Broken Beauty (2 page)

Seriously? Is that
all
that’s wrong? I want to laugh and cry. I make a strange sound somewhere in between, and the doctor really looks at me for the first time.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through,” she says, her voice warming like a normal human’s at last. “You’re going to need stitches, and I want to make sure there’s no more head trauma. We’ll keep you for a day or two for observation. Are your parents on their way?”

I look at Kiesha.

“We’ll call them,” Kiesha says.

“I’ll need to talk to them about the morning after pill. State law requires minors have parental permission before we can administer.”

I gasp. “But I haven’t … I … are you serious?”

“She’s not saying you
are
pregnant, just that it’s a precaution they normally take,” Robin says quickly.

It hits me that I’d lost my virginity tonight. This isn’t how I thought it’d happen. It isn’t right that someone can
take
it from me! And it’s not possible to get pregnant from rape; Daddy says a woman’s body has the ability to prevent it. He talks about abortion a lot in his speeches, and he’s always arguing with other politicians about it. I pay no attention, because I don’t care, like most of the stuff he talks about. I do know he pays people a lot of money to research what he talks about so it must be true.

If Daddy knows, shouldn’t a doctor know it’s not possible? What the hell is going on?

I stare at the doctor. The human side of her fades again, and she finishes examining me like a piece of furniture at a crime scene on television. When she’s done, she leaves. The cop who took pictures approaches me next.

“I need to get a few more pieces of evidence. May I see your hands?”

Evidence. Like I really am a piece of furniture. I hold out my hands. She scrapes under all the nails and places the dirt in a small baggy that goes in a black bag. Then she swabs my mouth as well. When she’s done, she leaves me, too.

“Okay, that’s over with,” Robin says. “We’ve gotta get you fixed up. I need to draw some blood.”

Kiesha’s radio squawks, and she ducks into the hallway. I watch her and Dom, panicking at the idea that they are going to leave me. I don’t like this place. I don’t like the doctor. I don’t want to stay here.

“They’ll be back tomorrow to interview you,” Robin says.

I look at her, and she’s looking out the door, too. Robin-zoo-animals isn’t much bigger than me. She can’t keep
them
away. I was alone when they hurt me. I didn’t ever want to be alone again.

“I don’t want them to leave,” I tell her.

“Your parents should be here soon. You’re safe here.”

“No, they won’t! Mama’s in rehab and Daddy’s at a fundraiser! Neither of them would come here for
me
!” I don’t mean to shout the words, but I can’t help it.

Robin looks surprised. “I’m sure one of them will come.” Her attention goes to my arm, and I look away as she draws blood.

“You don’t know my family!”

“Everything okay?” Dom’s deep voice draws my attention. He’s not looking in the room, as if afraid of seeing the bloody mess that’s me.

“Yes,” Robin says. “I think Mia would like one of you to stay tonight.”

“Sure.”

I want to cry again. This time I don’t know why.

“Is that cool, Mia?” Robin’s voice is always warm.

I nod. I feel badly for yelling at her. She’s been nice to me.

“I’m going to deliver these to the lab,” she says and holds up the tray of vials she’s taken of my blood. “Dom will be right there. When I get back, I’ll take you down the hall, so we can clean you up and get you some stitches. Okay?”

I nod again. She leaves. The room feels cold and lonely. I rest my head on the pillow and stare out the door. No one can get me as long as the policeman is here. He leans against the doorway, his back to me. With all the blood, I’m glad he can’t see what I look like.

“Anything I can do for you?” Dom asks.

“Just don’t leave.”

“I won’t,” he says. “You play sports, Mia?”

I focus on the sound of his voice, which is low, calm and warm. He sounds kind, like Grandpa, and looks like Cory. I don’t feel scared around him.

“Yeah. Basketball and soccer. Not at school, though,” I answer.

“You any good shooting hoops?”

“Pretty good. My best friend’s brothers taught us to play street ball.”

“Ah, street ball. They make basketball a full contact sport,” he said. “I got hip-checked by a girl your size once. Knocked me on my ass.”

“So you lost?”

“She was my oldest sister. I was thirteen. I had to lose, or my mom wasn’t going to feed me for a week,” he replies.

I rest my head on the pillow. Is he trying to help me feel better or is he just that nice of a person? I like talking to him. He’s upbeat and friendly. Aside from Ari and her brothers, I’ve never really met anyone else like that.

“You, um, want to play a silly game?” Dom asks. “It’s called I, Spy. You play before?”

