Page 66 of Hunt You Down

I coughed and gagged, then I could breathe again. Now, I welcomed the oxygen mask placed over my mouth and nose. I took in a deep breath of fresh air. The hands restraining my wrists let go, and I attempted to rub my eyes, only for pain to bring tears to them again. I resorted to blinking, and after a few seconds, my vision returned. A woman sat in front of me in a white coat.

“Good morning,” she said, pulling a pen from her pocket. “Can you follow this for me?”

I followed the object as she moved it left and right. Then she flipped it and—ouch, not a pen—shone a bright light into my eyes.

“W-Where am I?” I asked with a gravelly voice.

“You’re at the hospital,” the woman answered.

“Where’s André?”

“Who?”

Another voice spoke up from the corner. “His boyfriend.” Dylan. "He’s with the police, David. They needed another statement from him.” My brother appeared by my bedside, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Could you give him a little space? He’s been through a lot.”

The lady nodded and left the room, saying she’d be back in a while to run more tests. Dylan handed me a cup of water from the bedside table and helped me take small sips from it until I felt like I could speak.

“What do you mean by the police?” I asked once my throat didn’t feel like sandpaper.

Dylan chuckled, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You’ve got one badass boyfriend,” he said. “You’ve done the hard part. You can rest now.”

I wasn’t going to object. My eyes slid shut, and I fell into a morphine-induced sleep. I was woken up a couple hours later for a brain scan and a blood test. Miraculously, I only had a concussion. My nose had been broken and set already.

Between surgeries and the cuts on my head and my neck, I had hundreds of stitches, and nearly as many staples. They told me that the cut on my neck had narrowly missed my carotid. My right kidney and my spleen were both pulverized. The doctor said they were in pieces when they were removed.

I was lying in bed when that female doctor came in with someone else—the doctor who admitted me, I learned—to explain everything. I’d most likely need additional surgeries on my nose to repair the break, and likely some physical therapy.

“Did you do a rape kit?” I asked once I found a break in the conversation.

“What?”

I hadn’t seen André appear in the doorway. His eyes were red and swollen and he gagged, attempting to cover it up with a cough as he excused himself from the room.

Shit.

“I’ve got him.” Dylan said before I could ask. He ran after André, leaving me alone with the doctors.

I felt terrible that André had to find out that way. I wanted to get up and run after him. I wanted to be held, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I felt like a soulless robot.

Only once the room cleared did someone answer my question—the admitting doctor. “There were…” he cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

“I’ve been here before. Don’t sugarcoat anything. I can take it.”

“Okay then.” A deep breath. “There were obvious signs of sexual assault when you came in. You had quite a bit of bleeding, but it was superficial. There won’t be any lasting damage. We took samples for a rape kit, but we can’t process it and give it to the police without your consent.”

“The blood tests?”

“All of the rapid tests came back negative, but you’ll have to be tested again.”

I want André. Bring André back.

“I want to rest now,” came out instead.

Someone, I didn’t see who, placed the call button nearby before they left the room. I was exhausted. My eyes threatened to close, but I wanted to see André again. I had to. I needed to apologize.

Person after person walked past my door, but not the one I truly wanted. The ICU was a really depressing place to be. I was likely the only conscious person.

Just as I was starting to give in, Dylan and André stepped into view. There were tears in André’s eyes when he saw me, but he still smiled. I tried to reciprocate, but I was too sore. “How can you look at me and smile right now? I must be fifteen different shades of black and blue.”