“My name is Francine and I’ll be looking after you,” she said, her tone calm.
She continued to soothingly rub her head, softly whispering that she was going to be okay. Brian remained at the far end of the room, out of her direct line of vision.
“Dr. Stoke is going to come see you,” the nurse explained once her breathing was regulated. “And Officer Cohle is outside as well. He’s going to talk to you, okay?”
Destiny nodded, trying to keep herself in check. She felt like this was some surreal nightmare and she was trapped inside of it, looking down at herself, observing everything but unable to escape. She just wanted to escape. She closed her eyes but all she could see was his eyes, all she could feel was him, so she opened them. Her stomach tightened again and she clutched the stark white sheet with her free hand, forcing herself to be calm.
“Do you want me to be in here with you while they talk to you?” Nurse Francine was asking, dabbing her head again.
She nodded again.
“I’ll come back in when they’re ready.”
The nurse exited the room after a few moments and Brian came and stood beside her again.
“Your mom is on her way here,” he said finally, his voice strained. He sat down soundlessly in the chair next to her bed. “Dorian will pick her up at the airport in a few hours.”
She nodded again and winced at the pain that shot through her. Her head was pounding and it felt like closing her eyes might ease some of the pain, or at least block out the hospital light that was boring relentlessly into her brain. But she couldn’t close her eyes. He would be there and that was worse than the pain. She clutched at the sheet again. She was relieved her mom was on the way. More than relieved. She needed her here. She needed her now. Brian ran a hand over his head.
“Where is Dorian?” she managed.
“He’s here. He’s in the waiting room, talking to your mom on the phone.”
She tried to nod, but it hurt too much so she just remained still.
“They caught him,” Brian said quietly after a few long minutes. “Some guys saw…” he cleared his throat. “They tackled him and held him until the cops and ambulance got there.”
She thought of the guys who were getting into their car as she was walking toward the parking deck. Then she thought of him, her stomach knotting again. She didn’t know how to process this new reality when it still seemed so much like a bad nightmare that she was going to wake up from any minute. They caught him. He was caught. Which made him real. Which made this real. But this couldn’t be real. She clutched the sheet so tight her nails were digging into her palms.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Brian whispered, his eyes tortured. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”
She stared up at him wide eyed and shook her head, ready to protest, but he wouldn’t let her speak.
“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he was saying it over and over again as he held her hand with the IV and buried his face there.
She closed her eyes again then opened them immediately as the torturous images filled her mind. She stared at her partially opened hospital door, wondering how just a few minutes could change her entire existence. In just a few horrible minutes he’d stolen her peace. Her body. Her comfort. And her virginity.
Chapter 10
It was her fourth shower of the day. She stood under the hot water, letting the stream pound gently on her back, massaging her muscles. A week had passed since she was released from the hospital. A week had passed since he happened.
He was a security guard. He was supposed to be protecting people. Not ripping them to shreds. She’d seen him around a lot, even spoke to him regularly because he worked a lot of the venues she frequented. She used to forget his name sometimes. Now it was forever etched in her memory, her skin, her being. Connor Dorsey.
She grabbed her washcloth and poured more soap onto it, scrubbing her body until every inch of it was covered in a soapy lather. She still felt dirty, like she’d never be totally clean again. She scrubbed harder. She was angry. No, she was worse than angry. Worse than disgusted. Worse than violated.
The hospital had only kept her overnight for observation since she had a concussion. Just as nurse Francine had promised, Dr. Stoke had come in with Officer Landberg, who’d questioned her relentlessly about what she remembered, asking over and over again for every detail she could muster. She’d been in an out of consciousness throughout the attack and what she did remember she wanted to forget. But even now, her memory wouldn’t let her. When she closed her eyes, he was there, prying, ripping, taking, destroying.
Brian had insisted on being in the room through the questioning, and she’d let him, although he looked like he was going to be sick the entire time. Of course, he had to leave when they did the rape kit. She’d given her consent, although she still didn’t completely understand why it was necessary if he was already in custody. Officer Cohle and the district attorney Ben Thomas had assured her that it was important to gather as much viable evidence as possible. They’d told her that the state would be pursuing prosecution. They’d tested for diseases. They’d given her a morning after pill.
By the time her mom arrived early the next morning, the hours long tests had already been completed, thank goodness. Tori had barely been able to keep it together. Who knows what would’ve happened if she’d had to witness the excruciatingly slow, incredibly invasive and detailed process of pulling hairs and swabbing and photographing. She couldn’t remember everything that happened when she was raped. But she remembered the rape kit. She closed her eyes, scrubbing harder.
“You okay in there, Desi?” she asked now, her voice full of worry that she was trying unsuccessfully to hide.
She was using the other nickname she’d given her and only pulled out when she was sick or really hurting. Destiny sighed. She hated that she was the cause of the new lines that appeared around her mom’s eyes in the days since she’d been in town.
“Yeah, I’m okay, Mom,” she answered.
She rinsed off then poured more soap on the washcloth and lathered herself again, scrubbing. Two more scrub downs and she’d be done. For now.
