Six

“Call Carla, tell her is urgent.” We have finally stopped moving. My body has been complaining from the moment he lifted me into his truck, the unevenness of the road, the most likely frantic manner he drove to get to wherever we were added to. I have been in and out of it.

“Right away sir.”

“Holyshitballs, you bruise like a peach Kennedy.” A warm hand holds my face, I try to open my eyes but they are so heavy.

“What the hell happened? Who is this?” The panic in this unknown person's voice tells me everything I need to know about my current state of being. Chaos, words, and orders. People are being told to do this and that while I try not to pass out.

A heated exchange of words starts and all I can do is lay there, waiting until someone remembers that I’m about to die from internal bleeding or pass out, or something.

“Lord almighty!” A soft hand touches my forehead, this one very gently brushes my forehead.

“Calm down Carla.”

“Tell me you didn’t do that to this child.”

“Hey! I found her.” He whines like a toddler, almost makes me smile.

“You found her?” The female voice sounds closer.

“I kinda bumped into her as she tried to make her way here.” That’s a good way to cover up the fact that is also his fault that I’m this way.

“Well, get her out of there so we can help her.”

“Get out of the way then.” A door slams shut making me jump and groan at the same time. I can’t move, it hurts so damn much even thinking about it. I must have broken something, again. Someone is undressing me, I want to stop whoever it is but I can’t.

“Lord almighty!” I wince. “This child needs a doctor, she’s getting purple all over.”

“No doctor, I need to go home,” I mutter, I’m not quite sure they heard me since no one acknowledges me or responds to what I just said. Just when I wince and try to move away from the hand that just pressed a bit too hard on my calf I get a reaction. Maybe because that wince came out followed by a shriek. By this point, I don’t know if I have been crying or screaming, or both.

The pain is like a hot set of waves moving throughout my body. Long minutes pass hush voices and a few curses. When it all stops my body begins to let me know where and how much it hurts, is like is passing a list; abdomen, head, left leg, lower ribs, head, that twice on the head, forehead, and back, I could bet there was some blood too.

“No, don’t move. You might have broken something. The doctor will be here soon, lay back and try to bear it.” The voice is soft and warm. A cold cloth is placed on my rib and I sigh. Is good. I like it there, it makes me think less of the pain. The coldness of the water calms the fiery pain, the touch is light, whoever is doing it I can tell is trying not to hurt me.

That goes on for a while until someone else starts talking, I‘m touched and probed. I must have passed out again because there’s a new person in the room and is only when I feel a sting in my arm that I’m truly awake. I try to pull out whatever is pricking me but two hands stop me. The smell of medicine, alcohol, and latex invades my nostrils.

With the help of several helping hands, I'm turned overcareful while someone checks my ribs, back, head, and my legs. There’s an audible gasp when my left leg is revealed to the eyes of everyone present and that’s when the shame comes. I know what it looks like, I’m the one who has to see it every single day for the rest of my life.

“No.” I say when I simply feel that’s enough staring.

Another needle enters my body, this one on my butt, it is over quickly and whatever pain I was supposed to feel barely feels like a prickle, a simple mosquito bite over the sizzling pain.

“This will help with the pain. Once she’s out move her to a bed, it will take her a while to get better. Nothing is broken but she will be in pain for a while. These a for the pains, these will make her sleep but before that we need a CT scan to rule out anything.”

Why do they keep talking about me like I’m not here? Just because my eyes feel heavy doesn’t mean I can’t understand what’s going on. I want to go home.

I’m able to roll to my side with a lot of effort, my elbow cries in pain, and I fall too hard on my face hurting myself, tears are spilling and I’m crying.

“Stay still goddammit, the doctor said you cannot move.”

“I have to go home.”

“No honey, you can’t.”

“Please.”

“Someone is going to your house as we speak, you have to stay here for a few days.” Between my half-close lids, I can see a bit of him. All blurred out because of the tears, he talks to me low and slow, like he cares or something. Maybe is the drugs that are clouding my judgment but right now he seems, nice.

“I can’t.”

“Is not up to you.” There he is, it was just an illusion. And with that the river starts flowing, the tears run down my face.

This is opening up the door I closed a lot of time ago. The memories are coming hard; the blood, the pain, the grief.

The hatred from my dad.

The coldness from Cameron.

The bullying that followed right after.

People often say that history has a way of repeating itself and I can attest to that. Right now I’m relieving my sad childhood if anyone can call it that.

“It’s okay little Kennedy, I will stay with you.”