It had been four weeks now since Lane had raped her in her office. Four weeks and she was still waking up, drenched in sweat, screaming for him to let her go, all the while unable to utter a syllable as he pressed his palm to her mouth.
She was breathing quickly as her heart followed suit and dashed alongside her breaths. She opened her eyes and simultaneously got up to a sitting position in her bed. The light at her bed stand was turned on. She was scared to sleep in the dark. She let out a sob, and tossed her blankets aside.
It was 4AM and she knew this was it for her night's sleep. The first couple of nights she tried to use the extra time to catch up on her medical journals, but she was too preoccupied and the medical text wasn't the proper material to keep her distracted. She decided to take a leave of absence once the panic attacks and the lack of sleep were beginning to affect her work. Nobody at work knew. Zach figured there was something going on as he witnessed her loss of control, but he was a good friend and a good doctor and he understood there were things he shouldn't ask.
The problem was, she couldn't stay away forever. A few weeks, here and there, were acceptable. More than that would draw too much attention. Thus, she decided to go back today.
The thought of walking back into her office sent shivers through her spine. Her skin became all prickly and she felt faint. No. She felt nauseous. God! There was no way she would be able to go back to her office like this!
She had heard of PTSD reactions, yet, she thought this was somewhat more severe than usual. She gulped in some air and went to the bathroom to search for some anti-sickness pills. She had to go back today, by hook or by crook!
9:00 AM, later that day.
Putting on a brave face, Dawn Bell stepped into the hospital lobby, trying her darnest to make it seem as if it were business as usual.
No sooner had she entered, that she spotted Lane standing in line at the coffee stand. Her heart lost a beat and she felt the ground about to pull from below her.
"Hey there," She felt a strong hand get a grip on her arm. "Whoa."
It was Charlie. Dammit! Losing control in front of Charlie—just what she needed!
"Thanks," she said as she regained her composure.
He gave her the Charlie Harris concerned doctor look. "You alright?"
"I'm fine," she retorted in what she hoped was a pissed enough voice. She had to make sure he didn't find out about what had happened to her. There was no way he could find out.
"OK," he said, sounding somewhat offended as he let go of her arm. "I'll be on my way, then."
She felt bad about this, but her ploy worked.
She began walking again towards her office. She was crossing the hospital lobby when she heard her name being called by no other than the perpetrator himself.
"It's good to see you, Dr. Bell," Lane's snake of a voice said behind her.
Her heart began to beat faster. She had to get a grip over her emotions or at least get away from him as quickly as possible before she broke down.
Her mind debated: Should she respond to him or ignore him?
She chose to ignore him and continued her steady pace forward, but he would not let go.
"Didn't they teach you any manners where you came from, doctor?"
Move on, she told herself. If you ignore him, he will eventually go away.
She was wrong.
"I'm talking to you," Lane said as he grabbed her arm firmly.
Her tactic failed miserably.
Adrenaline was flowing through her entire body. Her heart threatened to explode right out of her chest as she turned to face her attacker. "Take your hand off of me," she hissed through gritted teeth as she stared directly into his eyes.
He stared back at her but did not loosen his grip. He gave her a crooked smile. "And to think that just a few weeks ago you couldn't stop touching me."
This man was pure evil. How come she hadn't seen this before? Her need for love and company overcame her senses and now she was paying for it.
"Let go of me or I will scream," she said in what she hoped was a convincing enough tone.
It was. He let go.
She didn't wait for his retort. She hurriedly rushed through the lobby and as soon as she had cleared it, she made a dash for the nearest bathroom, but she was unable to make it on time. She felt weak and dizzy and a strong feeling of nausea took over. She collapsed to her knees and heaved the contents of her stomach just outside the bathroom door.
It was so embarrassing. So humiliating.
She was still feeling weak and her legs just wouldn't obey her. She was shivering from the adrenaline that was coursing through her veins and her clothes felt sticky from the sweat she was soaked in. She was a complete mess.
To add to her misery, the only person in the corridor at that time was no other than Charlie Harris.
Her ex-husband rushed to her side to give her a helping hand and she had no strength left to resist.
He ushered her to a nearby waiting lounge and she gladly landed like a sack of potatoes into the first couch she encountered.
Harris instantly sat beside her and had grabbed her wrist to take her pulse. She knew would be racing, but then, that was normal for somebody who had just let go of her stomach contents. Thank God he hadn't felt her pulse just a couple of minutes ago at the lobby, or he would have had alarm bells ringing.
He gave her a worried stare.
She shrugged. "Stomach flu?"