“No.”

“I’ll describe something and you try to guess what it is. With my nieces, I give them a quarter, if they get it right.”

I’m not sure what to say.

“Ready?” he asks.

“I guess,” I reply then add, “Do I get a quarter if I win?”

Even Dom’s laugh is warm and kind. “Sure.”

His thick accent makes the word almost unintelligible.
Shoo-wa. Shoowa.
I’m not sure how he manages to say it like that.

“I spy with my little eye something that’s ... blue and yellow,” he starts.

I don’t exactly feel like playing a game. He’s being so nice, though, that I push myself up to get a better view of my room. Concentrating makes my head hurt more, but I don’t want to disappoint him.

It takes me a few minutes, but I finally think I spot it.

“The ducks on the curtains,” I say.

“Bingo.”

“All right, Ms. Mia. Let’s get you fixed up,” Robin says, walking back into the room. “Dom, you sticking around?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I’m ready to be done with this place. At least I have nice people to talk to.

I’m right about my parents not coming. I never really expected Daddy to show up, not when it’s so close to a re-election. I had hoped that my Mama would come, but she’s in rehab. Or at least, that’s Daddy’s side of the story. She’s been drunk much of her life, but it wasn’t until last year, when she publicly sided against Daddy giving ammunition to a politician in the opposing party, that Daddy decided she needed to get sober. She’s been in “rehab” ever since, somewhere on the west coast, where she can’t say anything to embarrass Daddy before the election.

People don’t cross Daddy.

It’s almost noon by the time the doctors finish cleaning, stitching, and x-raying me. I’m tired but pleased to see Dom is still sitting outside my room when they roll me back. I barely have a moment to myself before he knocks and walks in with Kiesha.

“Are you feeling up to telling us what happened?” Kiesha asks. She’s got a cup of coffee in one hand and a notepad in the other.

I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. My private parts still burn from stitches. Something about how it’s going to hurt to take a shit for awhile, until the tears in my vagina heal. Along with painkillers and antibiotics, they’re giving me stool softeners, like old people use.

I want Dom and Kiesha to kill those people who did this to me, but I don’t want to talk about it.

“Can I have a minute to clean up first?” I ask.

“Sure.”

They leave and close the door. I grimace as I lift myself out of bed. The hospital floor is cold against my bare feet. I limp to the bathroom. My ankle doesn’t hurt anymore, but it doesn’t move right either.

I turn on the light in the tiny bathroom and see a monster in the mirror above the sink. I’m the monster. My blonde hair is sticking out everywhere like it does without smoothing crème. Part of it is brown-red from blood. My cheek is yellow, my black eye swollen closed. My good eye is smeared with mascara and the colors I wore last night, which somehow ended up all over the left side of my face. I have bruises all over my face and neck. My good eye looks haunted, and I’m pale.

They did this to me. The bruises will heal, but I’ll never be able to forget what happened.

The surreal experience returns, flashing like a disjointed dream in my mind. I close my eyes and can almost feel the cool spray from the fountain. I can hear them coming for me. I can feel them hurting me. My chest seizes, and suddenly, I can’t breathe.

Not again!

I’m being dragged down to the ground, but I try to lash out, trying to keep from sinking into the memory.

“Shit!”

“Grab her, Dom!”

“Mia, it’s okay!”

Someone catches me, keeps me from going back to last night. My tunnel vision makes it hard for me to see who. Smelling salts jar me awake. I recognize the cop, Kiesha, and stare up at the harsh lights, not sure at first where I am.

“You okay?” Dom’s face appears in my vision. His warm arms are around me.

Kiesha raised the smelling salts. I push her hand away.

“Why … why do you have those?” I demand, hating them in that moment.

“Keeps me awake on third shift.” Kiesha gives me a genuine smile, the first I’ve seen. “You scared us again.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. I try to move. Dom has me clutched against him. I don’t entirely want him to let go; it’s the safest I’ve felt since last night.

“C’mon, Dom. We’ll keep this short, Mia.”

I nod. Kiesha rises, and Dom lifts me easily and carries me back to the hospital bed. He sets me down then pulls up a chair beside the bed. Kiesha sits next to him. My eyes fall to the blood on Dom’s uniform. My blood. I clench my hands, nervous.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened first, and we’ll go from there,” Kiesha says.

I hesitate and look at her. I don’t want to tell anyone. I want to forget. And I want those who hurt me to pay. But I’m terrified
to remember.

