My father looks at it. "Can it heal faster?" he asks. "She may need to be photographed for press rounds."
"With the right cream, possibly."
"Make-up can cover it in the meantime," Alana says, from her chair, examining her nails.
The doctor glances around the room once with an expression he keeps very carefully neutral. Then he leaves without another word.
My father stands.
He walks to the bed and he looks down at me and I look up at him and I wait. I don't know what I am waiting for. What would a father do when he finds his daughter in a hospital bed?
He looks at me and turns and walks out.
My uncle follows, saying, "I'll go and talk to your father," and Gerald goes with them and the door swings shut and the room is left to just Alana, who resettles in her chair with her bag on her lap.
"I hope you're happy," she says. "This wasn't worth the bag. Not even close." She smooths her skirt. "I had my allowance cut, Nathalie. Gerald asked me directly and I told him the truth because I am not going to lie to Gerald for you. I said that fromthe beginning." She looks at me with aggrieved energy. "I cannot believe you dragged me into this. I genuinely cannot?—"
"How did I get here?" I ask.
My voice comes out wrong and there are tears running down my face that I am not doing anything about and Alana stops mid-sentence.
"Hey." She shifts in her chair. "Stop crying. Don't try to guilt-trip me, that doesn't work on me and you know it."
"How did I get here?" I ask again.
She looks at me for a moment. "We got a call," she says, slower now. "That you'd be here. We came and you were already in the room." She pauses. "Some cab driver apparently brought you in, paid for the room, and left. That's all anyone knows."
I stare at the ceiling.
I reach out and take her hand.
"Alana." My voice is shaking. "Do you know who brought me? Do you know anything about who?—"
"Ew." She pulls her hand back immediately and reaches into her bag for a wipe. "I don't know where you've been, don't grab me." She wipes her hand with focused distaste and drops the wipeinto the bin beside her. "I don't know. A cab driver. That's what they said. He's gone."
She sits in her chair and looks at me.
"You need to get tested," she says. "I can see the marks on your neck, it's honestly embarrassing, what were you thinking. And what if you're—" she drops her voice, "—pregnant? Have you thought about that? Did you even think about protection or were you just—" She sighs. "Oh my God, Nathalie. Oh my God."
Her voice goes on. I stop hearing it.
Of course he got rid of me, he drugged me and put me in a cab, and sent me back to my life because that is what I am to him. I had lain in his bed smiling before I had even opened my eyes. I ignored the thumping in my chest and the coldness in his eyes, because I always do.
I always, always do. I turn my face into the pillow.
He promised to keep me and I believed him.
And that, in the end, is the most Nathalie Keller thing I have ever done.
I pull the pillow close and I cry into it and Alana's voice washes over me from somewhere far away and I let it. I try to forget about pale green eyes and him pressing their lips to the top of my head and breathing me in like I was something worth keeping.
I clutch my chest and I sob.
Chapter Sixteen
Nathalie
My father is sitting behind his desk.
