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That’s what I’m having such a difficult time processing. Why did I need to die? Why would I be considered important enough to risk prison just to ensure my death? I’m nobody; just a graduate student. What would my death have accomplished?

I’ve been at the hospital for hours. The doctors are pumping me full of electrolytes and trying to essentially dry out my lungs, bringing my temperature down, and checking for any lingering consequences of being without fresh air for 5 hours.

5 hours. That’s a long fucking time. To think. To cry. To beg and plead and pray. That cover came off and the first thing I saw was Crue’s panicked face. My handsome savior. For a brief moment, I thought I was dead. That God gifted me Crue’s eternal image to comfort me in the afterlife. Then oxygen rushed into my lungs and there was so much pain and relief. We clutched desperately to one another as I was removed from my watery coffin and placed on the stretcher, as I was wheeled out of the stadium and the ride in the ambulance. It wasn’t until we entered the emergency room that they forced us apart.

I’ve ached without him since. The doctors have asked, the police came in, but I can’t force my mouth to open. I can’t get the words to come out.

I’m grateful for the catheter, even though it stings a little. Every muscle, my head, my throat, my stomach…everything hurts. The thought of having to move, stand up, function is terrifying.

Someone knocks on my closed hospital room door. “Phia? Can I come in?” I manage to open my mouth but I can’t make any sound come out. Thankfully, Crue opens the door anyway. He closes it softly behind him and approaches my bed cautiously. As soon as our eyes meet, the dam breaks and I start sobbing. Ugly crying, body wracked with tremors. “Phee. Baby.” I reach out for him and he’s there in an instant, lifting me nearly off the bed to slide in and lay me on top of him. It’s awkward and uncomfortable but I have no plans on leaving. His warmth, his scent, the smooth timbre of his voice soothes me. His big thick arms wrap around me, promising protection and support.

I think I fall asleep, blinking my eyes open to see my parents entering my room. I stiffen, caught in bed with my boyfriend, even at 23. Crue runs his hand up and down my back and side. “Shh. Shh.”

I listen to Crue talk with my parents, closing my eyes as their voices lull me back to sleep. When I wake next, Crue has shifted us to our sides, and he’s curled up behind me. My eyes open slowly to my mom staring at me with her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her dark brows slanted. Her eyes though…my mother doesn’t cry often. I can recall on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her shed a tear in my entire life.

“I love you.” She whispers to me, a shaky hand coming to cup the side of my face. Her touch so soft, it’s barely there, like I might break if she presses too hard.

That right there is what finally loosens my tongue.

“There was a note in the trainer’s office that the water filter was broken. It said to use the one in the hydration therapy room. I did. Filled up the water jugs and secured them to the cart. My back was to the door. I didn’t hear them come in.”

“Shh. You don’t have to say anything right now.” Crue soothes, holding me tighter as my body shakes uncontrollably.

“I have to. I need to.” I feel him nodding, his lips on the back of my neck. “They hit me in the back, pushed me down into the hot tub. There were two of them. One held me down while the other worked the cover over the top. I tried to get out, but they moved too fast. They secured the cover, and I couldn’t get it off. I had inches to breathe. I tried to calm down. I felt around and found the drain. But no matter what I did, how hard I pushed and kicked, the top wouldn’t budge. I was trapped…it was so hot and humid, even though the water went down the air was thick, and every breath felt like I was drowning anyway.”

“Phia.”

“Hello, this is Christian Kerr. My daughter is awake and ready to give a statement. Thank you.” My father’s voice sounds foreign, a tone unlike I’ve ever heard. Hard. Detached. Angry. “Yes, hello. I was referred to your offices by Wilhelm Kreitz. My daughter was attacked at the university stadium, and I’d like to retain counsel immediately. The police will be arriving in about an hour to take her statement. Is it possible that Mrs. Haylee Dalton can meet us at the hospital before they get here?”

“Mom?” While dad talks on the phone, I ask my mother for help figuring out what’s going on.

“Your father’s handling it.”

“Handling what?”

“Phia, they tried to kill you.”

“I get that, but who? We don’t know who. Why do I need a lawyer?”

Mom’s gaze softens, and she runs her hand down the side of my face again. I lean into the touch. “We will ensure that those responsible are found, tried and convicted to the fullest extent of the law. And you can be sure, the university will want a piece of the action given how they manipulated campus security and sullied their reputation with attempted murder on school grounds.”

“Phia, I know this is a lot. All you need to do is get better, rest, and let me love you. Let your parents and the lawyers take care of the rest.”

Crue allows me enough room to twist around to look at him. Harsh lines, bloodshot eyes, and parted lips greet me. “Do you know who did this?”

“I have an idea.” Crue presses forward, placing his lips against mine. His breath hitches and I watch the first tear fall down his stubbled cheek. “I almost lost you.” When he opens his eyes again, there is a darkness I’ve never seen from him before. Danger. It probably should send me running away, but I snuggle closer. “I didn’t keep you safe like I should have. It will never happen again. I will protect you.”

I believe him. I nod, kiss him quickly, then turn back around and scootch around to get comfortable. I fall asleep knowing my family has my back…and that includes Crue.

Prib 12.

I close my eyes, run my fingers through my wet hair, rinsing the soap and enjoying the hot water running over my tired body. The last two weeks have been exhausting…and some of the best of my life. I’ve spent most of my waking hours hovering around Phia as she recuperates, only leaving when she shoos me to workout or attend practice.

We had a bye week following her…attempted murder.The words taste bitter on my tongue, but let’s call a spade a spade. Or in this case, a felony a felony. It’s funny in the most unfunny way possible, how slow the wheels of justice typically move, unless an internationally recognized university, a well-known NCAA football coach and conspiracy to commit murder and attempted murder charges all walk into a bar together. I’ve got whiplash from the speed in which these wheels of justice have been moving.

Of course, that has everything to do with Mrs. Haylee Dalton. Phia’s father contacted their local attorney, and they recommended Dalton. Best decision he ever made. That woman is a shark, and she scents blood in the water. Excellent lawyer, kind of terrifying, but thankfully, she’s on our side.

It is not surprising to anyone that Fred Heacock was the orchestrator of Phia’s attack. He tapped his two favorite henchmen, aka football playing kiss-asses, Yanok and Chester tocarry out his nefarious schemes. As loyal and dedicated as they have been to that fucking weasel, they turned fast as lightning when faced with the next 20-40 years in prison and some damning photographic evidence curtesy of Edee Shingleton. Especially after Dalton made a compelling argument to the D.A. to add a hate crime charge because of Heacock targeting Phia because of her weight and ethnicity. It’ll be months before a trial, if there’s one at all, but Heacock and his accomplices are in custody without bail.

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