Page 56 of Mind

The sound of something hitting the wall has all of us turning around. “Motherfucker,” Chase roars. He pulls his hand out of a perfectly fist-shaped hole in the wall. The doctor rushes over to him. I slump in the bed exhausted and heartbroken. This is never going to get any better. We’re never going to escape our pasts. This hell is forever going to be in our minds.

Chapter 17

Gillian

The doctor tends to Chase as I finish up with the detective. Just when I think I’m finished and can finally rest and deal with my man, the one that loves me beyond comprehension, who is literally doing a great job of beating himself up, she delivers the final blow.

“Gillian, I’m going to need to take pictures of your injuries.” The doctor had asked me if I wanted her to do it while she did her exam but I declined. I shouldn’t have.

Chase storms over to the detective. “I don’t fucking think so.” His anger is palpable as he stands in front of me breathing hard. He’s a man on a mission, a mission to protect what he holds dear. Unfortunately, nothing can protect me. I’m a magnet for evil men.

“Look, Mr. Davis. I know your fiancée has undergone a lot tonight, but in order for Mr. Campbell’s case to be adjudicated, we’re going to need proof of the attack on Ms. Callahan’s life and documentation of her injuries and the attempted rape.”

Just the word rape sends Chase into a full meltdown. “I cannot fucking believe this shit. We have to protect the goddamned attacker’s rights? That man”—he points to the bedroom door even though Austin was being questioned at the station—“saved her life tonight. He’s a hero and should be treated as one!” I place a hand on his shoulder blade. The muscles bunch and tighten under his thin shirt. Heat radiates off him so strong it could power up an entire city with its electric energy.

The detective pulls out a camera from the bag she must have brought in. “I’m sorry Mr. Davis. Mr. Durham’s injuries are life threatening. In order to prove that man is the hero you claim he is, we need proof. Otherwise it’s he said, she said in court, and Gillian’s not the one in surgery for a beating that could have taken her life. The attacker is.” She finishes.

“Fine,” he growls through his teeth. That jaw is working overtime and the muscle within is flickering like a lighter being turned on and off. “Let’s get this out of the way so she can rest.”

“Lights,” she nods to Chase. He goes over to the wall and turns on the light to the highest setting. It’s bright and blinding. It’s as if I’m center stage and the big light is directly on me. Probably what Maria feels when she’s dancing, only she flourishes in the light. Right now, I want to cower and hide, protect my body from pitiful gazes.

Athena looks at me, that soft, genuine glint I see in her eyes giving me the strength to do what she says. “Hold your hair away from your face,” she instructs. Her camera flashes as she takes pictures of the bruises all over my face, and around my upper arms from where he gripped me and held me back. Then she snaps close ups of the bite mark and hickey on my neck. Chase actually growls when my hair is moved and that mark comes into view. Chase thinks of the space between my neck and shoulder as his special spot. Now some other man has tainted that, for us both. I refuse to let the tears come back. It will be harder to pull through if I’m a sobbing mess.

“Okay, now your shirt,” she says. I close my eyes knowing this is going to be devastating. I downplayed the treatment of my breasts in my recollection for Chase’s benefit. When my shirt comes off, the finger print shaped bruises are everywhere. Chase tips his head back and grips his hair. I choke down the emotion raging a war inside me, wanting so badly to comfort him.

“Gigi, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to remove your bra. I promise your face will not be in them but we have to be thorough.” I knew it was coming but it doesn’t change the gut wrenching fear of having to do this again. It’s the first time in years that naked, battered pictures of me have been taken.

With a hand behind my back I flick the clasp of the comfy sleep bra I’d put on after the doctor checked me over. Taking a deep breath I finally I let my arms hang down in front of me. The detective’s mouth opens in shock and her eyes close before she gets a grip and pulls the camera up to take the pictures. Chase looks at my chest and then falls to his knees, head hanging in defeat, fisted hands barely holding up his form. It’s like a knife stabbing me in the heart watching him break down.

Bruises dot both of my breasts but that’s not what’s killing him. No, it’s the full mouth bite mark around my right nipple. I recall the pain right at the end of the attack just before he must have been pulled off me. Looking down, I had no idea how bad it was. I’m greeted with angry, bloody indents, spaced evenly in a half moon shape from the top and bottom of Justin’s teeth. The nipple is completely discolored a sickening purplish black where blood rose to the surface. Probably from the trauma of teeth clamping down prior to being yanked off.

The camera flashes just as I look up. Instantly I’m propelled to another time, another room where a detective stands in front of me.

Ms. Callahan, I’m going to need you to remove your shirt and underclothes so I can take pictures of the injuries. The detective is a large woman. I’d classify her as being very butch. Her hair is cropped short to her scalp and not a speck of makeup is applied to gentle her facade. It’s clear this woman is tough as nails and just as pointy. She seems almost irritated that she has to take pictures of my beating.

“Um, can we just skip this? I don’t plan on pressing charges,” I whisper through a busted, bleeding lip. I can still taste the blood on my tongue.

The detective looks at me like I’m insane. “Are you kidding? You’re just going to let some man beat on you like a punching bag and get away with it? This is for your own good,” she lifts the camera and snaps a photo. “Take off your gown,” she says and the tone of her voice reminds me so much of Justin I do what she says on autopilot, afraid she might lash out.

Tears slide down my face as she snaps picture after picture of my naked body. Then she crouches low in front of me and looks at my thighs getting really close to me. I step back as much in fear as embarrassment. “Don’t move, I need to capture the bruising on your thighs where he forced open your legs and raped you.”

Raped me. Did he rape me? No, Justin loves me. He just gets out of hand sometimes because he loves me so much. He tells me over and over how much I mean to him. How beautiful I am, how he loves to see his marks on me. He does it out of love. He doesn’t realize how much force he uses.

I jump back and pull the hospital blanket over me. “I wasn’t raped. Things…he uh, just got carried away. I wanted it. Him. He loves me and I love him. I’m not pressing charges. It was an accident,” I nod repeatedly and wrap the blanket completely around my body and sit on the bed.

The detective comes close. I can smell cigarettes as she gets near. It reminds me of Justin. They probably smoke the same brand. She puts a hand on my shoulder and I flinch, she removes it quickly.

“What that man did to you wasn’t love,” she starts. I shake my head.

“I don’t care what you say, I’m not pressing charges. I want you to leave.”

The detective inhales then sighs loudly like she’s being put out by being here. I wish she’d just go. Save someone else. Someone who’s truly a victim, and leave me the hell alone. “Gillian, that man put his hands on you in anger. He punched you so many times your ribs are black and blue, two of them fractured,” she starts.

“I fell down the stairs after we made love,” I say in defense. That didn’t happen but she doesn’t need to know that.

“No you didn’t. He. Beat. You. Up. Don’t you get it? Can you be that dense?” The fear digs into my soul and I start to shake. “He’s going to keep hitting you until you’re fucking dead. Do you hear me? Dead. He doesn’t love you, he loves hurting you.”

If this is her way of trying to get me to see reason, it isn’t working. Right now, I just want Justin. I don’t think she should be talking to me like this. I’m only nineteen, scared, and I want my boyfriend.

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