TW for mentions of violence/physical abuse

She was starting to lose track of how much time she had spent in the room. Alice the nurse had said she got there "yesterday," but Bobbi was sure that particular conversation had to have been at least a day or two ago. She knew that she was asleep for most of the time. It was hard to stay awake, between the pain, the medicine, and the pounding memories that snuck up on her while she was awake. She could sit up a little more now, especially now that she had figured out how to rotate the top half of the bed to help ease her up. She had met more nurses, and even a doctor. She hadn't seen her dad yet, but that was okay. She didn't really want to see him. Every time, the nurses asked her if she remembered what had happened, and every time she just shook her head. It wasn't true, but maybe it didn't count as a lie if she didn't say anything out loud.

One time, she saw Monica the nurse come into the room with another woman, someone who wasn't a doctor or a nurse. She was dressed in a pantsuit, and something shiny was on her hip. Neither woman had noticed that she was awake, so Bobbi turned her face and pretended to sleep. She wasn't sure yet if she wanted to talk to the new person.

"Barbara Morse, age 15. She goes by Bobbi. Her father dropped her off almost three days ago, said she was in a car accident. On paper, her injuries seem consistent with a car crash, but there are some peculiarities that don't quite line up with what we'd expect from a wreck victim. There's also some old injuries that seem to have healed a while ago, some healed fractures, things like that. We've tried to see what she remembers, but she hasn't said a word about what happened. The father hasn't been back to see her since dropping her off, although he has called once to see when she's supposed to be discharged. I don't know, Isabelle, something just doesn't feel right, so we went ahead and made the call to you."

"Of course." That was the new woman's voice. It was a little raspy, but it sounded kind. "I'm glad you did. It never hurts to be overly cautious when it comes to kids."

"I don't know if you'll be able to get much out of her, but I do know you're better trained than we are with things like that."

"We'll see what happens," the new woman said. "I don't want to push things right away, but you never know with situations like these. You said she has a little more time before she's ready for discharge?" Monica the nurse didn't say anything, so Bobbi figured she must have nodded or shaken her head. She felt confused by the conversation that the women were having, and a little nervous, too. It sounded like the nurses weren't buying the car wreck story. Maybe she needed to give them something to throw them off the trail. She started to move around slowly, feigning like she was waking up. She blinked her eyes a few times to give the impression of adjusting eyes, and lifted her head slowly, fixing her eyes on Monica.

"Hi Bobbi, I'm glad you're up," the nurse said, crossing the room to her bedside. "I have to take your blood pressure, and I have someone who'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's okay." Bobbi held out her arm for Monica to cinch it in the Velcro cuff. The sleeves of her hospital gown were short, and revealed a mottled pattern of bruises traveling up from her wrist to her shoulder. Only some of them still hurt really badly. Bobbi hadn't said anything, but she knew some of them had been on her arm long before she had been brought to the hospital. She just hoped that the nurses hadn't noticed.

"Those are some pretty nasty bruises you got there," came the voice that Bobbi had attributed to the new woman. She crossed the room to greet Bobbi and shook hands with her. "My name is Detective Hartley, but you can call me Isabelle, or Izzy, if you want. I'm not picky." Detective Hartley went to sit in the lone chair, making herself comfortable. She was so relaxed it was hard for Bobbi not to feel the same way. Still, though, Bobbi felt like she was on high alert talking to a detective. Detective meant police, and police meant trouble.

"I've had my fair share of bruises like that, being on the force," Detective Hartley shared. "Before that I was an athlete, too, so I was always banged up from a game or a practice. Do you play any sports, Bobbi?"

"I'm on the soccer team at school," Bobbi said, hesitantly. She was caught off guard by the normalcy of Detective Hartley's conversation. She had expected the woman to start grilling her about her injuries, not casual small talk. "I played softball, too, but I decided last spring that I didn't want to do it this year. Too busy."

"Sure, I understand," Detective Hartley nodded. "It's hard for teenagers these days, with school and work and sports and clubs and college apps. Not enough hours in the day, it seems like." Silence fell between the two for a moment, before Detective Hartley started talking again. Her tone was still casual, but Bobbi could tell that there was a shift. She steeled herself for the line of questioning she knew she as in for.

"So, what do you have besides those bruises?" the detective asked. "I heard you're pretty roughed up." Bobbi looked over at Monica, who was finishing up with the blood pressure pump. The nurse gave her an encouraging nod, but Bobbi didn't feel particularly bolstered by the gesture.

"They said my ribs are messed up, and my lung got punctured, but they operated to help fix it. My knee is really screwed up. I can't even move it," she muttered, not looking Detective Hartley or the nurse in the eye.

"Three cracked ribs, one punctured lung, fractured kneecap, minor concussion, and various blunt-force injuries to the face, neck, and arms," Monica supplemented, apparently not impressed with Bobbi's downplaying of her own injuries. "But she's making good progress. We expect to take her off of oxygen tomorrow, and we have a specialist coming to look at her knee later today." Bobbi offered a tight smile to the nurse. She liked Monica well enough, but she didn't appreciate her cutting in.

"Sounds like a doozy," Detective Hartley said. "All that from one car crash?"