He nodded. "Could be, but you have no fever."
"It's not an uncommon presentation," she responded.
"I guess," he replied, but she could hear the sound to skepticism lining his voice.
She had had enough of the doctor chit chat. It was time to move on and get this day over with. She got up and straightaway regretted it. The world began to tilt. She couldn't figure out which was the right direction. She felt herself being pulled back to what she assumed was down.
"I'm thinking maybe you should see a doctor?" Charlie voiced after he got her back on the couch.
She sighed. This day was just getting worse by the second and it hadn't even begun.
"I will get you a lovely chariot with wheels and we will go to the land of emergency room, then." Charlie said as he got up.
He was gone for about a minute. When he returned he helped her into the wheelchair and she finally succumbed to her situation. She could just claim she had eaten something that had gone bad. Of course, she knew that wasn't the case. She hardly had an appetite the past week and she was living on plain toast and tea mostly. This morning she had skipped the toast entirely after the nausea bout she had felt at the early hours of dawn. All she had was lukewarm tea.
She was worried. If this was PTSD, she won't be able to function as a surgeon until it was resolved, if ever. She was beginning to hate Lane even more with every thought she was having.
She had a reputation to maintain. She was a surgeon. People's lives depended on her and if she couldn't function, it would be the end of her career.
She didn't look up as Charlie wheeled her through the corridors. Hopefully people wouldn't notice it was her sitting in that chair. She felt so ashamed. She hated feeling weak. She didn't want people to feel sorry for her or even worried about her. When Charlie gave her that concerned stare, it made her cringe. She was always an independent woman. Even when they were married, she didn't let him run the show. She had to be the boss, she had to have the last word. She was the big cheese and that was what eventually broke their marriage. She couldn't help it. That is who she is, and being this way also helped her maintain her status in the hospital.
Now, feeling so weak and the thought that this was caused by a man who had raped her, all of this just made her feel like she would be much better buried somewhere deep below the ground. Anything would be better than to have these horrible panic attacks, and this horrid feeling of being so small and vulnerable. She felt crippled. In a way it was becoming that right now she was being wheeled in a chair. She did feel like somebody had chopped a part of her. She just didn't know if she could get it back.
Finally they were in the ER. The "ride of shame" seemed to take forever, although they had just gone two corridors. Thankfully, it was uneventful.
"Zach," Charlie motioned to Dr. Miller.
Zach, who had just turned around as they entered, quickly took over the situation. "OK. I have a nice private curtain for you, young lady," he said as he approached them and took over the wheelchair handles from Charlie.
He rushed her into a cubicle and helped her onto the bed. She was still feeling woozy and she just lay back and let them take over.
"What's going on?" Zach was asking Charlie.
Charlie was talking over her head, "weakness, rapid pulse, vomiting, no fever," he spat the bullet.
It was strange being so out of control over your life and body. She felt so weak that she wasn't even able to tell Zach what was wrong with her. If not for Charlie—suddenly a strong wave of nausea grabbed her and she let out a groan. Zach quickly stuck the emesis basin under her chin and she threw up again. All the while, Charlie was brushing her hair with his hand to keep it out of the way.
When the vomiting subsided she collapsed back into the pillow, completely drained. She felt tired and she was gradually beginning to doze off.
She heard the sound of a zipper opening. She could smell his palm on her face, his breath on her neck, the pushing and shoving of his—
"Hey! Hey!"
"Huh?!" What was going on? Where was she?
She was confused. She tried to open her eyes but the light was so bright. She had to get accustomed to it.
"Dawn?"
"Huh?" She knew this voice. It just didn't fit in with anything.
"Dawn? Can you hear me?" It was Zach.
"Ahm… Yes… Zach?" Still confused. "What happened? Where am I?"
"You're in Hope Zion," he replied. "In the Emergency Room, to be precise," he continued. "Charlie brought you in. Said you had collapsed and that you were weak, dizzy and vomiting."
Dawn finally felt she could open her eyes. As she opened them Zach had grabbed the pen light and was about to examine them. She quickly averted her gaze.
"Oh, c'mon! Don't do that!" Zach was disgruntled.
"I don't need a neuro exam, Zach."
He wasn't happy with that. "I run this joint, and I think you do. A moment ago you had no clue where you were and what was happening."
"I was asleep. This isn't exactly the usual place I sleep in, so yes, I was somewhat confused about my surroundings!" she responded irritatedly.
"You were asleep?!" Zach seemed both surprised and concerned at the same time.
"Yes, I was." Dawn was perplexed with his odd response.
