Every Shattered Thing (Come Alive) (23 page)

Please don’t leave me. Please don’t change how you think about me.
I notice his hand resting on my knee and I wonder at the small miracle of it all - how his touch is so welcome when every other is feared.

We get to the hospital within record time thanks to Jude’s speeding. As promised, his friend is waiting for him at the front desk. He takes one look at me and curses underneath his breath.

Hm. Makes me feel confident.

“
When did this happen?” His gaze pierces through my eyes and I blink at the severity.

“Um...last night....and uh, early this morning.”

He looks at me again and goes to grab a few instruments to perform a quick check where we are.

Checking my vitals with his stethoscope and blood pressure gage, he looks at Jude and Emma. Kevin still holds on to my hand as Derrick leads me to a nearby wheelchair. My bad knee is throbbing. “How come she didn’t go straight to the ER? Has anyone checked for broken bones or cuts that need to be cleaned?”

I stifle a laugh tinged with bitterness—considering the circumstances, a broken bone or a cut seem pretty welcome. Emma looks at him and raises an eyebrow, echoing my thoughts. Kevin shoots me a glance, confused at what I could possibly find funny.

I need to let him know about my tendency to laugh at inappropriate times...

“Um, Derrick, when she first came to our house, bones and cuts weren’t the first thing on our minds.” Emma crosses her arms over her chest and Jude clasps his hands behind his back. I love them.

Seriously. If I could have chosen anyone in the world for parents, these two would be at the top of the list and the ones I was stuck with would be somewhere without any kids at all. A prison perhaps.

He nods in realization and walks over to one of his colleagues, whispering in her ear. She turns and looks my way before writing something in her notebook and walking quickly away. Derrick comes back over and places his hand on Jude’s arm.

“We’re working on getting her a room. But, Jude, because you guys aren’t her biological parents you’re unauthorized to receive any information. We’re going to have to call her parents and notify them of the accident.”

Like hell they will.

“Please don’t.”

Derrick turns and looks my way, surprise written across his face. “Excuse me?”

“I have some say in this, right? It’s my body?”
At least...theoretically.
I shake my head to quiet the thoughts and continue. “Please...don’t call my parents.” I twist around in the wheelchair until I am facing Derrick completely. “See my nose? My dad’s fist. And this bruise?” I point to one on my upper thigh. “My dad’s knee. And this?” I point to a cigarette burn on my left elbow. “That’s my mom.” I look at him again and mimic Emma’s slap on the legs for emphasis. For the first time in my life I’m standing up for myself by sharing the truth with someone in authority, someone who has power to change things.

Please listen to me. Believe me
. “Don’t call my parents. It will only make it worse.”

Derrick’s mouth opens in protest and I continue.

“I’m not asking for Jude and Emma to take their place. I understand if you can’t give them any information. But I do know friends and family are allowed in rooms, and I consider everyone here my family, more so than those who claim my blood. And really, how would anyone know?” I point to him.

“Technically, you are the only person who knows Emma and Jude are not my parents or legal guardians.”

Kevin smiles and shakes his head and watches Derrick contemplate what I just said. Emma shifts her weight to another foot and bounces Benjamin in her arms.

Derrick’s pager goes off and he twists his lip. “The room is ready. Jude—just wait out here for a second. I’ll hold off on calling her parents, for now.”

“Thanks man. We’ll be out here until we get the clear. I’m not leaving her with the chance of her dad showing up.”

My breath catches in my throat and I silently say a prayer of thanks and let Derrick wheel me away from the small crowd forming in the waiting room. I turn around and wave at Kevin and he waves back, mouthing words of comfort until I can’t see him anymore.

***

My room is cold. Bare. The gown is scratchy against my skin and rubs against some of the more tender spots where bruises are continually forming. I glance around and my eyes rest on the pile of clothes now sitting neatly in a plastic bag on a nearby table.
Evidence.
Goosebumps cover my arms and I close my eyes against the memories of last night and rest my head on the lumpy pillow. I wonder if I will ever be able get to sleep more than three hours at a time.

