Page 7 of The Pucking Wrong Man

It was like I was being torn apart, the pain radiating up my leg, through every fiber of my being.

The door burst open, and a team of doctors rushed in, their voices a blur of urgency as they worked to calm me down. I felt hands on my shoulders, holding me in place as they injected something into my IV, the world around me growing hazy and distant.

I tried to tell them what he’d done, but I couldn’t form words around the fog of pain and medication. Michael’s face hovered above me, his eyes filled with terrifying satisfaction. Darkness closed in, and I couldn’t help but wonder if one terrible thing...had become something far worse.

“Goodnight, little bunny,” he whispered as I lost consciousness.

Things hadn’t improved when I woke up, although the pain was at least tolerable enough that I’d stopped screaming.

Michael was still there, hovering close to me. Most of the time his hand was on my shoulder in what would have looked like a comforting gesture to anyone else—but to me was definitely a threat. I’d spent the last year shying away from his touch, only for him to touch me constantly for the past hour.

Nurses had been in and out, but none of them had caught my desperate looks. I was going to have to say something—but would anyone believe me?

A sharp rap on the door jolted me in the bed, the sound echoing through the sterile hospital room like a gunshot. The medicine they’d given me still had me off my game, and I jumped at any sudden sound or movement.

The door swung open without me saying they could come in, revealing two imposing figures in police uniforms and a stern-looking woman in a stiff skirt suit. Their presence immediately filled the room with an oppressive weight, and I shrunk back instinctively, my eyes wide with apprehension as they entered. A knot of dread coiled in my stomach as I watched them.

“Hello there, Anastasia,” the taller officer greeted me with a somber nod, his voice surprisingly gentle despite his imposing figure. “I’m Officer Rodriguez, and this is Officer Thompson. We’re here to talk to you.”

The woman in the skirt suit offered a strained smile as she stepped forward next. “And I’m Ms. Jenkins, your caseworker. How are you feeling, dear?” She was trying to sound kind, but she wasn’t very good at it. I also hadn’t missed how she had called herself my caseworker. What was that going to mean for me?

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry as I struggled to find my voice. “Everything hurts,” I mumbled, my gaze flickering nervously between the three of them. “What’s going on?”

Officer Rodriguez exchanged a glance with Officer Thompson before he spoke again. “Do you remember what happened to you?” he asked, his warm brown eyes filled with sympathy.

I shrunk further into the bed, scared to answer them, because I’d heard horror stories at school of what happened to kids when they were taken from their parents.

Worse things than what I had experienced with my dad.

“Anastasia, it’s okay,” Officer Rodriguez soothed.

“My dad was drunk. He thought I was someone else and he—he hurt me,” I finally whispered, my gaze focusing on my leg. No one had explained yet how bad the injury was. I needed to know.

“Thank you for being brave and telling us. He’s been arrested, but we needed to hear you say that so we can keep him from ever hurting you again,” the other officer said, his voice gravelly and authoritative. “What he did, Anastasia, he won’t be getting out of prison anytime soon.”

Even at my age, I obviously knew you couldn’t just hurt your kids as bad as my father had hurt me without consequences. But it still felt as though the ground had been ripped from beneath me, leaving me flailing in uncertainty. “What does that mean for me?” I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

The officers exchanged a look. “That’s where I come in,” Ms. Jenkins interjected, her tone falsely cheerful as she stepped forward. “You’ll be staying with the Carvers for the time being. You won’t even have to switch schools! They’re a lovely family, and I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable there.”

“What?” I gasped as Michael’s fingers dug into me. I glanced up at him, flinching at the smirk playing on his lips. My stomach started to hurt as reality set in.

I froze, terror seeping under my skin, and Michael’s fingers tightened, but I shook my shoulder, and he finally let go, probably wanting to play nice in front of these people.

The caseworker’s friendly mask dropped when she saw the expression on my face. “Anastasia!” she said, sounding appalled. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation. You should be over the moon that we don’t have to put you in the system! The Carvers are absolute angels for taking you in. We’re just lucky that they are already on the approved state list to be foster parents. There are a million children who would give anything to have such a generous offer. You should be grateful!” Shaking her head, her face changed back into a picture perfect look of concern.

“The medicine and your injuries are obviously confusing you. We should let you get some rest, and we can discuss this later, when you’re not in so much pain.” Sighing as if she was trying to pray for patience to deal with me, she gestured to the officers. “Let’s let her rest. The poor dear needs time to heal.”

The officers nodded.

“We’ll have some more questions to ask later,” Officer Rodriguez told me. I nodded numbly, and then he and his partner left the room.

“Michael, dear. Why don’t we go talk to your parents and leave Anastasia to get some rest,” Ms. Jenkins simpered. She was obviously already under Michael’s gross spell, showing she was a terrible judge of character—a trait probably needed for a caseworker.

“Of course,” Michael smirked, giving my shoulder a squeeze for good measure before he headed for the door. “I’ll see you later, sis.” He threw the words over his shoulder, his smile reminding me of the Joker’s.

And then I was alone. Nothing but numb silence surrounding me.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I angrily brushed it away.

---