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Outside the hospital room, a flock of white coats brush past, charts in hand. That used to be me, and now, I’m here. In a bed, hooked up to IVs while the man who I once thought to be a villain sits in the corner with lines of worry on his face.
I can barely bring myself to look at him. Guilt and grief cripple me as the responsibility of Caleb’s death weigh heavy on my shoulders. Caleb tried to save me and died for it. He refused to rape me and died for it. But I know deep down, Tom would have killed him regardless. Jude pushes up from the chair, swiping a hand over his face. “I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette. I’ll be right back…”
An aura of pain and defeat hovers around him like a heavy fog. He knows about Caleb. I overheard him on the phone while I was coming round, and I’m grateful I didn’t have to tell him. And as much as I know I should, I can’t even offer him any comfort. I’m too broken, too ashamed, too consumed in my own pain to be good to anyone.
There's a knock on the ajar door. A young doctor steps into the room, flashing me a broad smile that I don't return. “I'm Doctor Perry. How are you feeling?"
Like shit, that’s what I want to say, that I feel like shit, that while the painkillers have muted the physical pain, they’ve done nothing to abate the mental anguish. I want to scream and throw things, but instead, I remain silent.
“All your labs came back normal.” He pauses, hesitation on his face. “Were you aware that you are pregnant?”
"No," I repeat the word, shaking my head. Rational thought flees, and all I can think of is Tom’s disgusting assaults. This isn't happening. I sit up in the bed and yank the hospital gown away from my back. "How many brands are there?" There's a silence where I imagine he’s taking in the ugly mess of burned skin. "How many!"
"Six," he says, his voice hushed. Only six? I was there only six days? And while that seems almost impossible, all I can focus on right now is the positive that this can’t be Tom’s baby.
The doctor places a soft hand on my shoulder. “Miss Pearson, I am—”
I can tell just from that sympathetic tone—the one I used countless times—that he’s about to offer me some kind of condolences, and I don’t want it. “When can I leave?”
“We’d like to have a caseworker speak with you. A psychiatrist… I know you checked the non-report option, but I’d highly advise you to reconsider.”
“I don’t want to report it.” Reporting this would do no good. This isn’t some drug addict or sexual predator. If I’ve learned one thing over the past few months, the stuff that goes on in the world, I’m now a part of transcends the law. Reporting it would be useless, and I don’t want the paper trail.
When Jude walks back into the room, I don’t miss the accusatory look the doctor throws his way.
“It wasn’t him,” I say, feeling the need to wipe away the judgment.
The doctor nods. I know the look of professional distance well. I’ve been where he is, with an abused wife who won’t report her piece of shit husband, and I hated it. But this is not that.
“I don’t want to report it,” I repeat, already removing the surgical tape holding my IV in place. “I just want to leave.”
“Miss Pearson, I’d—”
“I know my rights. I would like to self-discharge.”
There’s a moment of tense silence where the doctor glances between Jude and me. “I have to advise that it’s in your best interest to stay until—”
“Until what? My labs are fine,” I say. “Nothing is broken.” Physically at least. I pull out the IV and toss it on the bed, already swinging my legs over the edge.
The doctor’s lips press into a tight, displeased line before he heads to the door, saying he’ll get the papers.
Jude moves to the bedside. “Tor. I think you should stay. Let them make sure that—”
“I’m sorry about Caleb,” I breathe, fighting back guilty tears as I look away from him. “He tried to trade himself for me.”
“Please, stop talking, Tor.”
“I didn’t know Tom had him….”
Jude’s arms wrap around me. I don’t know if he’s comforting himself or me, but I cocoon myself in his warmth, fisting the back of his shirt.
“You’re all I have left,” he says.
We are all each other has left at this point. For a few months at least, but the idea of a baby is too much to deal with right now for either of us.
25
Jude
The drive home from Macon Hospital is silent. Tor sits between Marney and me, staring at her lap. Sometimes there aren’t words to be had, and I think for the three of us, right now, that holds very true. Loss is silencing.
