“How are we feeling this morning?” he asks, stopping at the end of the bed.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” I mutter.
He doesn’t smile.
“That’s not far off.”
Parker adjusts herself in the chair beside me, arms tight to her chest. The doctor moves to my right, flipping through my chart.
“You’ve got three fractured ribs on your left side. No displacement, which is good. Staples in the back of your head–four of them. They’ll come out in ten days.” He gestures vaguely toward the base of my skull. “You sustained a moderate concussion. Memory gaps are normal, headaches, nausea, light sensitivity. If you experience worsening confusion or vomiting, I want you back here immediately.”
Parker shifts uncomfortably next to me. From the corner of my eye, I see her tug at her shirt sleeves and hug herself around the middle.
“Now other than that, all your imaging came back clear of any internal bleeding or broken bones. Your blood work came back normal as well. We’re going to discharge you, but I must stress the seriousness of your injuries.”
A lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it down. Unable to get any words out, I nod as the doctor speaks.
“You’ll need to have someone with you for at least the first few days,” he continues. “No driving. No alcohol. No strenuous activity. And absolutely no being alone if you can help it.”
Parker stands, her hands tightening around the edge of the bed rail.
“She won’t be alone,” she says immediately. I don’t miss the edge in her voice.
The doctor studies her for a second longer than necessary.
“Good,” he says finally. “Given the circumstances, we’re also documenting this as an assault case. The police will likely be contacting you to follow up.”
Parker and I share a look, both of us knowing that the police won’t be necessary.
“Understood,” I say quietly.
He nods once. “Give us about thirty minutes. The nurse will bring you the paperwork and after care instructions.” He steps toward the door and pauses.
“And Ms. Steele?”
My eyes meet his. They soften slightly around the edges.
“You were lucky.”
He exits the room, the door softly closing behind him and I let out a shaky breath.
Lucky.
The word makes my stomach twist. Parker exhales slowly, like she’s been holding it since he walked in.
“You don’t got this,” she mutters, throwing my words back at me.
“I know,” I admit softly.
Her eyes drift to the back of my head.
“Four staples,” she says in disbelief, shaking her head.
“He must’ve hit me with something.” My hand mindlessly lifts to the spot that hurts the most. My fingers graze the wound, and I yank my hand back down.
“Last year, when I was taken,” she starts, lowering herself to the edge of the bed. “I ended up with a severe concussion.”
My stomach knots. She ended up telling me about her past and how she ended up in Oregon, but she’s kept it vague. I’d never push her to give me details about what she’s been through, so I sit quietly.
