“Lochlan,” my father’s voice shouted. “What room do they have her – Lane!”
“No,” Lochlan shouted. “You don’t want to see her like this.”
“Get the hell out of my way!” my father bellowed, and I heard some grunting, then a male cry.
“Baby,” my father whimpered. “Oh, my girl.”
Wake up!
I forced my left eye open, and when my vision adjusted, my parents’ distraught faces came into view.
“I’m . . . okay,” I rasped.
This caused both of them to cry with what I think was relief.
“I’m okay,” I repeated, louder.
My mother leaned down and kissed every part of my face that she could, and I let her, even though it hurt like hell.
“My eye,” I said to her. “I can’t open it.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“It’s swollen shut,” she cried.
It is?
“Better than losing it,” I chuckled, trying to stop her tears, but I winced in pain when laughing made my chest hurt. “It hurts,” I said to my mother, tears welling in my eyes.
She called for a doctor, or anyone, to come in and help me then. I closed my eyes because the room I was in was bright, and my eyelids were very heavy.
“Lane,” a new male voice called out. “Lane, can you hear me?”
I was really tired, and I groaned in response to the voice.
“Lane, can you open your eyes for me?” the man asked.
I opened my left eye, but only for a second before it fell shut again.
“Is she okay?” my father’s voice asked. “Why can’t she stay awake?”
“I’ve only got partials on what happened – we’re still gathering information – but she has quite clearly received a lot of brute blunt-force trauma to her head. I’m hoping it is mostly cosmetic and her brain wasn’t affected. We will run an MRI and other tests after she is cleaned up and her wounds are stitched closed.”
I need stitches? I wanted to ask the question on my mind, but I could only groan instead.
“I know you’re hurting, Lane,” the man, who I guessed to be my doctor, said. “A nurse will set up an IV line and administer morphine to help get you somewhat comfortable.”
That sounded brilliant.
I heard the different voices of my family as they spoke to me and asked the doctor questions, but one voice stuck out, one pretty loud voice.
“Lochlan?” I heard Kale call.
“She’s down here,” Lochlan shouted.
“Quiet, please,” a voice chastised.
“I got here as fast as I could – oh, my God,” Kale breathed. “Lane. Oh, sweetheart.”
I’m here, I thought.
“I’m going to fucking kill the prick,” he growled.
“Drew,” my father said. “What happened?”
My brain chose that moment to fade into darkness, and I was thankful for it because listening to Drew explain what she saw wasn’t something I wanted to hear. Experiencing it was more than enough.
Four days later, I was still in hospital, but I was awake and fully alert to my surroundings. The first three days after I was brought to hospital, I was in the ICU because I didn’t regain consciousness after I conked out in the emergency room. My doctor assured my family it was due to some very minor swelling on my brain and that the rest would only do my body good as it began the process of healing. The MRI scan and other tests the doctors ran came back clear, which was good news. All of my injuries were simple flesh wounds and a couple of bruised ribs – which I thought was the sorest thing I had ever experienced. It hurt to breathe.
My right eye was still swollen shut, and I had a pretty nasty cut through my right eyebrow that took six stitches to close, and one on my left cheekbone that needed three stitches. All in all, I was expected to make a full recovery, with only a small scar or two to show for it. So the doctor said anyway. But he was wrong. What Jensen had done ran deeper than physical scars. What he’d done would stay with me for life.
“Lane?”
I looked to my nanny when she called my name.
“Hmm?” I murmured.
She frowned at me. “I asked if you were okay, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay, Nanny,” I assured her, then looked to the doorway as my uncle suddenly barrelled into the room, looking the worse for wear. This was the first time I had seen him in three weeks. He’d been on a business trip in Asia and wasn’t due home for another week at the earliest.
He took one look at me, and his face turned red.
“I’ll kill him,” he snarled.
My brothers, father and Kale, who were in the room with me, my mother and my nanny, grunted in agreement. I had never seen my uncle look so angry before, so I raised my eyebrows at him and just stared. He quickly came over to my side and let out a puff of breath at what he was seeing.
“Darlin’.” He swallowed.
I winked with my good eye. “I’m okay; you should see the other guy.”
