Page 61 of Journey to Love

Before I can respond, another police officer approaches me, accompanied by a paramedic. It's only then that I realize the ambulance has arrived too.

"Miss, are you alright?" the paramedic asks softly, concern etched on his face.

I can only nod, unable to find my voice amidst the chaos and confusion. As the realization dawns on me, I'm left grappling with the understanding of how the police were called in the first place.

Shit! Jacob!I curse inwardly, but I remain rooted to the spot as another paramedic approaches, carrying a medical bag. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place her.

"Miss, I need to look at your arm," she says, her voice calm and professional. Without hesitation, I offer her my injured arm, and she begins to clean and bandage the cuts.

Once she's finished, I start to rise to my feet, but she gently stops me. "Do you want me to take a look at your head too?" she asks, her expression serious.

I give her a puzzled look. "My head?"

She nods, her gaze unwavering. "You have a nasty cut, and your cheek is a bit swollen too. No doubt it'll leave you with a black eye," she explains, her tone solemn. “We can take you to the hospital,” she suggests, her concern evident.

I shake my head, dismissing the offer. “No, that's okay. I'm fine," I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

"Are you sure?" she presses, her brow furrowing with worry.

I nod, offering a faint smile. "Yeah, I just want to get this night over with," I assure her.

"Okay, well at least let me clean your head up," she suggests gently.

I nod in agreement, silently grateful for her care and understanding in the midst of the chaos.

As the paramedic guides me towards the ambulance, her words send a shockwave through my system. "Have we met before?" I blurt out, unable to contain the question that's been nagging at the back of my mind.

She gives me a polite smile, her eyes filled with a hint of recognition. "Yes, about three years ago," she replies softly, her smile unwavering. "Now, let's take a look at your head."

The realization hits me like a freight train, slamming into my gut with brutal force. She was one of the paramedics who responded on the night Paul had gone off the rails. The night he left me bleeding on the hotel floor. My heart clenches with the memory of that horrific night—the night Paul's arrest had felt like a glimmer of hope, only to be shattered when he walked free the next day, thanks to his powerful connections.

But now, here she is, standing before me once again, a reminder of that dark chapter in my past.

"He's not my boyfriend," I blurt out, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush of panic. I can't shake the fear that she might be silently judging me, assuming I've stumbled into another abusive relationship.

But she just nods, her expression understanding, as she finishes cleaning the blood from my face. "You don’t need to explain," she says politely, her tone reassuring.

"No, really," I insist, my words tripping over each other in my haste to clarify. "He's my best friend's friend... or well... acquaintance now... but he isn't—"

"OUCH!" I yelp, recoiling as the sting of the antiseptic wipes over the cut.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, her voice laced with genuine remorse.

Just then, my grandparents pull into the driveway, and my stomach twists with apprehension. I can only imagine what they must be thinking.

Nana rushes out of the car, followed closely by Pops. "Anya! What happened? Are you okay? Why are there police everywhere?" she bombards me with questions, her eyes wide with concern.

I glance toward the paramedic, and she nods, indicating she's finished. "You should really get checked out at the hospital, though," she insists.

"I'm okay, really, thank you, though," I assure her, offering a grateful smile.

As Nana bombards me with questions about what happened, I recount the night's events, her expression shifting between concern and exasperation. "Well, that sounds like quite the exhausting night," she sighs, before adding, "but how did you call the police?"

"Oh, shit!" I blurt out, immediately regretting the curse word as I shoot Nana an apologetic look. I rush into the house, scanning the kitchen floor frantically for my phone. Guilt washes over me as I take in the mess I've left behind. Spotting my shattered phone under the table, my shoulders slump in defeat.

"Anya?" Pops calls out as he enters the house, his eyes flicking between me and the chaos around us. Despite the situation, he manages a smile. "The police would like a word with you," he says gently, and I nod in response, following him back outside.

After speaking with the officers and explaining the situation, they didn't charge Caleb with assault, but my grandparents insisted on charging him with trespassing and suing him for the injuries he inadvertently caused, as well as the medical bills. I tried to convince them it was unnecessary, but they were adamant. Reluctantly, I agreed, and we headed back into the house to clean up the mess.

---