"That's what they tell me," Bobbi replied tersely. She felt a prickly sensation building up in her, and her defenses were fully engaged. Detective Hartley was wading into sensitive territory.

"So you don't actually remember the accident?" Detective Hartley asked. "You don't remember how you got hurt?" Bobbi didn't say anything. She didn't like lying, and it was exhausting to have to keep doing it over and over again, but she knew that no one could know the truth. After a moment of deliberation, she just shrugged.

"They said I have a concussion," she offered, hoping that Detective Hartley would take the bait and accept temporary amnesia.

"Was your dad driving when the accident happened? Was he hurt too? Do you remember where you were going that day? I only ask because the police make reports about car accidents, you know. So we were hoping that you could give us some info, since no one has reported a car accident from the day you got hurt." Bobbi's stomach churned. On the one hand, maybe Detective Hartley really was just looking for information about the accident. Unfortunately, Bobbi had none to give. On the other, it seemed pretty clear that Detective Hartley was suspicious of the car wreck story, and Bobbi was starting to feel trapped.

"I… I don't remember," Bobbi said, unable to meet Detective Hartley's gaze. Her voice cracked slightly, and she felt a catch start to build in her throat. She swallowed hard, determined not to cry. That wouldn't help anything.

"Hey, it's okay." Detective Hartley's tone grew softer, and it was obvious that she felt bad for pushing too hard. "I'm just trying to figure out what happened that day. It's my job to keep people safe, and make sure everyone is taken care of. Did you go to school that day? Before the crash, I mean?"

She had gone to school that day. She had gone to school and soccer practice, and had gone out with some girls from the team afterwards for food. She knew she shouldn't have done it, she was already pushing it to be home on time, but she was hungry, and one of her teammates had been teasing her about Mark Lowell, a very handsome 11th grader who worked at the local drive-thru. She didn't want to admit it, but she had been hoping Mark would be there when she agreed to go. She had forgotten it was company league night, where her dad's work had a team that played softball against other offices, which meant she was supposed to be home in time to fix his dinner before he had to go play. She remembered the hard way when she walked through the front door an hour and a half late. He reminded her the hard way. It started with yelling – there was always yelling – and then it moved to fists. That was normal, too. She had gotten good at hiding the bruises over the years. He had been drinking, she could tell by the smell, and he seemed in a particularly bad mood, especially once he found out where she had been and why. She had tried to shield herself from the blows, but her arms and head and face got pummeled. One particular punch had landed squarely on her jaw, sending pain radiating through her whole head. Instinctively, she had lashed out. She hadn't meant to, but she couldn't stop her own hand from taking a swing, trying to push him away from her. That was when he had snapped. Bobbi fought back against jerks at school and hot shots on the soccer field, but she never fought back against him. Until that day. It was all her fault. He got so angry then, and everything became a blur. His gear for the game was near the door, and before she knew what was happening, the bat was in his hand, and then it was smashing against her torso, her leg, anything it could reach. Things got fuzzy after that, that wasn't a lie. She didn't remember how she got from a crumpled heap at her house to the hospital bed. All she remembered was the pain, blow after blow, until everything went dark.

Her throat felt thick, and the corners of her eyes grew hot with tears. She bent her head forward, staring at her lap. It was so hard to keep the truth hidden, but she knew she could never tell. He'd kill her for sure. She just wished everyone would leave her alone.

"Bobbi?" Detective Hartley's voice was tender, and barely above a whisper. "There was no car accident, was there?" Bobbi took a shuddery breath that rattled her aching ribs. The tears that were pooling started to spill over, streaking tracks down the sides of her face. She was so tired of lying. So tired of being afraid. So tired.

Without looking up from her lap, she shook her head the smallest fraction of an inch. Somewhere beside her, Monica inhaled sharply. Bobbi felt her shoulders start to crumple under the weight of her life, of her lies. She just wanted to go to sleep.

"Bobbi, did someone do this to you?" Detective Hartley's voice remained unchanged, despite Bobbi's admission. Tears were falling thick and fast now, but Bobbi didn't make a sound. Maybe if she didn't say a word, it would be like none of this ever happened.

"Was it your dad, Bobbi? Is he the one who's been hurting you?" Yes. For years and years, ever since her mom walked out, ever since he started blaming his daughter, his only child, for all the misfortunes of his life. Over and over, day after day. But she could never say it. She could never tell.

"We can make it stop, Bobbi. We can make sure no one hurts you like this again. But we need to know who did it so we can keep you safe." Safe. Safe. Safe. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt safe. Wouldn't it be nice to feel that way? She wanted it, so desperately, but she was so afraid. Her chest ached from trying to control her breathing, from the secrets inside that were on the verge of spilling out. He nearly killed her this last time. Surely he would do even worse next time if she told. If she didn't tell though, there would always be a next time, and eventually that would get worse no matter what. It would never end.

The thought of living under her dad's thumb, always afraid of him and his anger, until one day he went too far, was starting to suffocate her. And something clicked. She knew something had to change. Something had to be different. And so, with the smallest movement and the biggest courage she could muster, she nodded her head.

Big step for Bobbi. Apologies for any medical terminology or timeline errors, I'm not a doctor (surprise, surprise, right?)