My uncle appreciated my jab at humour, and he chuckled, but nobody else in the room did. They hadn’t cracked so much as a smile since I’d woken up this morning. It was starting to grate on my nerves. I knew what had happened to me was very serious, and I definitely knew it wasn’t a laughing matter, but I was okay. I was going to recover from my injuries, and the piece of scum who caused them in the first place was in police custody.
Jacob was right when he said Jensen couldn’t hurt me anymore.
“Have you spoken to the police?” my uncle asked after he kissed my forehead.
I nodded. “They were here a few hours ago. They came after I woke up.”
Drew and her friend Jack had already given their eyewitness report of what they’d encountered a few days ago in Jensen’s apartment. Early in the afternoon I gave my statement. It was embarrassing and shameful, but I had to tell them how I knew Jensen in the first place. My father feared Jensen’s defence would play on that and somehow get him off the hook, but the officers assured us that he was tied up by the balls with the eyewitness reports and the condition I was found in.
They informed us that he was being charged with assault, attempted rape and attempted murder. He was refused bail and wouldn’t even get a formal trial because the evidence against him was too great – that and the fact that he was caught red-handed. Drew’s friend Jack had subdued Jensen until the police arrived and they took over. The most Jensen would see of a courtroom was the day he’d be taken for sentencing.
He couldn’t deny what he did – well, he could, but that wouldn’t help him. He would get locked up for what he did to me, and the sentence wouldn’t be light.
I was very happy about that.
My father filled my uncle in on what happened with the police, and Uncle Harry was delighted that justice would come to Jensen, though he was gutted he wouldn’t have a chance to break every limb on his body before he was sent to prison – his words, not mine.
“How was your trip?” I asked, changing the topic to something that didn’t turn everyone’s stomach.
My uncle smiled. “It was great, but it will be my last. I’m getting too old for those long-haul flights.”
I nodded in agreement. “I don’t know how you’ve done so much travelling. I can barely sit still long enough to watch a television show.”
That made the room laugh and relieved me greatly. Their sense of humour hadn’t died off after all!
“Have you had many visitors?” my uncle asked as he sat next to me.
I nodded. “Kale’s parents came to see me today. So did Lavender and her boyfriend, Daven. She blames herself for what happened because she dropped me off at his apartment, but I told her that was stupid. If she’d come in with me, God only knows what he would have done to both of us.”
The males in the room seethed in anger. I adjusted my position on the bed and groaned as pain spread down the left side of my ribca
ge.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I whimpered.
My mother and nanny were on their feet and on either side of me, helping me lie back. Their faces twisted with emotion when tears fell from my eyes. I tried my hardest not to cry, but the pain was too powerful.
“Mum,” I whimpered.
She leaned over and kissed me. “I’ll press your morphine button, and it will give you instant relief, okay?”
Yes.
“Yeah, do that,” I hissed in pain.
My mother pressed the button the nurse had shown her how to use earlier, and not ten seconds later the pain began to seep away, replaced by bliss.
“You should try some of this medicine, Uncle Harry,” I slurred as my good eye grew heavy. “It’d stop you complaining about your back pain all the time.”
“Cheeky mare,” my uncle said, laughing.
My lip quirked at the laughter of my family and then, without warning, I fell into a deeply medicated sleep that felt really bloody good.
Morphine was the shit.
It had been six weeks since Jensen had attacked me and put me in the hospital, and three weeks since he had been tried and sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
I was more than ready to put Jensen and the attack behind me. I was so overtired of hearing people talk about it and reading about it in the papers.
I wouldn’t give him the power to hold fear over me. For the first couple of weeks after I got out of the hospital, I was scared to be on my own, scared to leave my house, scared to do anything because of him, but not anymore. I would never let myself be controlled by him. Ever.
It was why, when my Uncle Harry’s birthday came around and my mother suggested we throw him a small house party, I jumped at the opportunity. I wouldn’t be drinking, but I would be around family, friends and talking, and people having fun.
We held the party on a Friday night, and as predicted, it went off without a hitch, and I felt alive for the first time in weeks. Since my face and body had healed from the damage Jensen inflicted on me, no one – apart from my parents – brought it up, and I was chuffed about it.
I was having a ball until Kale showed up, Drew on his arm.
I was doing well – kind of – when it came to getting over him, but it still hurt seeing him with Drew.