My thoughts wander as I wait for the next doctor to come and perform more tests. I study my fingernails and think back to beautiful sunrises, rich in color and bright with promise.

I need a new beginning. I’ve been stuck in this night for too long.

“Good morning, Stephanie. I would ask how you are doing, but I’m afraid I already know the answer.” I open my eyes and am met with an incredibly petite woman smiling at me. Her blonde hair falls right beneath her shoulders; her fingers freshly manicured. She looks breakable. I raise an eyebrow.

“My name is Natalie. I’ll be performing some tests on you here in a little bit, but first I wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Hi,” I whisper, not sure if I can trust this small frame to hold the weight of the burden I seem to have carried into the hospital room.

She studies me for a moment before walking around to check my monitor. As soon as I was brought into the room they hooked me up to this huge machine and started pumping pain medication into my system. Three broken fingers, a broken nose, a sprained knee and two torn muscles in my right thigh.

Oh and...I was coming down from someone slipping me Ecstasy. I cringe at the headache and glance at her fiddling with the machine and wrinkle my forehead. Natalie isn’t here to check on my injuries. At least not the obvious ones.

“You’re looking good. Stable. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m floating.”

She laughs, “Perfect.” Her smile fades and she touches my arm, “You do know why I am here, right Stephanie?”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t have to explain what you’re about to do or anything...I do have a question though.”

“What is it?”

“Where do these tests go once you finish them?”

She searches my face before answering, “We have some of the quickest turn-arounds in terms of rape kits, if that’s what you are worried about.”

My laugh comes out a bit more cynical than I aim for and Natalie squints in surprise. “It’s not the clearing of the tests I’m concerned about. It’s the hands these tests fall under - do they go to some generic county facility or the police department?”

“Well, right now they go to the lab within our organization. Until the authorities are able to talk with you and determine whether or not files should be charged, we safe keep all results.” She tilts her head, giving me a half smile before gathering her tools.

“Alright, Stephanie. When was your last period?”

I think back - it takes a few minutes. These past few weeks have been slightly overwhelming.

“Two-and-a-half weeks ago.”

She writes something in her notebook and looks at me again, “How old are you, Stephanie?”

“17”

“How old was your assailant?”

“Um, I don’t know. I only recognized one. I’d say mid-twenties to late forties?”

Natalie looks at me and then places her pen on the clipboard. “What do you mean - ‘you only recognized one’? There were multiple men?”

“There were four of them.”

Her eyes study my face and she continues writing. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

“Where did the alleged assault take place?”

“In my dad’s shed. Last night.”

“Did they use any physical restraints?” Her eyes focus in on my wrists. I follow her gaze and notice the skin rubbed raw - a wound that would be there for quite some time. A constant reminder I wasn’t ready to face.

I pick at my IV and run my fingers through my hair. “They uh...they me tied down.”

Her pen stops mid-stride and she tries to hide the emotion clouding her face.

“You know, I’m not really supposed to say anything other than these questions—and even then, I’m not supposed to respond to how you answer. But I can’t help this. For the record, this question is not on my list. How long has this been going on?”

I hold her gaze for a minute.

“
Why? Do you work for my dad?”

She continues to hold my gaze, her eyebrows reaching up beneath her bangs and back down again. “Your dad?”

“Yeah. My dad. You know, the monster who charms every female who crosses his path? The one responsible for these bruises? The one who makes my life a living hell? That one. Do you work for him?

Because if so, I’m not saying a word.”

She breathes in sharp and looks around before reaching out and placing her hand on my own.

“Listen, Stephanie. I don’t know what kind of situation you’re in, but I know that in order for me to even be here it has to be fairly volatile. I’m just trying to understand. There’s no danger in sharing. I promise.

I’m not out to get you in trouble.”

Something about her reminds me of Emma. Strong. Assertive. Soft.

