She’s kind and motherly, and as she goes through all the different injuries I sustained, I’m glad to have her there as I start to cry. My pain medication starts to wear off, and I’m suddenly nervous. The ache in my side where my ribs are broken and where my many internal injuries were repaired is building, and it hurts. Bad. Dr. Ahmari gives me another dose of pain medication as we talk, seeing the discomfort on my face. She assures me the hurting is normal, and I shouldn’t expect it to go away immediately. The cracked ribs will take a considerable time to heal and will cause me the most pain, but she thinks there’s a better than good chance I’ll be ready for dance in the fall.
She’s going to schedule time with a physical therapist to help keep my strength and flexibility up while I heal, and she has no problem with my training with Anthony as soon as the physical therapist gives the go ahead—though she cautions that Anthony will need to follow the advice of the therapist to avoid any injury to me. I’m relieved I’ll be able to train, at least, and should be back up to par by the time school starts. My education depends on it, after all, and that’s really the only thing I have going for me at this point. Truth be told, I’ve been desperate to get through the summer so I can throw myself into dance and forget about the past year. I’m looking forward to school as much as I have in a long time just for the distraction and the escape of it. I have to fill the void Logan left in some way, and Allendale has just been one awful memory after another.
As Dr. Ahmari stands to leave, she pauses at the door and turns back to me. “You know, Rowan, you’re a very lucky young lady to have survived this. You lost a lot of blood, and your blood pressure kept dropping so low during surgery that I thought we’d lost you for sure. We almost did a few times. Take good care of yourself.” And as an afterthought, she adds, “Oh, and apparently I’m not the only one who’s been waiting patiently for you to wake up. The detectives have been showing up regularly to see if you’re ready for visitors.”
That’s just what I need. But it brings up an interesting question. What the hell happened to my father? The last I saw of him, he was quite intent on killing me, yet somehow I’m alive. While I ponder this, Dr. Ahmari fills me in on the police action in the hospital, which revolves around me, of course. She wants to know if I’m up for speaking with them yet. I can’t see any reason to delay the inevitable, so bring on the cops. This should be fun.
Sara rushes in as soon as the doctor leaves and pulls me into a painful but welcome hug. She starts crying yet again, and I wonder how much she’s been doing this over the past couple of days. But before I have time to ask, two detectives enter the room and ask Sara politely to leave.
“Oh, come on! Seriously?” She’s miffed, and with a reluctant and very annoyed look, she turns around and leaves the room again.
The detectives are patient as I recount the events of two days ago. They record my statement and take notes endlessly while I talk, interrupting only occasionally with questions.
When I’m finished, they have more questions: “How many times has he been violent with me, what other injuries have I sustained, why didn’t I tell anyone, how did I avoid this happening more often than it had?” My answers are simple and straightforward. “He’s been violent more times than I can recall, and I’ve sustained plenty of injuries but never to this extent. I didn’t tell anyone because, at first, I was too young to know what to do, and when I was older I didn’t want anyone to know, and I avoided him by disappearing when I needed to thanks to good friends who were always happy to have my company.” I can’t help but sardonically think that Logan would somehow find himself responsible for every single one of their questions—amazing how he can hold himself so responsible for me.
The detectives are nice enough to fill in the blanks of my memory. Apparently my father had lost his job that morning, which is likely the cause of his little tirade. And he did not give up trying to kill me. Instead, he heard nearby sirens, and assumed, incorrectly, that they were for him. He fled the house at some point and ran into a tree two blocks away. He was arrested and booked for a few different charges, not the least of which was drunk driving. When I didn’t return to the apartment where Sara was waiting to drag me to a movie, she started trying to call me. When she couldn’t reach me, she came to find me. And she did find me—lying in my father’s kitchen, unconscious, barely breathing, and with my hair shorn off. She called 911, and I was in surgery within the hour. The police suspected my father immediately, given his past record and the fact the attack happened in our house. They figured out that they already had him in custody pretty quick, and my statement is what’s going to keep him there.
The detectives assure me they’ll stay in touch before finally leaving and letting Sara back in the room. She comes bursting in again, and now it’s my turn to cry. I owe her a debt of gratitude I can’t even conceive of and I certainly can never repay. God, I love my best friend. This is the first time since I woke that we’ve had a chance to actually talk for longer than thirty seconds. It’s mid-afternoon, and I’ve only been awake for a couple of hours, but I’m already exhausted. Sara is in no mood to keep quiet any longer, though, and she’s bursting at the seams to talk my ear off. She tells me all about the day she found me—every last excruciating detail. She’s choked up and emotional, and it’s hard to listen to her talk about how painful it was to see me that way and waiting during my surgery. We both cry as she tells me how upset her family has been the past two days, and then she mentions Logan’s name.
My gaze snaps up to hers, my eyes wide and begging to take in more information. He arrived last night. He was in here with me for more than two hours while I was sleeping. He left the room in tears, according to Sara, the first time she ever recalls seeing him cry. New tears are pricking my eyes, and I have to fight to breathe as my chest tightens. I croak out the only question I want an answer to, hoping I don’t sound too obvious or desperate. “Where is he?”
“Oh, he left early this morning. He said he had to go talk to the DA he used to work for. He called a while ago and said he was on his way to Detroit on business but would be back when he could be. I think he left Denver in a bit of rush, so maybe he’s trying to make up for lost time? I don’t know,” she says with a shrug.
Sara seems oblivious to my torment, and I try again to act normal. Holy shit! He saw me like this? I cringe at the thought of what I must look like, and while I’m almost terrified to look, I ask Sara if she can find me a mirror. Now it’s her turn to cringe as her mouth screws up in a half smile, half horrified grimace that says, Are you sure you want to see this? But I have to know just how bad it is, and I nod my head at her questioning look. She rifles around in her purse, comes up with a compact, and hands it to me—again very reluctantly. Oh, holy shit! I look worse than bad. I look dead. I look like a Halloween costume gone bad. I look like a child who’s gotten hold of the scissors before anyone could stop her. I look freaking ridiculous!
Sara offers the kind of support only she can get away with. “I’m not gonna lie. It’s perhaps not your best haircut, and you could definitely do with a bit of makeup…” She flashes a sarcastic smile.
I can’t help but laugh. Oh, were it not for Logan having seen me this way, I probably would be amused right now along with her, but the idea of Logan spending two hours with me looking like this: swollen face, freak show haircut, carpet burn on the cheek, and my neck black and blue, is horrifying. No wonder he was in tears when he left. Did anyone actually check to see if they were tears of laughter? How could they not be? I’m atrocious. Sara quickly reassures me Ronnie’s stylist has agreed to pay me a visit the next day to do what she can with my hair. The rest will just have to heal on its own apparently.