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“I’m okay, Will. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
He nods, steeling himself as he straightens. His fingers reach for my hand, but he pauses in midair, his eyes skating along my arm, up across my bruised collar bones to the thin threads of blood that seep from my neck. “I want to touch you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “It looks worse than what it is.”
Concern etches deeper into Will’s expression. He stands, grabbing the medical chart from the end of my bed and flipping it open, then takes his seat again as he reads. “You’re not fine,” he argues. “It says here you’ve got a fractured wrist.” He glances between my hands, and I hold up the one opposite to him. He takes a deep breath, continuing. “A broken eye socket?” I touch my good hand to my left eye, wincing. No wonder my head feels three times its normal size. Who knew an eye socket could break? Not me, but you learn something new every day.
“Extensive blood loss,” Will reads. “A perforated uterus wall from an IUD being removed incorrectly?!” He looks up at me sharply.
I wave my hand dismissively. “Attempted removal. Turns out, those things don’t come out easily.”
“What happened?” Will asks, horrified. I almost open my mouth to tell him, but think better of it. “It sounds worse than it is,” I lie breezily. “Really, I’m fine.”
He stops reading.
“Is that it?” I ask. Will shakes his head. “There are three more pages. It says here they still need to do another pelvic exam and a rape kit.”
His eyes flash with emotion. “Did he — they — Jesus. Were you raped?”
I take the clipboard from him, gently. “Will,” I say, taking his hand and squeezing it. “One day I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. But not today, okay?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Okay?” I say again, sharper this time.
He nods. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.”
We study each other for a beat, as a black mood begins to seep into my relief at getting out of that hellhole. This is the crash after the adrenalin of surviving. Reality is starting to hurt like a motherfucker.
“You lost weight,” I murmur. Will looks surprised, and I know he’s looking at bony little me after six weeks of near-starvation and hell.
“You, on the other hand, look like you’ve been having a few too many Happy Meals, young lady.” He offers up a sad smile, and I take it greedily, my own mouth twitching at the sides. There he is. My sarcastic-mouthed Will, always armed with barbs that fly over most people’s heads. Not me. I love his humor. It’s always been able to make me feel better.
“What can I say?” I shrug. “They ask me if I want to supersize my meal, and I just can’t say no.”
Will grins. That’s good. Then he puts his face in his hands. Not so good.
“I’m so sorry, Aves,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I whisper.
“I did.” He looks up at me again. “I … I lost control that day. The way I acted in the cemetery … It was like I was possessed or something. I was so rough with you. Ihurtyou. I was out of my mind at the thought of losing you.”
“Stop torturing yourself. Will, we were two consenting adults having angry break-up sex. It was sad. It was hot. It was the best sex we ever had.You didn’t do anything wrong.”
His shoulders slump with what looks like relief. “All those things I said, about you owing me, and me taking you away? It was just shit I said without thinking. I would never actually hurt you, you know that, right?”
“Of course I do,” I reply, frowning. “Why? Does someone else think you’ve done something?”
He chews on his lip, his knee bouncing up and down. He’s agitated. Terrified.
“The cops think I had something to do with this,” Will finally says, gesturing to me and my litany of injuries.
“The cops don’t know you, Will. I know you. I know you had nothing to do with any of this. I’ll tell them what happened, and everything will be…”
Will frowns, sitting straighter. “Aves?”
Suddenly I’m so, so tired. I can’t remember the word to end that sentence. What’s the damn word? My tongue feels too big for my mouth, like I’m sucking on a big wad of cotton candy that refuses to melt. What’s theword?