“Start from the beginning. You arrive at the party and … what?”

“I … went to the bartender. By the pool. He carded me and I was like, so nervous he wouldn’t fall for it,” I start haltingly. “Ari wasn’t there. She was at a fundraiser that I was supposed to go to, too, but I hate those things.”

“Ari is?”

“My best friend. Her daddy owns a huge defense contracting firm. He’s my daddy’s biggest contributor.”

“Okay. What next?” Kiesha asks.

The memories are getting clearer.

“I drank like, four vodka-cranberries.” I close my eyes, thinking.

It’s tart and burns my throat as I drink it. I stand to the side and look around at the unfamiliar faces, almost ready to leave, when I see one I recognize.

Robert … Connor. My mind eventually pulls his name free. I don’t realize I’m staring at him until he looks over and meets my gaze. From what little I remember, he’s a college quarterback whose father is the head of another political dynasty and one of Daddy’s long-time allies. I’ve met Robert a few times, but not in the past several years, since he went off to college. I definitely don’t remember him looking like that!

Does he recognize me? I don’t know. He’s staring back at me.

“What do you see?” Dom asks.

“Just … people around the pool.”

I’m starting to feel sick. The blond man from my nightmare. Was it really Robert? Whose daddy is a family friend?

“Want another one?” Robert asks, motioning to my empty drink.

I don’t remember drinking it down so fast, but I nod eagerly. He takes the cup, and our fingers brush. I feel warm and fluttery.

“I need your ID,” he says. “Never seen any bartenders like these.”

I dig it out and hand it to him. He takes it and walks to the bartender. I watch. He talks to some other guy as he waits in line, probably one of his friends. I stare at his tight ass and long, lean legs. What a difference a couple of years make!

Struck by an idea, I pull my cell phone free and snap a pic of his backside to send to Ari, who is a fan of a man with a perfect butt. My fingers are clumsy, the effect of drinking, and I giggle as I mash up the words in my text to her. I finally finish and hit send just as Robert returns with a drink.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Where’s my phone?”

“We kept it as evidence,” Kiesha said. “It looked pretty much destroyed, though. Had to fish it out of the fountain.”

“Oh.”

“Do you remember why you left the pool for the garden?” Dom asked.

Kiesha and Dom have stayed with me since they found me. Not even Daddy came to see me. My eyes water, and I feel both indebted to the two beside me and ashamed they had to stay because Daddy wouldn’t come.

I feel like I owe them answers, but it’s making me sick to try to remember.

My eyes adjust to the darkness of the garden. What had been lumpy shapes in the poor lighting begin to take form, and I see there’s a low hedge lining a cobblestone path lined with softly glowing bubble lamps. They look magical, like fireflies, and I’m quickly fascinated enough by them to stumble down the path. My ankle twists as my heel gets stuck between stones. I don’t feel pain as my ankle flip sideways – I don’t feel anything at this point. It’s like I’ve slipped from being drunk into a dream.

I pull off my shoes and continue to walk.

I see a large fountain long before I can hear it over the blaring techno. My eyes can’t focus on whether the statue in its center is a man or a large fish. Or both? I blink, trying to make sense of it while alcohol confuses my senses.

I tell the police about the fireflies and tripping, but I can’t remember why I went to the garden in the first place. I check my ankle and see that it’s wrapped tightly and looks swollen.

“It didn’t hurt,” I murmur. “There was something wrong with my drink.”

“What do you mean?” Kiesha asks.

“I was … drinking and bit down on something that wasn’t ice and spit it out.” I’m struggling to remember. All I can see is the fireflies and … them. The blond and dark-haired men, seated on the edge of the fountain.

Kiesha and Dom exchange a look that draws my focus from my thoughts. I’m not able to interpret the silent communication, but they both appear even grimmer.

“Did you get your drinks directly from the bartender?” Dom asks.

“No. Robert brought me one. Maybe two,” I reply.

“Do you know his last name?”

I say it in my head then carefully say it out loud. “Connor. Madison might’ve brought me one.”

“I think I should go,” I say and wobble to my feet from a bench near the fountain. Robert is seated beside me. “Ari will be-”

“C’mon, stay a little longer,” Robert begs and wraps his arms around me. “Stay with me.”

“No, I feel kinda sick,” I say and try to push him away.

“It’ll pass,” he says, holding me tight. “I promise. Just a few minutes, and you’ll feel better. Promise. Madison and I will make sure you’re okay.”

“Okay,” I mumble, not at all certain I could find my way through the garden maze anyway.

