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17
Criminal
Juliana
Iwakeupin an unfamiliar room wearing unfamiliar clothing for the second time. I should be startled. But I immediately spot the man who brought me here. I start to relax and take in my surroundings.
I’m groggy, but the pain that became my new constant companion is duller. The next thing I am acutely aware of is the needle in my arm, which skyrockets my pulse. I start to sense the cords attached to me by sticky pads, hear the increasing beep of a machine, and finally, feel the cool touch of a hand on mine.
“Welcome back. You’re safe here,” a woman says.
I believe her for some reason. It’s something about the voice. It’s calming, like when my mom would sing me to sleep after a nightmare as a child. I try to focus on the hand and the voice to calm my racing heartbeat before opening my eyes.
Turning towards them, I brace myself for another new interaction.
Since leaving Griffin, my entire body has been on fire. It started in the car when I first felt the lack of his presence. My body began to feel hot and itchy, sounds were too loud, light was too bright, the world was too much. I retreated to the emptiness, my own little dreamland when it became too much, but some of the week’s events are starting to all come back.
I hear the person speak, but don’t process what they are saying. I’ve already retreated into the safety of my mind. I can only listen to the lullaby of their voice, not internalize the meaning of the words. They must catch on since they stop speaking.
Their hand leaves mine, and I hear retreating footsteps on the carpet as I drift back off to the emptiness where I’m secure.
Later, I am woken by the same soft voice.
“Juliana? Juliana. I need you to wake up. We need you to eat.”
Dragging myself out of the void, I start to regain awareness of everything.
How do they know my name?
The soft voice is standing by my side, and the escape guy is standing in the room. Only this time, he’s at the foot of my bed.
His tall stature gives him a solid presence in the room. A muscular form displays familiar tattoos across his cool dark skin, and my eye catches on the US Army insignia on his bicep. They flow with every minute movement he makes and highlight his athletic frame. I follow them up his arms and neck to his sharp jawline. He’s clean cut with a short beard and perfectly faded line up hair style. But it’s his angular cheek bones mirroring the piercing gaze of his hazel eyes that draw me in. The man is terrifyingly beautiful.
I roll my head towards the voice and see what most surely must be an angel. She’s surrounded by light that shines through slightly greyed blonde hair, and my brain’s logical side knows there must be windows to the outdoors behind her. It’s pleasant to see her bathed in light like a celestial being.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m going to reach behind you to help prop you up, okay?”
I mean to nod, but by the way her lips quirk at the corner, I must look ridiculous.
Suddenly, I’m up, and food is placed on a tray in front of me. It doesn’t look like typical hospital food though, so I must not be in one.
There’s pudding.
Maybe I’m wrong about the hospital thing?
“I need you to eat,” she says.
I look down at the tray of food. It looks pretty appetizing, but I can’t bring myself to lift my hands to grab the utensils. Everything is sluggish and heavy. My body’s exhaustion has caught up with me. My movements are slowed by whatever the needle is pumping into my veins.
The voice, a woman, speaks. “How about I help you, okay?”
I turn to look at her as she settles next to me. She picks up some chicken with the fork and brings it to my lips. It’s such an intimate act.
As she feeds me, I study her. She has dark sandy blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. Her face is soft, and her presence is a comfort.
We sit there for a while until I can’t eat or drink anymore. I hear someone take the tray away but don’t bother to look at who it was.
She’s mesmerizing.