She finally turned off the water a few minutes later and stepped out, drying herself quickly. The mirror hadn’t gotten totally fogged this time, and she caught a glimpse of herself. There was still a faint, black and purple ring under her right eye and the top of her forehead was still bandaged, covering the mid-sized gash there. She inhaled and released the breath slowly. Her bruised ribs had been the quickest to heal and she barely felt anything there anymore. Bruises still lingered on her forearms and the inside of her thighs.
She slipped on her old “FAMU” sweatpants and a t-shirt, and stepped out of the bathroom, inhaling the scent of garlic and pasta. It was really too hot to be wearing anything but shorts and a tank top, but she didn’t like showing her bruises. She hated how her mom and Dorian and Brian looked every time they noticed them. She’d stopped trying to slather on foundation to cover up the bruise on her eye a couple of days ago after her mom had gently told her it was still visible. She heard voices in the living room, which meant either Dorian or Brian was there.
“Hey,” Brian smiled when she entered the room.
After everything that happened her heart still pounded whenever she saw him.
“Hey.”
She smiled, her first real one of the day. Honestly, seeing him was the thing that was keeping her feeling normal. As much as she loved her mom and was endlessly grateful that she’d flown down at a moment’s notice to be with her, Tori was hovering. And the hovering reminded her of everything that she wanted to forget.
His eyes traveled over her swiftly. He looked at the bruise underneath her eye and quickly looked away, controlling the unabashed fury that had just flashed there. He released a quick breath before looking at her again. She knew that he was trying to assess how she was feeling. She met his eyes and smiled softly. She felt calmer when he was around.
“You
r mom said you hadn’t eaten so I stopped and got you a chocolate milkshake. It’s in the refrigerator.” He glanced over at Tori, who smiled at him gratefully.
“Thanks,” Destiny grinned faintly.
He knew even the thought of eating made her stomach churn. She’d been forcing herself to eat for the past week, mostly because her mom was watching her like a hawk. Tori looked from Destiny to Brian.
“Let me get in here and finish cooking,” she said, standing.
She was petite and looked at least five years younger than her forty-four years. Like Destiny, her skin was caramel colored and her hair was the same dark brown color, although it wasn’t as thick. Her eyes were not quite as round as her daughter’s, though they were just as expressive. She’d been called a MILF more than once by Dorian’s friends, which usually got them beat up.
She watched her mom’s slender frame disappear into the kitchen and she sighed. She’d be leaving soon. She wanted to stay longer but Destiny had tried to convince her that she would be fine. She knew she didn’t have anymore vacation days at work and she didn’t want her to lose her job on top of everything else. Plus, she just wanted to feel normal. And that wasn’t going to happen until she started doing normal things. Like going back to work, which she planned on doing Monday.
She crossed the room and seated herself on the futon next to Brian, crossing her legs under her. She knew he’d come straight there from work, the way he had every day since she’d been released.
“My mom is stressed,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “And it’s my fault.” She glanced guilty toward the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said, causing her to meet his eyes. “Don’t do that. Nothing about this is your fault.”
She traced a finger over the letters printed on her sweats and sighed. “She leaves Sunday,” she said unnecessarily.
When she looked up at him again she knew he was trying to read her expression. She had no idea what was on her face, because she wasn’t entirely sure what she felt.
“She wants me to go to therapy,” she said, tracing the print on her pant leg again. “There’s a church down the street from here that offers ra… well, counseling on Saturday afternoons.”
She sighed and looked up at him, chewing on her lip. She hated the idea, honestly. How was she supposed to feel, talking to total strangers about her attack when it hurt so much to even remember it?
“You know I went to counseling,” he told her matter-of-factly.
She blinked, surprised. He was always so contained and stoic, it was difficult to imagine him laid up on a couch listening to a shrink.
“Clara made me go after my mom left,” he stopped, his eyes far away. “I only went for a few months, but I went.”
“Did it help?” she asked, eyeing him.
“Yeah, it did,” he looked at her again, his eyes trailing from her bandaged head to her eye. “I think you should go.”
She sighed and leaned back on the futon. He studied her for a second longer then leaned forward, rummaging through his bag that was on the floor in front of him.
“I brought a couple of copies for you,” he said, handing her the new issue of UMusic.
She knew he wasn’t going to press the issue and she was grateful. She looked at the magazine. Her story had earned a cover line. She smiled automatically although she knew it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Thinking about covering the Jazz Fest concerts made her think about covering Roc D’s show and thinking about that made her think about him. She hated that he had stolen what was probably one of the best experiences of her life without even being there.
“What?” he asked quietly, trying to read her expression.
She hesitated, looking away. It seemed like forever before she spoke. “I just wonder if I’ll ever be able to go to a concert again.”
She shrugged, and studied her hands. He looked away briefly then back to her, his eyes resolved.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She stared at the blank TV and released a breath. Finally she turned her attention to the magazine in her hands.
“Thanks for bringing this,” she said, forcing another smile.
