LULU
“Ma’am, the paramedics are here,”a female officer says as I’m curled in Oliver’s arms.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Oliver’s deep voice makes my eyes close, but the moment of serenity is short-lived as he moves. “You need to be looked at by someone.”
“Do I really?” I groan as he slides his arms under my legs and behind my back before he lifts me.
“Yes.” He cradles me as he makes his way out of the room where I thought I’d take my last breath.
“I’m fine. Can’t we just go home?”
“Don’t argue,” my dad says somewhere behind us, and I feel like a little kid, pleading for something I know I’ll never get, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.
“I just need some sleep,” I whisper as theexhaustion from today and the comfort of Oliver’s arms threatens to pull me under.
A moment later, I’m set down in a chair in the living room. I can barely focus through the tiny slits of my eyes. They’re so swollen, I’m surprised I can even see at all. I haven’t looked in a mirror yet, but by the looks everyone has given me, I can tell it’s bad.
The medic shines a light in my eyes, asking me a million questions. I answer the best I can, but my nerves are so frazzled, thinking is challenging.
“We need to take her in for some tests,” the man says, but he isn’t talking to me.
“Do whatever you need,” Dad answers. “If something happens to her…”
“I’m fine, Daddy,” I tell him.
“I’ll go with her,” Oliver says to him. “I’ll keep her safe.”
I never felt like those words were true coming from anyone’s mouth besides my father’s. But when it comes to Oliver, I can feel them deep in my bones.
“We’d like to get a statement,” someone says, and I turn my head in their direction.
A cop.
“You can do it at the hospital,” the medic tells him. “She needs to be tested for a concussion or any other issues before she can give you information.”
“That’s fine,” the officer says. “We’ll send a detective there to talk to her after the testing is done.”
I slump over, wanting nothing more than to run away and slip under the comfy covers of my bed.
“We’re going to need to talk to you too,” the officer says, but he isn’t staring at me now.
I peer up, finding Oliver standing at my side, the person the cop is talking to now.
“Not a problem. Is he alive?” Oliver asks the officer, squeezing my shoulder without looking at me.
“He is, he’s in bad shape.”
I’m so torn. Part of me wants the man to die. That’s the sinister part. I’ve never been that girl, but being targeted and attacked changed that in me. But there’s another part of me that wants to see Mark rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life. It’s more satisfying and lengthier.
“He’s already loaded and ready to roll,” the medic tells the cop. “For right now, he’s stable.”
“Good,” the officer replies. “Homicides are more paperwork.”
I’m taken aback by the callousness for a moment, but it shouldn’t be surprising.
“Ready?” another man asks, rolling in a gurney.
“I can walk,” I tell them, not wanting to be treated like I’m helpless. I spent hours fighting off a man who wanted nothing more than to end my life and torture me.
