Page 123 of Doesn't Count

His eyes spring open, immediately glossy from unshed tears.

“Honey?” My mom coos. After a minute of watching me just blink the grogginess away, she cries, “Dave, she’s not responding!”

“Calm down, let’s call the doctor in.”

I’m alive.

My parents are here.

Here as in... a hospital? It does take me a second to collect my bearings, my eyes scanning my surroundings.

I’m safe.

In a hospital bed with an IV secured in the crook of my arm, not handcuffed to a broken, musty mattress.

I’m warm.

A blanket is tightly tucked around my body, the white dress gone.

My father rounds the bed, walking over to console my mother who has now officially lost it. I’m not intentionally trying to torment them, but I’ve found myself shattered, broken, and beaten. Words just aren’t flowing as easily as they used to.

A male doctor comes waltzing in with a friendly smile and a happy-go-lucky attitude as if greeting me with positive energy was going to help cure me of the trauma I’ve just experienced.

“Hi there,” he holds his hand out, but as I lift mine, I see a train wreck of scratches and bruises, flashbacks forcing my retreat. “I’m Dr. Shufford. On a scale of one to ten, can you tell me your pain level?”

Instinctively, I reach to the back of my head, grazing the pounding ache. A scalding fire flares painfully in my scalp, fingers digging in deep, yanking and dragging my body along the frostbitten ground.

But I’m no longer outside. No one is tearing me away,denying my desperate desire to save Oliver. Though I wince, it’s not from the pain, but from the devastation of leaving him behind once again.

The doctor rolls the stool over next to the bed, plopping himself down.

“Does she have amnesia? Brain damage? Why isn’t she talking?” My mom rambles.

“It’s common to be a little tongue tied after surviving something traumatic. Let’s just give her a second.”

He pulls out his otoscope, blinding my eyes with its light while pulling at my lids.

“Follow my finger the best you can,” he directs, moving his pointer right from left in front of my face.

Of course, I follow. I’m not brain dead like my mom fears. I just need to collect my thoughts.

“No obvious signs of a concussion, she seems to be physically aware of her surroundings, but we’d like to keep her overnight for observation.” Turning to me he asks, “Can you tell me your full name.”

Taking a deep breath, I force my name out of my mouth, the words scraping against the back of my dry throat.

Screaming.

I remember screaming for my life, for Oliver’s life. Screaming from terror. So much screaming.

Dr. Shufford hands me a glass of water in a Styrofoam cup packed with crushed ice to quell the coughing fit spurred on by only a few syllables.

The quest for dragging more words and proof of coherency out of me continues for a dreadful hour before my parents are finally content. After which, the police file in despite the doctor’s plea to let me rest.

Regardless of being a victim, I’m interrogated. Questionsrepeated, the officer’s skeptical of every answer, but it doesn’t stop me from giving them the bare-naked truth.

When everyone can see that I’m exhausted and drained, they finally kill the demands for more information than I can possibly give. The two officers leave me behind with my parents and even though I’m so relieved to see them, I’m ready for them to go as well.

Despite the vivid flashbacks while having to recount the last thirty-six hours, all I can think about is Oliver. Is he here? Is he alive? Is he okay?

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