She ran a finger over her cover line then sighed and flipped it open. She’d told Gabe that she had a family emergency and wouldn’t be in this week. She didn’t want anyone else knowing what had happened and she couldn’t go to work with visible bruises. So she’d been housebound all of this week, ashamed to go out in public. She studied the layout Chuck was so proud of.
“What’d you think?” she asked, knowing Brian had already read her story.
She bit her lip and looked at him. His opinion had always meant a lot to her, not just because he knew music, but because she knew he wouldn’t lie to her.
“Honestly? This part right here…” He took the magazine from her and scanned it, before reading. “There was a point in the night when the band’s energy peaked, the organic but precise sounds of each instrument fusing together, culminating in a few seconds of unhurried perfection that was so beautifully intense even the band itself seemed to stand in awe of their own instruments.”
He looked up at her grinning slightly though his eyes were serious.
“That sentence is why you’re the best writer I know.”
She smiled, her face flushing at his obvious exaggeration.
“And the part where you compared the jazz movement from the twenties to the mainstreaming of hip-hop in the early nineties was pretty spot on.”
“You think?” she asked, biting her lip and tilting her head.
He nodded and grinned. “I’m pretty sure you have me to thank for the story though.”
“Why is that?” she asked, suppressing a grin.
“Because spending the day with me was obviously inspirational for you. You know, with you being able to bask in my presence and infinite music knowledge.”
She giggled and slapped at his shoulder. He smiled and grabbed her hand. He didn’t let go immediately and she looked up at him. It was the first time he’d really even touched her since that night at the hospital. It was almost like he was afraid to. She didn’t move her hand and he slowly interlaced his fingers with hers, still studying her face. He was peering into her soul again. And even though she knew it was damaged and spliced, she let him, because in that moment, he made her feel whole.
“Okay, Tweety Bird, not a lot, I know,” Tori said as she entered the room, breaking the tension.
Brian released her hand and Destiny blushed. Her mom shot her a knowing look but said nothing as she handed her a plate with more chicken Alfredo on it than Destiny cared to eat.
“Here you go, hon.” She handed Brian a plate that was stacked to the brim.
“I’ve really missed your cooking, Aunt Tori,” he said, eyeing the food with gusto.
Tori smiled just as there was a knock on the door. The knob turned and Dorian stepped in. He’d been using his key all week, and Destiny wondered why he even bothered knocking.
“Yo,” he said boisterously as he entered and locked the door behind him.
Brian nodded his head at him.
“Hey auntie,” he grinned, dropping a quick kiss on Tori’s cheek.
“Hi, honey. I’ll grab your plate,” she told him as she headed back toward the kitchen.
“What’s up with the pig tails?” he asked Destiny, pulling lightly at the loose braids that were hanging over her shoulders.
She swatted his hand away.
“You look like Pocahontas,” he said, staring at her warily. “I feel like any minute now you’re gonna break into song and start singing about the river and the circle of life or some shit.”
“Shut up,” she said bursting into giggles.
Brian laughed. “You do kinda look like Pocahontas,” he agreed, still grinning.
She rolled her eyes at him.
“Like you whisper to the dirt.”
“Like you communicate with the leaves,” Dorian added, laughing.
“Like you’v
e become one with the atmosphere,” Brian teased.
“Well, we do have Cherokee in our blood,” Tori called from the kitchen, “on your grandma’s side.”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Destiny didn’t even know she could hear from in there. Dorian smirked and picked up the remote control, flicking the TV on.
“Can’t believe ya’ll don’t have the game on.”
He shot Brian a look of disappointment and sat down on the floor with his back against the futon. Tori came back in the living room and handed him a plate. She took a seat on the other side of Tweet on the futon, balancing her plate on her lap. They all bowed their heads automatically and grabbed hands to say grace like they always did when they were together with any of their parents.
“I’ll say it,” Brian volunteered as Dorian released Destiny’s hand to mute the TV.
“Heavenly Father, thank you for the food that Aunt Tori took the time to cook. We ask that it be nourishment to our bodies. We ask for your peace to be over each of our lives. And we thank you for the grace and love that you continually extend to us, even as we deal with things that we don’t necessarily understand. In the name of Jesus, Amen.”
Tori beamed at Brian and Dorian flicked the TV back on. Brian squeezed Destiny’s hand as she gazed up at him, not quite knowing what to feel. They settled back onto the futon and Destiny picked listlessly at her food.
“I’ve been trying to talk Destiny into coming back home with me,” Tori said abruptly.
She glanced at Dorian then at Brian. Destiny’s head snapped up and she stared at her.
“I really think you should come home,” Tori said, looking at her.
Destiny frowned and shook her head, studying the uneaten food on her plate. “I live here, mom,” she finally said.
She didn’t know why she chose to bring this up in front of Dorian and Brian, like they were going to agree with her. Or had any say in her decision.
“I know you don’t want to leave your job, but you can always get a job in Phoenix. Last week I saw a new magazine in the gas station… it was a music magazine or something and…”
Better Than Okay Page 11