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“I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t argue with me or try to persuade me otherwise. Instead, she moved to the door and pulled it mostly closed. “I’ll be right here. Just call me if you need help.”
Yeah.
No.
My left hand trembled as I sat down and pulled the gown out of my way. It was an uncomfortable prospect, but I managed without sloshing it anywhere. I set it on the little tray where she’d left it and then finished. Glancing down at my thighs, I bit my lip. There was a bruise, but it was nearer to my knee. There were more bruises on my arm. After I finished and used the rail to help myself stand, I moved to the sink.
My left cheek had a fat, puffy bruise and a cut. That looked—wonderful. My eyes seemed huge. The non-smeared makeup was definitely looking worse for wear, and my eyes had black smudges under them.
The trembling in my hand seemed to move all over me, and I tried to remember. But the flashes didn’t seem to gel into anything more than a shadow. I didn’t remember being hit. Or hurting my wrist.
Or if anything actually happened.
“Frankie?” Denitra called.
“I’m all right,” I said, not meaning a word of it. I wanted to be all right.
I was not all right.
Even breathing seemed to hurt at the moment. Rinsing my hand carefully, I wiped it off with a towel from the wall dispenser, then dropped it in the trash before I moved to the door.
“I’m done.” She opened it gently and the look on her face was so damn understanding, I just wanted to cry. “If you do the exam, can you tell if…if he did anything?”
“Yes,” she said. “We can. It will be uncomfortable for you, but I’ll be here every step of the way.”
I nodded.
“I don’t want the guys to know.”
“No one has to tell them.”
I swallowed.
“But I would recommend one more time that we try to call your mom, hon. You’re going to need support.”
Yeah. My mom would be the last person to give that. “Call her. But she won’t be coming. She’d have to care to show up and right now…I’m not the priority.” I don’t think I ever had been. “But I don’t want to wait for when she decides to answer.”
“Let’s get you back in the bed, then I need to get a couple of things.”
“Is it going to be anyone else?”
“No,” she said. “I can do the kit collection if you want. I’m a registered nurse, too.”
“Thank you.”
It didn’t take her long. It was humiliating. She explained everything, and not once did it feel like she was judging me. Not even when I answered if I was sexually active, what kind of prophylaxis I used, and a dozen other uncomfortable questions.
At the end of it, I had a definitive answer. As definitive as she could be.
The assault had never made it as far as penetration. So while he had bruised me, he hadn’t penetrated.
That was something.
It was also when the dam broke and the tears started sliding down my face.
I don’t know when she got the gloves off or moved her stuff aside, but she sat down and hugged me while I cried against her shoulder. The sobs hurt almost as much to let out as they had to hold in. But she didn’t rush me or try to tell me it would all be all right, she just let me cry. When I finally slowed to just sniffles, she eased back and then got a cool cloth to help wipe my face.
