Page 154 of Play Fake
“Hey.” I wait until she looks at me. “You are not stupid. You trusted someone, and he betrayed that. That’s onhim, not you. And whatever you decide, I’ve got your back. No questions, no judgment.”
Her eyes fill again, but this time it’s less panic and more…relief.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Maybe the health center. Just to get checked out. I don’t know about the rest yet.”
“That’s enough for now,” I say softly. “One step at a time.”
She nods slowly, pressing the ice pack closer to her face. “You’re really good at this, you know. Calming people down.”
I smile faintly. “Perks of the career path.”
For the first time since I walked in, there’s a small flicker of the Ava I know. It’s fragile, but it’s there.
The health center is quieter than usual when we arrive. Finals week has everyone scattered—either buried in books or already heading home. The fluorescent lights inside hum softly, the air faintly antiseptic. Ava keeps her hood up as we walk through the doors, her shoulders tense; her hand clutching the makeshift ice pack like a lifeline.
I check us in at the front desk while she hovers just behind me, eyes fixed on the floor. The receptionist takes one look at Ava and her bruised face, and her expression softens immediately. Within minutes, a nurse leads us to an exam room.
I stay close, letting Ava set the pace. She doesn’t say much as the nurse gently checks her eye, but she answers the questions.She flinches when they shine the small light near the bruise, but her voice doesn’t waver.
When the nurse steps out to get the doctor, Ava exhales shakily. “I feel like I’m watching this happen to someone else.”
I squeeze her hand. “That’s normal. You’re in shock. But you’re doing amazing.”
She nods slowly, eyes glossy but clear.
The doctor confirms what we suspected—bruising and swelling, but nothing broken. They give her an ice pack that’s a definite upgrade from my frozen blueberries, and some aftercare instructions.
Then the nurse gently explains Ava’s options: reporting to campus security, Title IX, or local authorities; speaking to a counselor; setting up a safety plan. She doesn’t push—just lays everything out clearly.
Ava listens quietly, fingers twisting in the hem of her sleeve. I can see the moment she makes her decision, small but firm. “I want to file a report,” she says, voice quiet. “Against Coleson.”
The nurse nods immediately and steps out to bring in a campus security officer and a Title IX representative.
Ava’s breathing quickens, and I shift closer, our knees touching on the exam table’s edge. “I’m right here,” I whisper. “The whole time.”
She nods, swallowing hard.
The officer is professional, calm, and gentle. They take her statement carefully, letting her set the pace. She stumbles a few times, her voice catching when she talks about this morning, but she doesn’t stop.
When she admits—out loud, for the first time—that he shoved her, that he’s been hurting her, her hands start shaking. I reach for one, threading my fingers through hers. She grips back like she needs the anchor.
The Title IX rep explains next steps clearly: a formal investigation, a no-contact order, counseling options, and academic accommodations if needed. They don’t sugarcoat it, but they don’t make it overwhelming either.
By the time everything’s signed and filed, Ava looks exhausted, like she’s run a marathon she didn’t know she was training for. But underneath the exhaustion, there’s something else there too—the faintest glimmer of relief.
As we step back out into the cool night air, she exhales shakily. “I can’t believe I actually did that.”
I loop my arm through hers gently. “You were incredible. Seriously. That took so much strength.”
She gives a tiny, tired laugh. “You make it sound heroic.”
“Itisheroic,” I say softly. “You stood up for yourself. That’s huge.”
She leans her head against my shoulder as we walk back toward the dorms. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“Always,” I say without hesitation. And I mean it.
Back in my dorm, Ava is finally curled under blankets with a real ice pack pressed to her face. The adrenaline crash hit hard after we got back from the health center. She’s exhausted, physically, emotionally,everything. I really can't blame her.
