Rocco's Atonement

Guinevere

I gave them my purse, but they just threw it back at me. I wanted to beg them to stop, but I couldn’t get the words out. I’m trained to take it. My life has taught me many things, including sometimes people just want to hurt you and don’t care. The men laughed when they found me hiding behind the large dumpster. I didn’t expect the brass knuckles that slammed against the side of my head. I almost lost consciousness right then, but I didn’t want them to hurt me worse, or rape me.

When I heard the voice yell “NYPD,” I knew I was saved. But now that I look up into his eyes and see his strong features—black hair and melted chocolate brown eyes taking in every mark on my body—I know I need to get away from him too. He sees too much. He’ll notice some of the bruises on me are older.

I move and my ribs that were already bruised now feel broken. I cringe and cry out at the movement, and his eyes focus on me harder.

“Sweetheart, don’t move yet,” he says in a gruff voice as pity fills his eyes.

Why did he call me that? No one ever says nice things to me.

I watch as he talks into the mic on his shoulder, calling for an ambulance. My eyes flare wide and fear grips my body. I can’t let them take me to the hospital. I can’t be treated. I try to stand up so I can get away. My punishment will be worse if someone finds out my secrets. And if the hospital reports my other injuries… No. I can’t let that happen.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I need my purse.” I squeeze my fist to try to realign my fingers that were stepped on. I pull my hair forward to cover the side of my face with the marks from last week’s punishment.

His hand rests on my shoulder and a shot of electricity runs through my body. Not from pain but something else. I look up at him and his eyes move to his hand. He felt it too.

“Hey, Distonoli, we got it,” another voice comes from behind him, and I look at the paramedic standing there waiting.

“Oh, no, I’m okay. I just need my purse.” I reach for it as Rocco again stops me.

“She’s hurt and has some facial and extremity damage?” Rocco tells the paramedic but doesn’t leave my side. He gently grips my forearm and guides me to the gurney. I’m stuck. I don’t know what I’m going to do.

The paramedic takes a look at me and starts assessing. When he gets to my face, I know he sees the older bruises.

“I’m such a klutz, I ran into the wall when I was doing my chores a couple of days ago, and then last night I fell out of bed.” I use the old lies I used to have perfected. I see the doubt as the paramedic furrows his brows, but he doesn’t question it.

“Guinevere, can I get a last name? Is there someone I can call to meet us at the hospital?” Rocco asks me softly.

I turn to look at him, and I’m again lost in his eyes. I’m such a dork, I can’t even communicate with normal people.

“Ever, did you hear me?” he asks with a soft smile on his face, and I’m completely lost. My family calls me Guinny, which I hate, but it’s better than the other names I get called.

Not thinking about the split in my lip, I pull it between my teeth and immediately cringe, which causes me to jolt from the pain in my ribs. I cry out, and that’s when the paramedics start strapping my legs to the gurney. I watch them in panic.

My breathing increases, causing the pain in my ribs to hurt even more, and tears silently roll down my face.

“Please don’t,” I beg them. It’s not just that they are taking me to a hospital, but the fact that I’m being strapped down. It’s one of my biggest fears. The last time I was tied down, bad things happened to me. My panic is rising until a hand softly cups my cheek. A large, warm tan hand. My face is turned and I’m looking into brown eyes fringed with dark long lashes.

“Ever, look at me. We just want to make sure nothing is broken. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Can I call a boyfriend?” He grits out the last word, and I shake my head. “A family member?” His voice is calmer now. I have very little experience with men or other people, so I don’t know if he was upset about me possibly having a boyfriend or upset about something else.

“My dad is George Chambers.” My voice is so quiet I don’t think they hear me, but then they all stop what they are doing to look at me. Rocco pulls away, taking his eyes and warmth with him.

“Wait, like the George Chambers?” one of the medics asks, and I nod. I don’t understand why they are all looking at me as if I’m lying. I notice they take in my secondhand clothes, but I don’t say more. Maybe if I don’t tell them, they won’t call him.

“Ever, are you saying George Chambers of Chambers LLC is your father?” Rocco says.

“I don’t know what the company is, but my father is George, and my mom is Carmen.”

“She isn’t in the family pictures they put out every year. I think she hit her head hard. Let’s take her in and maybe the doctors can get her family’s name from her,” the other paramedic says, trying to keep his voice low but I still hear him.

“My wallet is in my purse, and it will show my address.”

“Where is your cell phone?” the other cop who was with Rocco asks in a deep voice. He has an accent I don’t recognize.

“I don’t have a cell phone.” My eyes drop. I’m not allowed to have a phone because I could use it to call someone other than them.

“What Chambers doesn’t have a cell phone,” the crabby paramedic says in a snide voice, his eyebrows raised, his face pinched. He doesn’t believe me.

I’m loaded into the back of the ambulance, and Rocco insists on riding with us. He continues to pepper me with questions about my family, but I ignore them all. They don’t believe me, and I can’t blame them. My own parents don’t acknowledge me unless they have to.

When we get to the hospital, I’m taken for X-rays and then my injuries are treated. I’m asked by numerous nurses and the doctor about my older bruises, but again I give them the lies I told the police. I can’t tell them the truth.

Rocco left me to the nurses when they insisted he leave. I’m sitting in the room alone, knowing that when Father is notified I’ll be in trouble. Yes, I could leave the house today, but I’m not supposed to be here. Even the hospital staff doesn’t believe me. One nurse went as far as to bring me a magazine article about my parents with pictures. I remember the day that interview was done. I was told to stay in my room. No one was to know I was there.

“Where is she?” is bellowed through the emergency room, and I try to make myself smaller on the gurney. I guess they decided to call him. The curtain is ripped back and in walks my father and brother. “Guinevere, what did you do this time?” he yells at me.