Page 53 of Then Came You

I believe the conviction in his voice, but more than that, I already know what I need to do. What I want her to do.

She has so many scars, and I’m going to make her show me all of them. I’m going to rewrite all the times no one was there for her, vowing to be there for every future mark.

Chapter 23

Row

There has only ever been one other time I thought I was dying, and that’s when Tori was diagnosed with leukaemia. For months, maybe even a year, Tori would always be run down and sick, but we just chalked it up to the stress of HSC. She became paler, and there was some weight loss, but we were starving and starved of nutrients, so all of this fell into the category of normal for us. There were no exceptionally extraordinary symptoms that we could have gone, ‘yep, it’s cancer.’

If it wasn’t for her debilitating period pain and irregular menstrual cycle that made her collapse at school, indicating she had endometriosis, we would have never known.

I found out in the middle of an elevator that my sister had cancer when the surgeon was going over Tori’s medical records and treatment for the endometriosis they also found. The way he asked the question was like he’d asked how the weather was outside. ‘How do you treat your sister's leukaemia?’ I obviously didn't hear that right, so I asked him to repeat himself again, but the question was still the same.

The unsettling memory pounds its way to the front of my mind, making me relive the nightmare endlessly, except this time there is a loud, rhythmic beeping sound that I vow to destroy when I find it.

Everything is foggy and unclear, and I start to panic.

Why can’t these demons leave me alone?

Why can’t I finally find peace?

My heart feels like it’s beating faster than Travis Barker on the drums, and I’m in agony all over. I can’t decide what hurts the most.

I try to suck in a huge breath to stabilise my thoughts, but I can’t gulp. Something is restricting me, causing a deeper claustrophobia. A renewed sense of helplessness engulfs my body—suffocating, stifling, and abusing my throat. There’s disorientation and confusion, and the sensation is threatening to disintegrate what’s a nightmare and what’s my reality.

I flop around on whatever I’m currently lying on, feeling a pull in both my arms. I open my eyes, or attempt to, and am met with the brightest of white lights. Is this heaven?

I cough and sputter, adjusting my vision. Definitely not heaven with the absence of peace.

I’m in a hospital. It’s the only explanation I can think of.

Why are they so bright? It’s like I’m looking at the sun. My already tired eyes are burning, and I’m sure they’re going to exacerbate the throbbing pain that radiates across every part of my face.

My name is being called in four different directions, but instead of it sounding like a symphony, it sounds like they all just need to shut the fuck up. I squint, but everything hurts. My body feels stiff and heavy. The bed, which must be made from cardboard, adds to the searing pain. Clenching the sheets, a wave of agony slices through me, momentarily blinding my vision. I try to lurch forward, but confusion still grips me, slowly turning into panic.

Am I safe?

I strain to open my eyes as much as I can, but my sight is partially obstructed as multiple people work on removing the tube from my throat, replacing it with an oxygen mask.

Someone holds my hand, but the grip is weak. It's Tori. I'd recognize her touch anywhere from the countless times we've held hands over the years.

“Row, can you hear me? My name is Dr. Khan. You're okay.” I don’t feel okay. “Row, you were attacked and assaulted.” He explains my injuries and the recovery process. He assures me there will be no long-term effects or complications and recommends seeing a trauma counsellor.

The memory of the ordeal resurfaces when the police visit a little later to take my account of the events. My memory feels fragmented, as if I've blocked out the trauma. I remember coming home, falling from the window, and being assaulted, but I can’t recall vivid details, like whether my attacker had tattoos or if my Mum entered before, during, or after. I have no recollection of Shane if he participated. Apparently, it's normal to have a fragmented memory after what I went through, and some pieces might come back. I'm praying they don’t.

Tori fills me in on staying with Blade temporarily, but in my more sober state, I wonder whose crazy-ass idea that was. I can think of several hundred reasons why I cannot live with Blade, but here are ten off the top of my head:

It’s a pity invite

It’s him feeling guilty

I would feel like a sugar baby

He’s my best friend’s dad

He’s my sort of boss

He's hot

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