Room 24: Theirs to Humiliate, Theirs to Pleasure

But she is hurt badly. I cover my mouth with one hand, but it’s not enough to stifle a whimper at the first sight of my best friend’s swollen, bruised face. “I’m sorry I was abrupt on the phone,” the nurse murmurs. “We’re pretty busy around here right now, and I’m not at liberty to give away personal information.”

“What happened to her? Can you tell me now?”

“We’re still not entirely sure,” she tells me with a sigh before walking over to the monitors next to the bed. She checks the fluids in one of the bags hanging from a stand beside Thatcher’s head. “She must have been there for at least a few hours by the time a passing motorist called it in.”

“She was on the road?” I whisper, horrified.

“Luckily, she carried a small wallet in her back pocket with her driver’s license, or else she would be a Jane Doe.” The nurse sighs again. “She’s been fortunate.”

Fortunate? She looks like she’s at death’s door. There are stitches over her right eye. Both of her lips are split, and her nose must have been broken. Her eyes are so swollen that I doubt she could see even if she was awake.

I can hardly force myself to think it, but the question won’t leave me alone. “Was she… I mean, did they…?”

“There are no signs of sexual trauma.”

I reach out and grab hold of the foot of the bed, almost weak with relief. At least she wasn’t raped. “So she was beaten? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s certainly how it seems. If she’d been out there much longer, there’s no telling what might have happened.”

I don’t want to think about it. It’s enough that she’s alive. “Can she hear me?” I whisper, inching closer to the bed.

“She’s not in a coma. She’s heavily medicated at the moment, though.”

I pull up a chair next to the bed and take her hand as gently as I can. “What were you doing, babe?” I whisper, stroking her knuckles with my thumb. “Who were you with? Who did this to you?” I look at the nurse. “Has she said anything?”

“Not yet.”

I turn back to Thatcher. “We’re going to make sure whoever did this to you gets what’s coming to them. You wait and see.”

Her fingers move. I gasp. “She’s awake.” The nurse hovers a little closer on her side of the bed, and I do the same. “Thatcher, sweetie? It’s Mira. I’m here.”

Her eyelids flutter as much as they can, which isn’t very much at all, thanks to the swelling. The nurse turns to the bedside table to pick up a Styrofoam cup with a straw sticking out from the top. “Thatcher, try to sip a little bit of water. It might help you.” The nurse eases the straw into her mouth, and I never thought the sight of somebody sucking water from a cup would bring me to tears. But here we are.

Her hand tightens around mine. “That’s right,” I whisper. “You’re strong. I’m right here with you. We’re going to get through this together.”

Her lips move again. “Mira.” It’s barely a whisper, hardly audible over the sounds from the machines.

“That’s right. I’m here.”

She tries to open her eyes. I can almost see her green irises. “So…”

“I know it hurts. I know. But you’re safe now.”

Her grip tightens. “So… sorry…”

“Sorry? This isn’t your fault.”

A tear squeezes its way out from between her swollen lids. “Him. Him.” Her shoulders shake, and I realize she’s not crying from the pain. “Adam.”

That’s when it all slams into me. All of it, all at once. “Adam?” I whisper, leaning so close our faces are practically touching.

“Sorry. Tried. Love you.”

My mouth opens in a silent sob—or is it a scream? He did this to her. Because of me. “To find me?” I somehow croak. The slight dipping of her chin is as much as she can manage.

“But he doesn’t know the name of the motel because I never told you.” She dips her chin again. Not that it matters. He knows I’m hiding out somewhere, that I didn’t leave town the way I hoped he’d assume.

“I’m not sure I understand any of this,” the nurse interjects. I almost forgot she was there.