“Since I was twelve. My dad um...,” I pause, studying my fingernails to avoid the reaction on her face. I don’t even know why I’m sharing this with her. I continue before I change my mind, before the courage runs out and I’m stuck scared, “my dad runs this prostitution ring with some local girls. Three of them are my childhood friends. He’s even brought in the cheerleading squad at the school and I don’t know the youngest girl—I’ve never seen her before in my life. She’s so young. Nine? Ten, maybe?” I turn to look out the window. “He has a website. Daddy’s Little Girls. It’s how men find out about us. There’s pictures, videos...”

Natalie makes a weird noise with her throat and I look toward her. She’s wiping tears from her face and writing stuff down.

“I thought you said this was off the record.”

She shakes her head. “I just...” She looks at me and I’m taken aback at the intensity of her eyes.

“We’re going to find you justice, Stephanie. The men who did this? They’re going to wish they never clicked on those pictures.”

I clear my throat.
How does this stranger care more about me than my own parents? She’s
brought to tears over what I go through - and my own flesh and blood want nothing more than to cause
my pain.

She returns to the questions on the sheet of paper and clears her throat.

“Do you use any contraceptives, Stephanie?”

“No.”

Placing her clipboard down on the table next to my bed she gathers her equipment and stands by my feet.

“Okay. I’m going to begin to the physical examination now. Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

She grabs a cotton swab and scrapes the inside of my mouth and then grabs an envelope to place the swab. She does this under my fingernails, as well. The exam lasts about thirty minutes, with the most invasive parts lasting only about ten. I glance at the stack of envelopes now on the table.

“Did you get everything you need?”

She grabs her clipboard and nods. “I did. Thanks, Stephanie. I am a bit concerned at some tears I see, but we will examine those closely over the next few days and call you with any conclusions. Did Dr.

Martin take x-rays already?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Well, I will go and let your friends know you are open for visitors now and start working on your discharge papers.” She pats my arm and gives me a sympathetic smile.

“Um, Natalie, do you know if anyone got a hold of my parents?”

“No.” She brings the clipboard closer to her chest and then tilts her head. “Your home phone came back as disconnected and the cell phone numbers we were able to find didn’t work either.”

I close my eyes and allow my head to collapse against the pillow behind me.

Maybe someone is on my side after all.

“Is everything alright?”

I open my eyes and smile. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just anxious to see my friends.”

She studies me closely and then walks back over to the edge of the bed, touching my cheek. I jerk away and she drops her hand.

“Stephanie, if you only knew how many grieve over your situation. Justice is coming.
Rescue
is coming. Hold on—and remember hope.”

Before I can even respond, she kisses me on the forehead and turns around to leave, placing the newspaper from yesterday on the table next to me. I turn my head and stare out the window at the sun peeking through rain clouds, shining against the drops forming on the glass pane, my thoughts lost in what she’s said.

She calls from the door.

“Do you see those storm clouds? They don’t stand a chance against the sun. Remember that, Stephanie, in moments of despair.”

I turn to look at her and she’s gone. A chill runs down my spine and I grab the blanket and pull it closer around my shoulders.

Chapter Twenty-One

It’s only after she leaves that I remember the newspaper she placed on my bedside table. I grimace as I reach for the stack of papers, curious why she left it and feeling as though there was something she wanted me to see. The headlines seem monotonous—winter weather advisories, education in-fighting and the latest political debacle all within inches from each other. I scan the paper, almost deciding to toss it, when a headline jumps out at me. My skin immediately feels on fire when I read the words:

Authorities Fail in Human Trafficking Bust

Authorities received an anonymous tip yesterday evening in the case of missing

teenager Marisol Venedez. The tip reported her to be taken across state lines for

prostitution. After searching nearby border areas, authorities failed to relocate Marisol and turned to family and friends for more answers. Her father, Filipe Venedez, denied

such claims and assured authorities she was with friends.