“We have the same father.”
She blurts out, “You’re brothers. Are you all brothers?”
I nod, but say, “We all have the same father.”
Staring at the bruise on her cheekbone, I ask, “Does it hurt?”
She glances away from me, as if she doesn’t want to discuss it.
“I’ve had worse.”
My reply is immediate.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Laying her head on my shoulder, she admits, “Yeah, it hurts.”
Raven insisted on carrying me into the hotel, and up to the room. I argued, briefly, but gave up when it was clear he wasn’t going to back down. One of the other guys opens the door, and Raven nods to the doctor, who points out the bedroom. He walks us into the room, and I notice she has everything set up. There’s a bag of fluid on the dresser I’m really hoping I won’t need, along with various bandages, and what appears to be an antiseptic.
Raven lies me on the bed gently, and Dr. Evans comes up beside me.
“Bones filled me in. Where are you experiencing pain?”
Bones? Where do these guys get their names? I wonder what the other two are called, but don’t ask, and instead, answer her question.
“My head, face, and right leg.”
She nods, getting the antiseptic and a cloth.
“We will start by cleaning up the wound on your forehead. It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches, but it needs to be cleaned to prevent infection.”
I like the way she tells me everything before she does it. Doctors are terrifying for me after Dr. Martin, and her approach calms me slightly.
I flinch from the burn of the liquid, as she gently pats the cut.
“How did this happen? What did he hit you with?”
Closing my eyes as I take a deep breath, I answer her with a shaky voice.
“He didn’t. I was running from him, and fell on the handle of an axe.”
She finishes with my head, and touches my cheekbone where he did hit me.
“Were you sexually assaulted?”
I glance at Raven, and swallow hard as I spot his balled up fists. He also took from me without consent, but somehow it feels different, even though I know it shouldn’t.
“Were you sexually assaulted?” She repeats, and I’m lost to the not-so-distant memory.
Sullivan holds the back of my neck up against the tree, and yanks my pants down with his free hand.
“Stop! What are you doing!” I scream against the bark, and it muffles my voice, but he still understands me.
“Fucking my wife.”
He grabs my hair, and pulls my head back before slamming it into the tree. I cry out as I hear his zipper quickly slide down.
“No!” I yell.
