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Tawny’s brown eyes are all apologies. “I know you’re on your way home to your handsome husband but ... please? No one can get her to talk. And we all know about that magic touch of yours.”
Sal smiles slightly. Since she’s been back on the job, she’s learned she has a rep around the hospital as someone who takes their time with the patients. Makes them feel as comfortable as possible. Having firsthand experience with hospital stays, she knows it’s important for them to be listened to and understood even while in their most painful moments.
Tawny’s serious face morphs into a pleading smile. “Pretty please?”
“Fine,” Sal groans but grins back at her. “Lead the way.”
Through the exam room window, Sal sees a young girl, huddled in a corner chair, her legs pulled up to her chest. She’s waifish with a short red pixie cut and a wary expression. Nurse Buntin leans over, giving Sal the details. “Molly Banks. Twenty-two. She was brought in complaining of stomach pain but now won’t let anyone examine her.”
Sal nods. She’s seen her share of noncompliant patients. Most lie because they’re embarrassed to tell the truth, or want to avoid being judged or scolded. It’s her job to coax the truth out of them so they can be safely treated.
“Molly?” Sal says as she enters the room.
The girl looks up, her face full of bewilderment.
“Hi, my name’s Sal and I’m a paramedic.” Molly watches with suspicious eyes as Sal walks further into the exam room. “I hear you’re having some trouble. I don’t blame you. No one likes it here.”
The girl’s face softens.
“Nurse Buntin says you came in with stomach pain. You want to tell me about it?”
“Not really.”
“Are you sure?” As she gets closer, a familiar chill steals over Sal. Though Molly’s tried to cover it with makeup, her right eye is black and blue. Sal’s eyes drift. More bruises. On her wrists this time.
A long pause. Molly tightens her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. “I feel better now. Really. I can go home.”
“Well, we’d hate to send you home if something was wrong.” Sal kneels beside the chair. She keeps a soft voice. “Are you here because of that eye?”
Molly shifts uncomfortably. “No.”
“Because if you are, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Molly doesn’t reply, staring off into space, her attention diverted elsewhere.
The girl’s a wall, and Sal needs to break through.
She searches her mind and has the answer. It’s not her favorite, but it’s honest. And hopefully, it will work.
Taking a breath, chasing away the nerves bubbling up, Sal forces herself back to the past. “Believe me, I’ve been where you have.”
Molly squints at Sal, her stare disbelieving. “I doubt that,” she sniffs. Her face is like a wounded animal, distrustful, bitter.
Sal nods. “I have. It was about two years ago and it was awful. I was with a man who didn’t treat me right at all. Who hurt me.”
Molly lifts her head, straightening up.
“There were days when I didn’t want to exist, days when I didn’t know what to do, when I felt all alone.” She licks her lips. Her throat wants to shut down at the words she’s saying, because they feel foreign—they’re not her life anymore—but she pushes past it. Pushes herself. “Finally, I made the decision to get out, and it was hard, Molly. So damn hard. It won’t be easy for you, but I understand what you’re going through. I really do.”
Molly’s gaze tracks Sal, a small flicker of belief beneath her hard exterior.
Sal’s breath is held tight in her chest. She hopes Molly’s listening. As she meets the girl’s brown-eyed gaze, she says, “No one’s saying you have to do anything now. All I want to do is make sure you’re okay. That’s what’s important.”
Molly shakes her head, thinking on it, worrying, but then she whispers, suddenly, “He doesn’t know I’m here.
“Who doesn’t?”
Her eyes well. “My husband. Chris. He found out I’m pregnant. And ...” Molly trails off. Unfurling her legs, she lifts her shirt. What Sal sees has her blood turning to fire. The imprint of a shoe sole branded on Molly’s stomach. “He doesn’t want me to have it. Doesn’t want there to be anyone else.” She draws her legs back up, closing herself off. “I don’t want it either. I can’t. I can’t have it.”
