I squeeze her hand and assure her, “I’m right here. I think you should do this, sweetie.”
I watch as her eyes well with tears and then she slowly nods her head. I know she’s scared, but she’s strong.
The doctor comes in, and they take her for a couple of scans and x-rays while I wait in the room for her to return. When she leaves, I let go and cry. I try to get as much of it out as I can before she comes back and I have to shove all this pain back down. But I’m scared. I’m scared to know what this has done to her spirit. How will she ever heal from this?
When she is brought back into the room, I am by her side and holding her hand that I still can’t look at. I can’t even imagine how hard she must have fought for her hands to look the way they do.
The nurse talks to Candace about starting the rape kit then goes into the bathroom for a minute. When she returns, she looks at Candace and instructs, “Candace, I need for you to carefully remove all of your clothing, including your jewelry. I have laid down a large sheet of paper that is there to collect any evidence that may fall off of your clothes or body. Just stand on the paper while you undress, hand me each article of clothing as you remove it, and I will place each piece in a separate evidence bag. There is a hospital gown hanging on the door that you can change into.”
I look down at her and ask, “Do you want me to leave?”
“No. I don’t want to be alone.” She clings to me, and I see the fear and despondence in her eyes. I want to take it away, but I feel so helpless. I don’t know what to say to her, so I just help her off of the bed and walk her to the bathroom. She’s clutching a blanket to her and when she holds it out to hand to the nurse, I see she’s nearly naked. Her body is bloody and badly bruised. She begins to cry, and in a panic, turns around and asks where her pants are.
“The EMTs collected them. We already have them,” the nurse tells her.
Candace looks up at me, her whole body shaking, and I can barely get my voice out when I try to calm her and say, “It’s okay.”
She slowly starts taking off the remnants of her ripped up clothing, which isn’t much. Candace is such a small girl—tiny—and although she’s strong as hell, there would have been no way she could’ve fought off the guy who did this. Fuck, who did this?
Slipping on the hospital gown, she walks straight into my arms, and I hold her; I cling so tightly to her.
“Candace, whenever you are ready, I need you to have a seat on the exam table behind the curtain,” the nurse instructs.
Looking up at me, her dirty face soaked in tears, she says, “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“When the nurse called me, she told me to bring clothes with me. They’re in my backpack.”
She nods and we walk over to the exam table. She steps up to sit down on it, never letting go of my hand. I hate that she is so scared. She’s never scared.
I concentrate on her face as the nurse starts collecting the evidence from underneath her nails. I watch as the life leaves her eyes and she completely zones out. It kills me to see her so void and incoherent right now. That her pain is so wrenching that she has to escape somewhere deep inside her head.
When she lies down, the nurse explains the internal exam that she’s about to do. I hear every word, but I know Candace isn’t hearing a thing. She just stares at my t-shirt as tears run freely down the side of her face.
My mind is consumed with a million questions, and I know that I will probably never get any answers. I don’t see Candace talking about this. Ever. I want to murder the piece of shit who did this to her.
I snap out of my internal rage when Candace screams, “Enough!” She’s freaking out and shrieks, “Get out!” Scrambling back on the table, trying to get away, she keeps screaming, “Stop touching me, and get the hell out!”
“Candace, calm down, sweetie.” I try to say this as calmly as I can, but seeing her reaction is throwing me into a panic as she yells at the nurse, who quickly collects everything and leaves the room.
Curling into a ball, she cries, “I want to go home.”
“What happened?” I ask, wondering what triggered her outburst.
Glaring at me, she says in a slow, stern voice, “I want my clothes, Jase.”
I don’t say anything because I don’t want to upset her any more, so I pick up my backpack, and when I turn around, the door opens and the nurse who spoke to me when I first got here steps in.
“Candace, Detective Patterson needs to ask you a few questions,” she says. “Can I send him in?”
Knowing that Candace needs space, I ask, “Can she at least get dressed first?”
“Of course,” she says, and then leaves the room.
I hand Candace the bag and watch as she drags herself to the bathroom. While she’s in there, someone knocks on the door. I open it to see an older man with a badge clipped to his belt standing there.
“Hi, I’m the detective that’s been assigned to this case.”
“She’s in the bathroom,” I say before Candace walks out.
“Ms. Parker,” he says. “I’m Detective Patterson. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Right now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve already told the nurse everything. Why can’t you just ask her?” I can tell she’s at her end, and I just want to get her out of here. She shakes her head, and says, “Look, I don’t want to press charges or anything like that, so . . .”
Fuck. I knew she would do this. She avoids everything, but her words feel like a goddamn stab to my lungs.
“Ma’am, I know this is difficult, but there’s a good chance we can catch this guy, and the fact that we have a witness—”
She hangs her head and completely shuts down as he continues to talk. When he hands her his card, she shoves it in her pocket. I shake the detective’s hand as he walks out, and as soon as he leaves, another nurse walks back in. Christ, it’s never-ending.
“I’m just going to clean up and bandage these cuts for you, okay?”
I take a seat in one of the chairs across from Candace. The nurse is cleaning up her face when I hear her ask Candace if she needs the morning after pill. My head snaps up, and I stare at Candace as she sits there for a second, revulsion plastered all over her face. “I think so,” she whispers.
“Fucker,” I mutter and drop my head in my hands, trying my hardest to control my anger and not start throwing my fist into the walls. I have never—not in my whole life—felt the wrath that I feel right now.
The nurse keeps talking, but I don’t hear what she’s telling Candace. I’m too focused on settling myself down, trying to weaken the erratic pounding of my heart. Once all the discharge papers are signed, I can’t hold Candace tight enough to me as I walk her out to my car. She cringes in pain as I help her up into her seat. I reach over her and strap the seatbelt across her lap. Tears flood her eyes when I reach out to touch her face, wincing when I make contact, and then letting her head fall into my hand. She begins weeping, and I just stare at her—desolate. I wish I could do something to help her. I wish she would’ve come to my place tonight like I had asked her to. I could throw a thousand worthless wishes into the air, but none of them would change this nightmare, so I quit tormenting myself. I kiss her shoulder before closing the door.
She’s silent as she stares out the window while I drive her back to my place. The misery is palpable; the way life can change in a matter of a moment. I look over at her as she sits there—lifeless—and I desperately want to make it all disappear.
I help her out of the car and hold her hand as we walk into the building. She keeps a death grip on my hand but doesn’t speak. When I unlock the door to my apartment, she lets go of me and heads straight to my bathroom, closing the door behind her. It feels like there are bricks in the pit of my stomach, razor sharp. The past few hours are a complete haze. I hear the water to the shower turn on as I sit down on the couch. I wish I knew what to say, what to do, but I feel so helpless.