He kisses me hard this time, and his fingers unzip my dress. His hand touches my breast.

“Hey, chill,” I say and push his hand away.

“Don’t stop me, baby,” he says and takes my wrists, pinning them behind me. “Trust me. You’ll love what I do to you.”

I’m not sure what’s going on, until his hand unfastens my bra then travels down my stomach. I try to pull away, but he pushes me back against something hard and shoves a knee between my thighs. He shoves fingers into me there.

“Wet and hot,” he whispers into my ear. “Ready for me, aren’t you?”

I’m starting to panic. I almost want to throw up.

“Robert Connor,” Kiesha says, writing down the name. “Do you remember Madison’s last name?”

I shake my head. “I never saw him before.”

“Excuse me, officers.”

My heart soars as I recognize the voice then just as fast it plummets when I realize it’s not Daddy. We all look towards the door. A familiar man in gray slacks and a polo steps into my room. As soon as I see him and the smaller woman behind him, I feel like crying again.

Daddy sent his lead publicist and the head of his legal team. He’s not coming. Worse, my uncle – Daddy’s chief lawyer – only shows up when something is really wrong. He’s never looked my way twice before, because I never broke the law, just made little dust-ups for the publicity team to fix.

“Ms. Abbott-Renou is a minor and will not be questioned without her parent or an appointed guardian.” The speaker is Chris Abbott-Renou, my uncle and the world’s most brilliant attorney, according to pretty much everyone.

“She’s not being questioned,” Kiesha says archly. “We can talk to victims who are underage.”

“Not this one.”

“Who are you?” Dom asks, standing.

“Her lawyer and uncle. I’m Chris Abbott-Renou, family attorney.” Daddy’s lawyer shakes Dom’s hand.

“Mr. Abbott, we need a statement from Ms. Abbott about what happened last night,”
Dom
says.

“We will provide you a written statement when Ms. Abbott-Renou has had a chance to rest,” Chris says. “Until then …” He doesn’t have to tell them they’re not welcome. I recognize the tone from the few times I interrupted meetings between him and Daddy.

Kiesha and Dom hesitate, but move towards the doo
r. Dom pauses and pulls something from his pocket, returning to my hospital bed. He smiles and holds up a quarter.

“Take care, Mia,” he says.

I accept the coin I won from our game earlier. I don’t need the money, but I wouldn’t trade that quarter for all of Daddy’s wealth. Holding it reminds me that there are good people out there, even if they aren’t the ones who hurt me or the members of my family.

They leave. My chest tightens again. I don’t want them
to go. In the little time I’ve known them, I already like them more than any of Daddy’s lackeys. I watch them leave me, wanting desperately to tell them to come back.

I don’t say anything. I pull my knees to my chest and hug them.

“Shea, if you could get their names,” Chris tells the publicist.

Shea follows the two cops down the hall, and Chris sits beside me. I feel him looking at me. Neither of us speaks for a long moment. Chris looks different, pale. Almost like he cares, even though he’s never given me the time of day.

“Robert Connor,” he says at last. His blue eyes sharpen.

I close my eyes and turn my face away. So I’m the one on trial.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“I know what happened to me,” I say, face hot.

“According to the lab results your doctor showed me, your alcohol level was two times the legal limit and you had … drugs in your system.”

“So?”

“So, Mia, based on what I know, you probably have missing time, hallucinations, and an otherwise flawed recollection of what happened.”

“You’re saying this didn’t happen to me?” I look at him, stunned.

“Not at all.
Mia, I’m here, because I want to do everything possible to help you. I’m your daddy’s counsel, yes, but I also care a great deal about you as your uncle,” he says with tried patience. “I want to get the people who did this to you, which is why I’m asking you to think carefully about what happened. Robert Connor is the son of one of your father’s greatest allies, one of the most powerful politicians in the country. Can you face him in court and say without a doubt it was him?”

“What do you mean? That’s what you do. You go to court. You handle it.”

“Mia,” Chris chides. “If your case goes to court, you go, too. You have to face your accuser. It’s the law.”

“I don’t want to see him again!” I say, panicking.

“That’s not the way this works. That’s why I want you to be certain. You’ll have to testify in front of him, your father, the jury. I’ll always be there to support you, but this will be something you have to do by yourself.”

“I … Chris … I want this to go away. I can’t …” I don’t want to, but I’m crying. I don’t understand what he’s saying. Why do I have to see the people who did this to me again?