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JOSIE
Eight Days Earlier
Everything is white.
The walls. The sheets. The lights. The stiff gown wrapped around my body. Even the damn container filled with jelly that’s stayed untouched on my tray. After being dosed up on pain relief, the throbbing in my ankle has finally subsided, but I still don’t have an appetite.
My eyelids droop, but when I close them, flashes of that night tear through my mind, and suddenly, I can’t breathe.
Elliot was detained a few hours after he left my house. He made it a few towns over before he had to stop for petrol. All police in the surrounding areas had been notified, and he was intercepted before he made it back onto the highway.
I do feel a little safer now, knowing he’s gone and can’t harm me anymore. But I’m still shaken to my core.
A knock brings me out of my thoughts. Mum, Dad, and Sam are hovering in the doorway.
“Hi, hon,” Mum says. She has been in and out for the day, but this is the first time the others have visited. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” I smile weakly.
She waves the small bouquet of flowers that are clutched in her palm. They’re pretty, filled with pastel pink, purple, and white flowers.
“I thought these might make the room look a little nicer.” She places them on the table. “Do you need anything?”
I shake my head.
“I knew he was a scary dude, but I never thought …” Sam shakes his head, his hair that is far too long falling into his eyes. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Some of us aren’t so lucky,” I say.
Chewing his bottom lip, Sam nods.
“I’m going to hit up the vending machine. Can I get you anything?”
“Water, please.”
Sam gives Mum a look and they both walk back out the door, leaving my father and me alone. I shift in the bed, trying to get comfortable. His eyes rest on my ankle for a few moments before finding my face.
Tears brim in my eyes and I let them fall. He takes a seat on the bed, curling his arms around me. I rest my head on his shoulder and cry.
“I love you, pumpkin,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry I haven’t been a great father these past few months.”
I hiccup, sniffling, my tears leaving a wet stain on his flannel shirt.
“I haven’t been much of a daughter, either.”
“Hush now,” he says, his voice more comforting than he could ever know. “None of that matters anymore.”
I bury my face into his chest and his arms tighten around me.
“I’m thankful you’re still here,” he whispers. “My baby girl.”
