Author's Note: It was very hard for me to write this chapter. Even more than the last one. Not only because of the situation, but because the song featured in this chapter kept playing in my head over and over again…*sniff* I'm not a bad person, really.
Roger ran quickly down the street, which was hard to do while her arms were limply wrapped around his neck, and his other arms were under her knees, to support her. He felt her small body shudder against him.
It had begun to rain. A bright yellow taxi cab sailed past them on the sidewalk, ignoring Roger's upright thumb, sending a small splash of rainwater at their feet.
"Motherfucker," Roger swore, through gritted teeth. He slowed down to the point where he was running quickly down the street, being careful not to slip in the pools of collecting rainwater dribbling down the sidewalk.
He spotted a man a few feet away holding a briefcase, about to enter the cab that had so easily ignored Roger and fled past them.
"Wait!" Roger yelled, running towards them. The man looked up, giving him an odd look.
"Please," Roger panted, "Can I please take this one?"
The man snorted. "Look, buddy, I have a flight I have to make for a business trip and I…"
"Please," Roger pleaded with him, lowering Mimi gentle to her feet, and holding onto her upper arms to help her steady her balance. "My girlfriend's hurt."
"Jesus," the man said under his breath, looking at Mimi. "Alright…I guess I can grab another one." He stepped away from the curb, motioning for them to go inside with his hands. "All yours."
"Thank you," Roger said, almost whispering as he nudged Mimi carefully into the backseat of the vehicle, crawling in beside her.
"Make sure she gets checked out," the man said, with a concerned look furrowing his eyebrows.
"I am," Roger assured him, as he slammed the door shut. "Thanks."
"Where to?" the driver asked Roger.
"The hospital."
"Which one?" the driver asked, impatiently.
"I don't know," Roger's thoughts clambered together, and he was unable to think straight. "The nearest one from here. And hurry, please." He was trying not to sound too panicked. After all, what was there to be panicked about? His girlfriend had only been raped all because he was late to pick her up.
"Stupid fuck," he said through gritted teeth, pounding his fist into the seat in front of him.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing…I'm just…talking to myself. Please, hurry."
"Bueno," the driver replied, stepping onto the pedal.
Spanish. Roger chuckled to himself. Unconsciously, he glanced at the driver's license posted in front of him. Jose Moreno. Five foot two. Brown hair, brown eyes. Jose. The name was Spanish. In any other situation, Mimi would probably have been talking up a storm in fluent Spanish with this Jose. She was good with people. Socially. Roger's eyes wandered down to his lap, where Mimi's head was resting, her eyes closed.
And now look what's happened, Roger screamed at himself. You never should have let her leave the Loft. You knew something wasn't right. But you let her. And now…now…
Roger turned away and swiped at his eye with the back of his hand, feeling embarrassed for crying in front of Mimi, even though her eyes were closed, and her head was turned the other way.
He stared at the rain drizzling down the glass window. Like little fat liquid worms. Or caterpillars. When he was a kid, he and Mark used to joke and say that the droplets of rain slowly seeping its way to the ground looked like sperm. They'd thought it was hilarious at the time. Roger smiled slightly, though he did not find it funny at all now.
He squinted out the window, trying to figure out what street they were on, and how close they were to the hospital. But the rain was so heavy that it blurred his vision, becoming a smear of multi-colored liquid sliding down the glass. Like worms, he thought to himself, humorlessly. Or tears.
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere,
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow,
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
Roger ran his hand gently through Mimi's damp curls, and brushed his finger against her bruised cheek, which felt rough from dried tears and rainwater.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
But when people run in circles it's a very, very
Mad world
Mad world
"We are here," the driver announced, stopping in front of a building. Roger couldn't even make out the name plastered on the sign out front. His vision was watery. Sluggish.
"You gonna pay?" the driver asked, quietly.
Roger snapped back to reality. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, plucked out a couple of bills at random, and flung it blindly towards the taxi driver.
"Oh…this too much," the driver said, shaking his head.
"Keep it," Roger told him. He reached for Mimi's hand.
