The hospital was having a slow night - my only bit of good luck so far. Even without my ID or insurance card, it wasn’t long before I was sitting behind a curtain, wearing a hospital gown over my jeans, and watching the doctor in green scrubs sew up my arm. Another bonus; he was a plastic surgeon they’d called down and I wouldn’t have much of a scar. Even a day as bad as this one had a few minor bright sides. They hadn’t given me anything for the pain, aside from the local anesthetic for the stitches, but I felt drugged. Maybe it was the adrenaline crash. I didn’t know. Now that I was safe in the hospital, I couldn’t seem to get it together.
My thoughts spun in sluggish circles. What if Steven came back? What if he decided to release the video anyway? What if he told the guys he owed money that I was responsible for it and they came after me? Hadn’t I seen that in some movie? The guy gets in debt with the mob and he tells them his brother is responsible for him so they went after the brother? Or maybe that was because the brother vouched for him? No, it wasn’t his brother; it was his best friend. Wasn’t it? I stared at the lights on the ceiling, trying to make sense of what was happening. Exhaustion dragged at me, slowing my mind and weakening my body.
I had to figure out what to do. I had no car, no wallet, and I didn’t want to go back to my house. It didn’t feel safe anymore. Not since Steven had been there, touching my things and taping me to my own kitchen chair, his hand on my breast, his eyes ugly and angry. I couldn’t go back there. Not tonight.
They’d asked if I had someone who could come get me. I’d said I did. I guess it wasn’t a lie. I could call my mother. Somehow I’d convince her not to take me back to the Delecta. I couldn’t go there either. Ever. If Steven caught me anywhere near Dylan, he’d release the video and all this would have been for nothing. Tears pricked at my eyes.
I gritted my teeth and sucked in a breath through my nose. No crying. Not here, where everyone could see. Later, when I’d figured out what to do and where to go. I’d cry later. A scuffle at the curtain caught my attention. I heard an aggravated voice say, “Sir! You can’t just -” The curtain was thrown back.
Dylan stood there, glaring at me, his friend Axel just behind him. Relief at seeing him flooded through me. Dylan was safe. Dylan wouldn’t hurt me. Then I remembered the video. Dylan couldn’t be anywhere near me. I wanted to jump up and demand he leave, to scream that he had to go. I didn’t move. For one thing, the doctor was still stitching up my arm. And for another, I was frozen in shock. How had he known where I was?
The nurse looked my way and said, “He insisted on seeing you. Do you want me to call security?” I shook my head. Dylan didn’t speak either, his eyes flipping between me and the doctor working on my arm. A minute later, the doctor tied off the last stitch and wrapped my arm in a protective bandage. Standing, he patted my shoulder.
“Someone will be in to discharge you and give you instructions on caring for the stitches. You were lucky.” Glancing over his shoulder at Dylan and Axel, he whispered, “You’re safe here. Are you sure you don’t want to make a police report?” His eyes grazed over the bruises on my face. I hadn’t offered much of an explanation of what happened. I shook my head again.
“No. They didn’t hurt me. I promise. I’m safe with them.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I swear.”
“Okay. I’ll get a nurse in to discharge you.” He stood, patted my shoulder once more, and left, sending a suspicious glare at Dylan and Axel as he went.
When we were alone, I said, “You have to go. You can’t be near me.”
Dylan ignored me, striding across the room to take my face in his hand. His body vibrated with fury, but his touch on my bruised cheek was gentle.
“What the fuck happened to you?” He asked, his voice quiet, but hard. “Who fucking did this to you?”
“Dylan, I mean it. You have to go. Please. Just go. I can’t help you if you won’t go.” I heard my voice rising in hysteria. He couldn’t be here. All of this was for nothing if Steven found out we were together and released the video. “You have to go. Please, Dylan, just go. Please.”
He didn’t go. Instead, he sat beside me on the hospital bed and pulled me into his arms, pressing my unbruised cheek into his shoulder. I didn’t struggle. I should have. I should have jumped off the bed and run to get away from him. But he was so strong, and he smelled comfortingly familiar, warm and clean and male. Somewhere deep in my head, I knew I was panicked and irrational.