Broken Submission

I Just Can't

"I'm sorry, sir. Unless you are family, I can't let you through."

Derek raked his hands through his hair. "I'm her fiancé," he lied.

The matronly blonde nurse looked at him, deadpan. "She's not wearing a ring."

"I'm broke." He shrugged. "Please," he swallowed hard and begged her with his eyes. "I love her. She is everything to me. I need to be there for her."

The woman sighed. "They should be done with the SANE Exam by now. Go on through, but don't make me regret it."

"Sane exam?" His brow furrowed.

Sadness appeared on the nurse's face. "The rape kit."

His stomach churned. "Oh. But," he shook his head, "they don't need that. The guy's dead."

The nurse looked shocked for a moment before resuming a neutral expression. "Besides collecting evidence for court convictions, the exam also tests for sexually transmitted diseases, injury, and possible pregnancy."

His eyes widened as he realized the implications. "Fuck me," he breathed.

The woman grimaced. "I have to go. You're looking for room 134."

"Thank you," he said, mind still reeling.

You should have done better. You should have been there for her. You should have found her quicker.

He forced the guilt that was bubbling up back down to the pit of his stomach. He had to see her.

• • •

"Amelia? Amelia, you're in the hospital. Can you hear me?"

She struggled to blink as a bright light passed over her pupils. The blurry form of a young man in a white coat came into sight. When her eyes focused on him, he smiled, revealing two rows of white teeth.

"That's good," he said. "Amelia, we're going to move you to the bed now, alright?" He nodded to the nurses flanking him, and they moved forward to lift her out of the wheelchair that she sat in onto the hospital cot.

The sudden movement made her stomach churn, and she gagged. One of the nurses handed her a pan, and she hunched over it, a short stream of bile dripping through her lips.

"That's alright," the doctor said, handing her a cloth to wipe her lips. "We're going to get someone in here to examine you. Someone trained in these kinds of situations."

"These kinda of situations?" she asked, voice hoarse.

The doctor frowned. "Do you recall experiencing any head trauma?" he asked, running his fingers over her skull to feel for bumps.

"No." Tears came to her eyes, and she didn't know why. "I don't—I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm doing this," she said, swiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

The light of pity entered the young doctor's eyes. "It's fine, Amelia. We'll get that nurse right in to see you."

"O-okay," she mumbled.

They left. She sat on the crisp sheets, bewilderment leaving her gazing around the room in a helpless sort of confusion. The room had the bland, pastel appearance of most hospitals. A single half-circle chair sat in a corner, a door to a bathroom and a second, empty cot with a divider curtain was all that filled the room.

She became aware that her body hurt. She wore a hospital gown that she had no memory of changing into, and it chafed her raw skin, especially her backside. Her eyebrows knit as she struggled to remember what had happened.