Page 99 of The Second Kiss
“Why?” I look at Jacob, confused.
“Brad told them I did this,” Jacob spits out. “He told them I’m the one who hurt you. He said—”
“You need to keep quiet,” the officer snaps. “Or I’ll put you under arrest for interfering with an investigation.”
I look up at the police officer. “No, it was Brad. Jacob saved me. If he hadn’t been there—” Nausea rolls my stomach again. I swallow hard.
“Mr. Wilson has a different story.” The officer says. “He said there’s a history of abuse.” He nods towards Jacob, “from him.”
I look at Jacob. I'm confused and afraid. I know it shows on my face. The nurse and the officer exchange glances. It looks like I’m being coached by my abusive boyfriend on what to say.
The police office looks grim. “We can’t take your statement with him here.”
I can’t let go of Jacob’s hand, even as he gently pries my fingers away. “It’s okay. Just tell them what happened.”
The officer shoots Jacob another look.
"I'm going," he says.
“No." I can’t stand what they’re accusing him of. “It was Brad. If anyone has a history of anything it’s him. This isn’t the first time he’s tried something like this.”
Jacob's face twists in horror and rage.
I duck my head and continue, “When we were dating, he put something in my drink, he—” I meet Jacob’s gaze for a second, then look away. “It didn’t go anywhere. I figured it out. I got away before—” I look down at my hands.
“Do you have any proof?” the officer asks. “Was anyone else there? Can anyone verify your story?”
I can see them again. The sea of laughing faces. Brad probably told them all I was drunk, or high on something. And they believed him. Because everyone believes Brad.
I keep my eyes down. “No.”
fifty
Baby Steps
“How long are you in for?” Jacob sits in the chair next to my hospital bed.
“No idea,” I growl. Two days in the hospital, a pounding head, a sick stomach, and a thousand aching bruises all over my body have made me grouchy. “When did you get out?”
“Twelve hours of observation and I’m free,” he touches the bandage over his eye. “How do you feel?” He gently traces a bruise on my arm.
“I feel fine,” I say it loud, for the benefit of the doctor who just walked in.
“Except for the throwing up,” the nurse straightening my tables says. She hands the doctor a clipboard. “She still can’t keep anything down.”
He looks over my chart. “There doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with you. No internal injuries." He flips a page. "You aren’t pregnant.”
I glance at Jacob. My face burns red.
“You aren’t bulimic are you?” I’m not sure if he’s being serious. He doesn’t look up from the chart.
“No.”
Jacob moves out of the way, and the doctor bends over and starts pressing on my stomach. I grimace because it’s still tender from Brad’s kick. Jacob’s face twists like he’s in pain too.
The doctor stands up. “You’re definitely bruised, but not broken. My guess is that the vomiting is psychological, rather than physiological.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I bristle. “I’m crazy?”
