Page 92 of Unspoken Lies
“Rachelle was really out of it, and I had brought water with me, because I kept checking her chart to see if anyone was taking care of her. Day after day, it’s like they just forgot about her; but I couldn’t get the door opened due to the people on that side of the hallway,” Elijah says. “Everyone is on edge. This was just weird though. It’s like they decided collectively that Rachelle was out of sight and therefore out of mind.”
Rolling his neck from side to side to attempt to release some of the tension as Jared sits up, he says, “Once everyone realized that no one had ever checked on her, they allowed me to continue to give her water and then took her away to bathe her. I offered to do it, simply because I didn’t want to leave her. They told me I’d done enough by pulling her out. It’s almost like they hoped she’d die.”
“This is unbelievable,” I sigh, rubbing my face.
“I managed to snap a photo. It felt wrong the entire time I did it, but if the only way to get her out is evidence…” Elijah trails off.
“You did the right thing,” I reply immediately. “We need all the help we can get.”
“I’m calling Martin and getting him in this call,” Theo says, adding him to the video call.
It takes a couple of seconds, but the lawyer’s face pops into our video call. “What happened? Please give me something to take to the judge,”he begs. “I have a very small window and drinks with the bastard. He may be one of the better judges on the circuit, but he’s just as self-serving.”
Here we fucking go. Hopefully we can get this judge to make a decision in our girl’s favor.
RACHELLE
I feel really terrible. Almost as if I have the flu. My throat hurts, I have no sense of time, and my hands are bound over my head. Wait what?
Pulling hard as if it’s some kind of odd fluke, I gaze up to find they’re tied to the bed frame. Whimpering, I begin to hyperventilate. My eyes fly around the room to find I’m in a different one than previously, and there’s only one bed in the room.
This still looks like the hospital. What the fuck is going on?
The door to it opens slowly, making my overactive imagination think about every horror movie I’ve ever seen. However, if I can think of this, then it means the fuckingantipsychotic is out of my system. There are no voices in my mind except my own and that’s a refreshing change of pace.
A nurse steps inside and I choose to close my eyes and allow my body to relax. It answers at least one of the million questions making my heart race. If she tried to take my blood pressure, I doubt I’ll be able to pretend to be asleep for long. However, I don’t know enough to know if it’s safe for me to be awake yet. The last thing I want is to be force fed more medication. I remember snatches of things that have happened, yet I’m unsure of what’s real or isn’t. Everything feels like a hazy mess.
“You’ve been a real pain in the ass,” she mutters as she takes my pulse before smacking my skin.
My arm jerks, but I refuse to allow myself to show more of a reaction. I guess my pulse is either fine, or she’s distracted enough not to care what it looks like.
“Your husband has been calling non-stop, and you had the audacity to almost die on us. So fucking rude. I know you can’t hear me, but I hope the feeding tube fucking scarred your throat and keeps you from blowing him. You don’t deserve a husband that hot.”
I have no idea who she’s talking about, but that’s really rude.
“You’re a mess,” she mutters, picking something up on my hair. Slowly, I begin to remember that someone cut my hair. Did I stab them? Is that real? I kind of remember doing that. “I guess I should wake you up, but I don’t feel like it. Please don’t piss the bed while I’m gone.”
The door opens and shuts soon after she says that. I can feel an emptiness the room didn’t have before, and open my eyes slightly to find I’m alone. Is this how all nurses act? Do they simply lose their humanity?
God, I hope not.
Her words make sense as to why my throat hurts and my stomach is unsettled though. I really wish she hadn’t mentionedhaving to pee, because now I feel the urge to go. Ugh. Glancing above me, I see an empty banana bag that had fluids inside it, which tells me I was dehydrated. I may never get the time I’ve lost back, or know everything that happened. Honestly, I don’t think I want the memories.
The void where bad things live can have it.
Focusing on my body, I begin to take note of all of my aches and pains. My arms ache from being stretched back over my head and tied down, but logic tells me it’s not been like that for long. I doubt they’d put an IV in my arm like that. While my throat burns and my stomach hurts, I don’t have any other complaints other than dry, chapped lips.
Most importantly, there’s no telltale ache between my legs, which rejects the possibility of having been raped while here. There is an odd pang though in my bladder, which I chalk up to having to pee or a possible infection.
The door bangs open, and there’s no reason to pretend to be asleep as the nurse comes back in with the doctor.
“We were going to get you cleaned up, but your husband is very insistent, Rachel,” he says, frowning as he touches my bound wrists. “Really, Lori?”
“Yes. She stabbed Marie,” the nurse hisses. “Rachel is a fucking menace.”
I’m right fucking here, hoe bag.At least I know stabbing that nurse was a real memory. Go me.
“She’s just a girl,” the doctor mutters. “You’re going to be a good girl for us, right?”
