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I jolted awake sometime later. Jackson was still in bed next to me. The soft sound of his breathing told me he was sleeping. I looked around the room, determined to make sure we were safe.
As my gaze darted, I saw the backs of two police officers stationed outside the doors to the room, and in the corner, sitting at the desk built into the counter, was Dr. Cole. He’d positioned himself to keep an eye on Jackson and me. He’d noticed I was awake but hadn’t said anything. The man had been so good and patient with us.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He closed the laptop he’d been working on and approached the bed, sitting next to me opposite the side Jackson was on. “You are very welcome, Katie.”
“Is the press here?”
He huffed, then rolled his eyes as he nodded. “Unfortunately. I want to apologize about that.”
“What’s the story being told?”
“A car accident,” he smirked.
I grimaced. It wasn’t his fault it had gotten out, and I told him so. “Not your fault. It’s my life. I’d say, unfortunately, but that seems a bit ungrateful.”
“I don’t think so, Katie. Everyone has a right to privacy, and you and, by extension, Jackson are robbed of that. I believe some bitterness is justified,” he said softly.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, then asked, “You checked out on us earlier. Do you have any questions or concerns I can answer now that you are more aware of your surroundings?”
So many questions.
“I’m scared.”
“Of?”
“That there’s something wrong that cannot be fixed,” I confessed.
I’d bled. A lot. What if I’m not the same after being…
“I’m going to be blunt with you, Katie. You were torn severely from the assault. So badly that you had to be stitched up. I’ve seen vaginal injuries before, but yours were some of the worst,” he explained.
I started shaking. My chin trembled violently as I processed what he’d said.
“But Katie, your physical injuries will heal in time. Follow some simple instructions, and your body will right itself.”
I nodded. I probably looked like a bobblehead with all the nodding and shaking, but I couldn’t lock it down.
“Katie, I’d like to give you something to settle your nerves. Just to take the edge off now that we know what you were dosed with previously,” Dr. Cole said as he stood.
I reached out and grabbed his hand. “I don’t want to be knocked out again.”
“Again?” he asked.
“Whatever they gave me knocked me out for I don’t know how long. It was so disarming to wake up not knowing what was happening around me.”
“I won’t give you anything strong enough to knock you out—a very mild dose to settle your nerves. Your body is still processing the trauma, and I’m worried that you’re overstressing your already stressed mind and body,” Dr. Cole said as he gently squeezed my hand.
I weighed the options slowly, all the while struggling to regain control of the violent shivering. Finally, I nodded. “Okay, but you promise it will be mild?”
“I promise I will give you the smallest dose. I want you to calm down so you can rest,” he responded.
“That sounds good. I feel like a martini shaker on steroids right now,” I tried to joke, but the joke sounded flat even to me.
Dr. Cole smiled at me the teensiest bit. He left, returning a few minutes later, pulling a syringe from his pocket. I watched him connect it to the IV and push the plunger. The liquid moved from the syringe to the IV that was placed in my arm.
