Page 107 of The Retreat

Who the fuck do I have to call?

Owen doesn’t want me, my mother clearly won’t help me, and Cassie is in England. Isaac would probably come, but Oliver despises the air I breathe, and I can’t deal with him right now.

I don’t have anyone.

That realization is heavy. Tears burn my throat and leak down my face to join the blood on the carpet.

Everything hurts. Every inch of me, inside and out, and I have no one to help or even offer an ear to listen.

For just a few seconds, I let myself sob, but it makes my head hurt more and the bleeding from my nose worsen. Choking back everything I can, I start to move. Slowly. Carefully. Painfully.

How is this my life?

Pretty sure I have a concussion, maybe a broken nose, my shoulder is fucked, and the muscles in my stomach burn. But I manage to get to my hands and knees.

My stomach rolls, and even knowing it’s going to make everything worse, I can’t stop myself from throwing up. My head feels like it’s going to explode from the pressure, and the force through my nose causes a red-hot pain that makes my fingers curl into a fist. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Once I get to dry heaving, I shuffle to the side and lie back down. How am I going to get out of here?

Father comes storming back in and stands over me. I cower into myself, hoping to protect myself from the worst of it.

“You aren’t even man enough to get up.” He grabs my jacket and hauls me to my feet, making my head swim and my stomach roll. I can’t see well enough to know where I’m being dragged to, I can only hope it’s the damn elevator. I know he pays the staff off when shit happens so they won’t report it, but I just need to get out of here.

The ding of the elevator is music to my ringing ears. He throws me into the space, my head bouncing off the wall, leaving me in a crumbled ball on the floor.

“If you step one foot on this property, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

The doors close, and I’m being sent to the lobby. With a heavy heart and tears joining the blood dripping from my face, I find my phone in my pocket and call the only people I know who will show up.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

Greg, the lobby attendant, tries to help me from the elevator, but I scream at him to not touch me, so he grabs some paper towels and kneels close to me.

The ambulance shows up, the EMT’s roll me onto the gurney, and after asking me a bunch of questions, take me to the ER. I’m bloody, snotty, and splashed with vomit. I’m asked if I want to file a police report, if I need an advocate, if I feel safe at home. Is there anyone they can call for me.

It’s clear I got the shit beat out of me, and for some unknown fucking reason, I protect my piece of shit father. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be angry enough to deal with it, but tonight, I just want to be held and told that I’m lovable. That I’m not broken or ruined or useless.

I just want my husband to love me.

“Mr. Covin–”

“Colin,” I deadpan. I’m not a Covington anymore, Father said as much.

“Colin.” The nurse that’s been assigned to me, Brittany, smiles softly at me. “Are you sure there’s no one we can call? Your file says you’re married. We can call your spouse.”

I can barely see out of one eye, and everything hurts. I have an IV and fluids being pushed through. They hit me with something to take the edge off the pain, but we’re waiting for a CT scan before they give me good shit apparently. The doctor was already in here, did a neuro test, and decided I need the scan.

“No, leave him alone. He didn’t ask for this.”

She cocks her head like what I said didn’t make sense. Maybe it doesn’t to her, but she doesn’t need the dirty details of my life.

“We’re going to get you changed into a gown, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think you can do it yourself, or do you need some help?” She puts the folded gown and a sheet at the foot of the bed.

“I don’t know.”

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