"It's just that—"
Dawn realized what had happened and felt the urge to curl into a tiny ball. Zach had witnessed her in her nightmare state. Yes, this day just kept getting better and better. NOT.
She cut him short. "I was dreaming. Please let it go," she said to him in what was part order, part plea.
He gave her a dissatisfied, concerned look and sighed.
She sighed, too, and stared ahead of him. Too many worried faces in one day. If she had felt better, she would have gone home, but as it was, she was still feeling lousy.
"We took some bloods, and I would like in the meantime to get some fluids into you, so I'm going to give you an IV access."
Dawn was glad Zach was taking care of things and not sending for a nurse. He had excellent people skills which made her wonder how come he was divorced.
She began dozing off again, only to be woken again by Zach.
"We have your results back and I believe I know the cause of your symptoms."
He was wearing a silly grin on his face and Dawn couldn't figure out why her blood results made him smile. Being sick wasn't something you smiled about.
"What do I have?"
"A baby!" he said with joy and elation.
Dawn felt a kick in the belly. "NO!" she let out in utter shock.
Zach didn't expect her response. He opened his mouth to respond, and then shut it up.
Tears ran down her face. Of all the bad luck in the world! She wanted a child. She wanted to be a mother. She had just been told she had a very slim chance of getting pregnant, and this man who had raped her, he, of all people, manages to get her pregnant, and to think that she didn't even bother to check since she knew the possibility was virtually zero. Yes, somebody up there was having a great big laugh at her expense. Everything was spiraling out of control and down the drain.
Zach grabbed a stool and sat beside her. "I'm sorry."
Thoughts were rushing through her mind. What should she do? This might be her only chance of becoming a mother. Should she terminate and thus never know what this could be like? But to have a child as a result of rape? Would she be able to love such a child, knowing that his or her father molested her?
"What am I going to do?" she asked.
It wasn't directed at Zach. It was just her thoughts spoken out loud, yet Zach responded. "Don't rush this decision. You still have time, just don't make a decision you might regret for the rest of your life."
It was just that each decision could be the one she would regret. What a fucking mess.
If it wasn't enough, as if on cue, another strong bout of nausea took over her body. Once again Zach shoved the emesis basin at her face. She heaved and heaved but by now, she had nothing solid left in her. Zach took away the basin and went out. He returned a couple of minutes later with a syringe.
"Compazine?"
He nodded as he pushed the syringe's plunger down into her IV port. "This should help."
"Thanks," she said, her voice raspy from the repeated vomiting.
"I think you should rest. Do you want me to get you something to help you sleep?"
It was a good idea. She nodded assent.
The ER, Later in the Day
"Hey," a cheery voice said.
Dawn Bell gradually opened her eyes and took in her bearings. Hospital. Hospital bed. ER. Charlie.
Charlie Harris smiled at her. "Feeling better?"
She didn't quite know. "Maybe." She rasped.
Charlie handed her a cup of water with a straw. She drank eagerly. Her mouth felt parched.
"How long did I sleep?"
"Dunno. I was in surgery most of the day."
"What time is it?"
"Six PM."
Dawn was shocked. She'd been asleep most of the day. She actually felt a little better. She got up. The dizziness was gone. So was the nausea. Probably still under the effect of the Compazine. Well, thank the Lord for drugs.
"I think I should go home. Can you call Zach?"
Charlie popped out and a couple of minutes later he was back with Zach.
Now came the awkward part. There was no way she was telling Charlie about the pregnancy. The guy would figure out things pretty soon. How was she going to talk to Zach with Charlie in the cubicle?
But Zach was already on top of it. He sent Charlie out on an errand, to get Dawn a clean pair of scrubs as her clothes were soiled with vomit and thus they could speak in private.
"Here are prescriptions for Compazine and Ambien. Just take them if the need arises. Also, a referral to a support group on the other side of town—"
"Forget it, Zach, I—"
"Don't be an idiot! You like this job and if you don't take care of this, it will just get worse, and since I like you, I can't just stand by and let it happen."
Dawn opened her mouth but Zach signed for her to shut up and listen. "Yes, I know you hate getting help. You hate feeling out of control and you are used to be on top of everything, but right now you are not, and this is the only way you can try and regain all that you have lost, so suck it up and go get help!"
"But—"
"No buts!"
She sighed.
Charlie was back with fresh scrubs.
Both doctors left her alone to get dressed. Once she was ready Charlie offered to drive her home. She graciously accepted.
As she was leaving, she gave Zach a strong hug.