm them.
Maybe they’re smart to keep anything I can use as a weapon away.
“You know rocking is a sign of psychosis?” Nick, one of the techs, asks as he comes through the door. The white uniform everyone wears is snug on him, biceps bulging under the short sleeves. I know it’s supposed to look professional, but the white cotton is clinical, inhuman. People should have color, and except for him, with the dark brown of his skin and beautiful tattoos, everyone else seems colorless.
One of the bigger guys here, he isn’t part of the drug brigade. He delivers my food, since I won’t leave my room. He’s been trying to get me to talk by telling jokes, but I’ve ignored him. I’ve pretended the staff isn’t here, but for the first time, his comment brings my eyes up to meet his.
His brows rise when I freeze. I didn’t realize I was rocking, but my arms are around my knees and I’m balled up, curled around myself. I grimace at him. Mentally hammering at myself, I force my arms to release.
They won’t do this to me.
He puts the tray down on the desk and leans against the wall. His arms hang loose at his sides, and he doesn’t move except for the slight upturn of his lips. He’s not laughing at me, it’s more like he’s happy I responded at all. It’s the first sign I’ve given him that I’m aware he’s there.
“I heard what they did. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he says softly.
It’s the first apology—make that the only apology I’ve gotten from anyone about what’s happened, and it’s from one of the few staff members I don’t want to set on fire. He’s not the person I’m mad at.
I want to go home.
I can’t sleep here. Everyone watches me as if I haven’t been violated enough. As if I haven’t been—
I choke on the thought.
It was hard enough with the paparazzi and their cameras after I got out of the hospital. They stuck mics and recorders in my face, trying to bully me into admitting it was a revenge attack for leading on two guys. Because it has to be my fault. It’s always my fault. Then the vultures got creative and starting in about my dad. Who is he? Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Why haven’t I gone to live with him or back to my mom?
They knew just enough to hurt me and yet always get it wrong. If it wasn’t for Tyler getting security, I wouldn’t have survived those first few days. The days at the beach house are still a gray landscape in my memory, except for the last day with the photographer, yelling his questions, the explosion of light in my eyes.
Tyler’s granddad is paying God knows what kind of cash for the apartment and security. For my lawyer. Tyler’s granddad is the reason the school let me continue this semester, I just know it.
“You know if you keep ignoring everyone, they’ll keep you longer.”
Shit!
I forgot Nick was here.
He sighs for a moment before standing up straight. “These people hate being wrong, and they messed up with you.” As he heads for the door, his soft smile fades. “But, you need to change tactics. Show a spark of life. Show something or they’ll have grounds to keep you.”
The snick of the door behind him doesn’t mean his comments left with him.
Show a spark.
But my spark…
• • • •
“I want you to understand we were unaware of your case,” Fuckwit says.
Sitting in his office, I want to continue my silence. Or burn Fuckwit and Ratchet along with the whole fucking hospital. Burn them to the ground. But Nick said to show a spark, and I don’t think homicidal tendencies were what he meant.
“I told you, I told everyone I shouldn’t be here. I was all over the news. One call, one fucking call…” My skin grows clammy when the intake process plays like a movie in my head. “I told you and you still cut my clothes off.” I shudder.
“Miss—”
Throwing my hand up to ward off his move toward me, I hiss at him. “Your people drugged me, manhandled me. Not one of you gave a shit about how I felt. You’re not sorry, but you will be. I’ll make sure of it.”
He gives me a hard look. “I am sorry you feel that way.” Pushing a button, he leans back in his chair. “Miss Mathews, I wish things had happened differently, but until you calm down and stop threatening people. I’ll have to do what I believe is necessary.”
Waving his hand at something, I’m dragged up by my shoulders. I didn’t hear the door open, but they don’t give me a chance to walk, shoving me down the hall. The joints in my shoulders hurt as the two techs shove me, ignoring my whimpers to let me go. I want to fight or lash out, but I can’t. They’ll use that to keep me here again and I want to go home.
So, I don’t fight, I don’t tell them I can’t breathe because of my ribs, or that they are hurting my broken finger. I don’t say how their hands are like a thousand stings. I keep my mouth closed even if I can’t stop the tears. I will myself to not freak out as they force me past open doors along the hall where people stare at me from the dark.
When they send me through my door, they don’t leave me alone, standing on either side of the door, glaring at me like I’m the one hurting them. The impulse to retreat into the corner beats on me, but I force myself to sit still on the bed until a nurse walks in. I keep the roiling storm in my gut under control until she brings out a needle.
I haven’t done anything. I’m eating. I haven’t resisted their orders. There’s no reason for them to be giving me anything and my resolve to not fight back melts. I scuttle across the bed to avoid being put under. Large hands pull on me, forcing my face to the mattress.
It takes three people to hold me down.
It doesn’t put me to sleep; it sends me to broken blackness.
It takes Tyler to let me sleep.
I want Tyler.
I need Tyler.
Tyler.
Chapter Eight
Tyler Blackman
Our bed’s cold. The morning came, but the light does nothing to warm the room, leaving me in dark.
Even after everything, when she couldn’t handle the rest of the world, she trusted me. Not being able to touch or protect her is killing me. I can’t hold her when she screams in the middle of the night…and she screams. She screams until I whisper and tell her she’s not alone. My voice and arms calm her. She needs the sound of my voice. To feel safe. And I’m not fucking there.
She needs me.
She closed her eyes and locked me out.
I don’t
blame her. I failed her. They took her away like she was a criminal while Gabe is still out there. The idea made me so sick I threw up in a trash can when we got out of the courtroom and I don’t feel any better today. I know I’m supposed to get up. Eat. I need a shower. I have class and a meeting with my conditioning coach. I have calls to make, but it’s all crap.
I need Rayne.
My skin pebbles as I think about holding her, waking up to her. A shiver runs down my body. My girl calls to every part of me. She’s been fractured, but she still feels like silk on my skin. In her sleep, in her need for comfort and connection, she pulls, pushes, and mounts my hips, long, slim, strong dancer’s legs are always wrapping around me, pressing down and making me hard against my will.
Seeking shelter, she burrows and demands to be wrapped and protected. I want to give it to her. I have to fight the Neanderthal in me who wants to hide her and keep her safe from the world.
Fuck!
Her hands are always seeking, stroking me in her sleep. And a few times, her lips have sought mine.
She’s still mine and I want. Her. Back.
I haul myself out of bed and struggle with the jeans on the floor.
The call I make to Arnowsky doesn’t last long, just long enough for him to tell me I can go to the hospital this morning. Those fucks tried to push him off yesterday, but the court order Arnowsky got included immediate access. He also let me know he’s working on an appeal, because she’s not staying there for thirty days. Plus, he’s worried the hospital will try to move her off the hospital ward into a facility, something that would be catastrophic.
Yet another thing the system fucked up.
There are paps waiting outside our building when we pull out of the secured parking lot. Even though the proceedings should have been sealed, that doesn’t mean they don’t know something’s up. That’s not what pisses me off though. If they follow us, it means they’ll know she’s in the hospital, leaving her feeling more under siege.
It doesn’t help that each secure door feels more like a prison than the last. Doors with no way in and a battery of security measures to get through. My security team has to stay back at a set of double steel doors while some guy who’s almost my size leads me down a barren white hall.
