Oh Ms Believer

87. Tyler

Samantha still hadn't said a word but day by day, moment by moment, she was coming back. It was slow going, like she wasn't sure it was quite safe enough to do so.

By Thursday, she was more engaged. Almost fully back. Her eyes were still dull. But there was life behind them. And she was eating.

But often we'd see she was staring out the window. Not entirely focused, but her eyes would move as birds flew by or something crossed her line of sight. She'd track it and watch. And she'd look at us if we called her name.

But she wouldn't speak. So far not a sound had come from her. Much like after Stanley, Samantha seemed incapable of speaking. We knew to be patient. She needed time.

There were plans to discharge her on Friday if all went well. The bruises around her neck were fading, she was out of her catatonic state and engaging more. There was no real physical reason for her to be in the hospital anymore.

I missed her smile though. Even when Rosie came in, her eyes would sparkle but her face never changed. She looked... stoic.

Thursday night, I stayed with her in the hospital. She wouldn't let me stay too close to her bed, but we watched a basketball game together.

I tried talking to her. I tried to get her to speak. I'd ask her questions about the game or her opinion on a play or a call. She would just shrug. I asked if she'd want to go up to Cleveland again for a game. She shrugged.

I'd had an idea at the beginning of the week that, once we got a discharge date, I put into motion. Hoping to get some sort of a response, I told her we had a surprise for her when she got home on Friday. It didn't elicit a response. In fact, fear crossed her features.

"It's a good surprise. I promise. You will like it. No, you'll love it."

She didn't look convinced. I sighed. I couldn't make her believe me.

Towards the end of the game I saw Samantha had fallen asleep. I smiled sadly at my troubled daughter, pulled up her blanket and kissed her forehead. She flinched in her sleep and my heart broke just a little because fear still prevailed.

I settled in my not-so-comfortable chair for an uncomfortable sleep.

"Dad?"

A voice woke me. I looked at my watch. It was four in the morning. Expecting her to be asleep and wondering who woke me up I looked over at Samantha. She was curled up on her side, looking at me.

"Sam?" I asked sitting up.

"Dad?" She said.

"Sammy, baby!" I said, moving closer to her. She flinched, ever so slightly. A look crossed her face as if she was in conflict with herself. "Honey, what is it? Why are you awake?"

"Daddy?" She started to cry. Not thinking about whether it would make her more upset, I sat on her bedside and wrapped her in my arms. My strong, confident teenaged daughter cried into my chest like an injured toddler. I held her as she sobbed. I didn't say anything besides 'I'm here,' and 'let it out,'. I just let her cry until her sobs slowed.

I pulled a tissue from the pack on her tray table. Jenna and I had gone through two of these small boxes already. 

Using the tissue I gently wiped her eyes and handed her the tissue to blow her nose.

"Hey there," I said to her, smoothing down her hair and holding her in my arms. "Hey Sam. I got you. You're okay."

"Dad, did he? Did Tristan really do... what I think he did?"

"Well, Sam, it would seem that way. According to the doctors and the police, it would seem so. Im so sorry, baby."

"You must hate me now," she said, her voice quiet and shaking.

I held her at arm's length and tried to look her in the eyes. She looked away. I very gently made her look at me by turning her face back to mine.

"Samantha Joseph. I could never. And I mean never hate you. For anything. And especially not for what happened. It was not your fault."

"It had to have been. I took the drinks from him. I went into an empty classroom with him. I let him touch me," she said, fresh tears coming to her eyes, the shaking in her voice intensifying.

"Samantha, what happened to you was not your fault. He drugged you. He made sure you didn't get your own drinks because he drugged yours. You told him to stop. He didn't. You blacked out because of the drugs. You couldn't have stopped him. What happened was not your fault."

"I shouldn't have worn that dress," she said.

"Samantha, your dress was beautiful. It made you  look beautiful. It was a beautiful dress and it was very much appropriate."

"I never want to see that dress again," Samantha said. I didn't say anything. If this went to trial and Samantha had to testify, which I would fight against, her dress would be entered as evidence.  She would have to see it. There in the courtroom.

"Dad?" She asked a few minutes later.

"Yep?" I asked.

"Does everyone know?"

"Define everyone," I said.

"Everyone at school, Uncle Josh? Aunt Debby?"

I sighed. I wouldn't lie to her.

"Our family, your aunts and uncles here in Ohio know. Your grandparents know. A few of our closest friends know. But I don't know how many people at school know."

"Does Jill know?" She asked. She was unaware that Jill had been visiting her every day after school.

"Jill knows. Jill is the one who got you here. Jill and her dad."

Samantha was quiet.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, precious?" I asked, kissing the top of her head.

"I want to go home. I want my own bed," she said.

"I know, baby. Tomorrow morning," I said.

"Okay," she sighed. I sat there, rocking back and forth until I felt Samantha get heavier against me and the arm around my back fell away. She had fallen asleep again. I gently lay her down, brushed hair off her face and pulled her blanket up.

I smiled. She was speaking. She was healing. I would message Doc in the morning and let him know.

I popped a text off to Jenna.

'A surprise for when you wake up:

Samantha's talking again. 😊"