"Meems?" he asked, gently.
She didn't answer him. She didn't look at him. Her eyes were open, but she stared ahead into space, gazing at something beyond Roger's ability to see. Beyond the rain that was now flooding the streets.
He gripped her arm tightly and hurried with her into the hospital entrance.
"My girlfriend's hurt!" he burst out as he shoved into the waiting room.
The receptionist looked up from her desk and stared at him blankly.
"Didn't you hear me?" Roger exclaimed, impatiently, "My girlfriend…"
"Hon, take a number," the receptionist said, jerking to several people waiting in the cold metal chairs.
Roger gently pulled Mimi over to the front desk. "Please," he whispered. "Can you help me?"
The receptionist frowned as she stared at Mimi. "What happened?"
Roger mumbled something under his breath.
"What?"
"She was raped," Roger hissed, finally able to say the word aloud.
The woman behind the desk chewed her lower lip. "Oh dear," she said, softly. She picked up the clipboard that was resting facedown on her desk, and glanced at it momentarily. "I'll see if we can bump you guys up. Compared to weekdays, we have a lot less injured people today." She looked up at the people who were waiting to be treated, who were all staring at Roger and Mimi, trying not to be too obvious about it.
"Mr. Patterson?"
"Yes?" answered a man, who was holding his wrist limply in his hand.
"Do you think we could bump you back a bit? This young lady's banged up quite a bit."
Roger winced at the words 'Banged up.'
"Aw, miss, my wrist fucking hurts," the man complained.
Roger turned and gave him a pleading glance.
"Well…fine," the man groaned, once he's seen the condition Mimi was in. "Just hurry it up. Or get me some damn painkillers or something."
Roger thanked him and gave the receptionist both his and Mimi's names, and then guided her over to two empty chairs next to each other. He put his arm around her protectively as they settled into their seats. Mimi rested her cheek against his shoulder, and was silent.
Roger worried that she was angry with him. Angry at him for not being there for her. For not being able to protect her.
He squeezed her hand reassuringly, trying to provoke a smile, a frown, something.
Mimi's stony expression remained.
Children waiting for the day they feel good,
Happy birthday, happy birthday
And they feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher, tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me
After what felt like an eternity, the receptionist called out, "Mr. Davis?"
"Finally," Roger grumbled, helping Mimi to her feet. He could feel the eyes of strangers glued to the two of them as they made their way over to the door.
"Follow me," a nurse said to them, with a prim smile.
His arm still around Mimi, Roger glanced uneasily at the people in wheelchairs, hooked up to respirators, and people being carried in on stretchers. He'd always hated hospitals.
"Miss Marquez, from what I understand, you were raped?"
She said the word raped flatly, with little emotion and sympathy.
"Yes" Roger said, when Mimi didn't answer.
The nurse frowned. "We'll have to call an official in here so you can file a report."
Roger blinked.
"A police officer."
"I know," Roger said, snappishly.
Finally, they stopped in front of a door, marked 12B.
Roger started to walk in, when the nurse held out an arm to block him. "Mister Davis, I think your girlfriend would be a bit more comfortable if you stayed outside during this procedure," the nurse said, quietly.
"What procedure?" Roger asked, confused.
The nurse glanced at Mimi, and then said to Roger under her breath, "If she was raped, as you claim, then we have to do a procedure technically referred to as the 'Rape Kit.' It's generally used to find evidence that the event occurred, and of whom the attacker might be."
"How?" Roger asked, bewildered.
"Skin under the fingernails. Stains. Hair on clothes. Traces of semen."
"Okay, I get it," Roger said quickly, feeling nauseated.
The nurse gave him an understanding smile. "You can go into the waiting room. We'll call you back in when you're needed." Without waiting for him to reply, she closed the door abruptly, leaving him alone in the empty hallway.
Roger stared at the closed door for a moment, and then trudged back to the waiting room, shoving his hands into his pockets.
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
But when people run in circles it's a very, very
Mad world
Mad world
Author's Note: It WILL get better. Review. Pretty please?