As I lie here, in this God damned hospital bed, I think to myself, 'What the hell did I do to deserve this?'
I didn't do anything wrong. I was walking home to give my fucking lovely husband a present.
I decided to walk because, why the hell not?
Bookbag around my shoulder, a beautiful necklace in a box placed nearly inside along with a couple pens and my journal.
Don't people have enough? Did this man, wearing a suit and a wedding ring, not have enough? Was he so desperate for some kind of feeling that he would push me against the wall and not only take the necklace but also my dignity as he raped and beat me repeatedly?
I feel gross, disgusting.
I didn't even see his face. The police assure me they'll find him, but I know they're wrong. He'll get away with it. The monster will get away with this.
The doctors tell me with a sad smile that I'm going to make it. I hope they're right. Because I really, really want to live. Right? I do, don't i?
Zach has been called. He was out of town on business. Thank god he's on a flight here right now. I didn't call him, of course. I'm not even supposed to be writing right now. They don't think I'm "stable" enough. I know that "unstable" means I still might die. So that's why I have to write this stuff down. These could be my last thoughts, after all.

YOU ARE READING
Rami's Diary
KurzgeschichtenRamirus Carmichael's diary from the night of September 21 to the night of November 25, his birthday.