TW for mentions of physical/verbal abuse, some swearing

The past few days had been a whirl for Bobbi. After she had told Detective Hartley about her dad, things felt like they had been moving at super speed. The detective had been back a few times, once with another police officer, and they asked her a bunch of questions about her dad and what life was like with him. She hadn't wanted to say much, but Detective Hartley told her that it was important for her to tell the truth – the whole truth – so that the police could have a clear idea about what her dad was like. She felt bad the whole time, like she was snitching on him, and she couldn't shake the suffocating fear that somehow, he would find out what she was doing. Still, she knew it was the right thing to do, and Detective Hartley had promised her that she would be safe, so she told them. She told them everything.

She told them about how her mother had run off when she eight years old, and how ever since then her dad had been bitter and short-tempered. She told them about how she cooked all the meals, and cleaned the house, and did the laundry, and everything else a parent was supposed to be in charge of. She told them about her strict curfew, and about how she wasn't allowed to bring friends home, and about all the other impossible rules she was supposed to follow. Then it got to the hard part. She had to tell them about how angry her dad got, all the time, over every little thing, from the TV being on the wrong channel when he turned it on to his dinner not being served on time to the creases in his work pants not being perfectly straight. She had to tell them about how he yelled, the horrible things he called her, how he would say that she was just like her useless, no good mother.

She had to tell them about how, when the yelling wasn't enough, he would start to use his fists to get his point across, or his belt, or whatever happened to be in his hands at the time. The TV remote, chucked at her head, a dinner plate smashed against a cabinet, the iron swung at her shoulder. She showed them the chunky white scar from where the searing metal had burned her, and the police officer got a bad look on his face. His eyes went wide, and his mouth went tight, like he felt sick. Maybe that was a sad face, or an afraid face. She couldn't quite tell. Detective Hartley kept her normal face, so Bobbi focused on her as she told them the rest.

She told them about how she lied to her friends and teachers about how things were at home, how she made excuses for why her dad never came to parent-teacher conferences or soccer games, how she wore long sleeves and used makeup to hide most of her bruises and blamed soccer for the ones she couldn't conceal. She told them the truth about what had happened the day she was brought to the hospital, and she told them about how, until that day with the bat, she had never fought back. Because she knew how dangerous it would be. Because she knew, deep down, that she probably deserved everything that he said and did.

Detective Hartley had thanked her for being honest, and told her that the police were going to make sure that her dad never hurt her again. Bobbi wasn't sure she believed that was true, but she did believe that Detective Hartley was going to try.

The second time Detective Hartley came back, a day later, she had a woman with her who had square glasses and long dark hair with red streaks in it.

"Hi Bobbi, I'm Victoria Hand. I work for Social Services and I'm a friend of Detective Hartley's here. She told me a little bit about what's happened to you, and I was hoping I could ask you a few questions."

Bobbi didn't want to answer any more questions about her dad, but she knew that the only thing that would probably stop the endless parade of people coming into her hospital room was going to be giving them what they wanted.

"Who lives at your home with you?"

"Just me and my dad."

"No pets or siblings?"

"No."

"What about school? Do you like school?" the woman, Miss Hand, asked.

"Yeah, school is good. I have friends there. I play soccer, I'm in some clubs. I have almost all As."

"That's fantastic," Miss Hand smiled. Bobbi wanted to smile back, but she still felt uneasy. She didn't understand why she was being asked these questions. They felt dumb.

"What are some of your favorite things to eat?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Bobbi snapped. She apologized quickly, looking down at her lap. She hadn't meant to use such a harsh tone.

"It's all right, Bobbi. That's a fair question. Really I'm just trying to get to know you a little bit, get an idea about what your life looks like from day to day."

"Well I don't really have a favorite food. Usually I just make easy things, like pasta or eggs or stuff in a crockpot. I tried to make a meatloaf one time, but my dad didn't like it, so I got in trouble."

"Do you get in trouble a lot at home?" Trouble. Trouble. She was going to be in so much trouble. She felt like a little kid getting caught doing something wrong. Bobbi felt her ears grow warm with embarrassment.

"I guess."

"What happens when you get in trouble, usually?"

"I already told the police," Bobbi said, looking over to Detective Hartley. "They already know what I said, didn't they tell you before you got here?"

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just a part of my job to ask, and to hear it from you directly." The corners of Miss Hand's mouth were pulled down. She seemed like she did feel sorry for having to ask. Taking as deep a breath as she could without hurting her chest, Bobbi recounted some of the things her father had done over the years.

"For how long has your father been violent with you, Bobbi?" Miss Hand asked.

"Usually just a few minutes at a time," Bobbi said flatly. She was starting to feel tired. It was getting easier to breathe and talk, but it still wore her out to work too hard at either. Miss Hand shook her head.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I wanted to know for many years has he been hurting you, off and on. How old were you the first time he hurt you?"

"Oh." Bobbi furrowed her brow, trying to remember. "I don't know. Probably right after my mom left. He was really mad when she went away and didn't take me with her." Miss Hand didn't say anything, but made a note in a folder she was holding.

"And how many times a week does this happen?"

Bobbi shrugged slightly, using the shoulder on the side of her body that had fewer sore ribs. "I don't know, sometimes three or four, sometimes every day. It usually just depends on how mad he is and how much he drinks that day." Miss Hand made another note. Bobbi tried to stay focused on the serious-seeming woman, but her eyes were getting heavy, and her breathing was becoming shallow and painful. Fortunately, both women seemed to notice, and Miss Hand closed her folder.

"Thank you, Bobbi. I appreciate you talking with me. We've opened an investigation into your father, and I'm in the process of trying to find you a place to stay once you're released from the hospital. I'll be back in a day or two to update you. I hope you know that my top priority right now is your health and safety." Bobbi leaned back onto her bed, nodding slightly. She didn't like the social worker very much, but she believed that she was trying her best.

"See ya, kid," Detective Hartley waved. "I heard you're getting surgery on that knee tomorrow. Good luck." Bobbi arranged her face into a smile and returned the wave as both women left the room. She was nervous about the surgery, but Alice the nurse had told her that it would help fix her knee and that it was a pretty easy surgery because the fracture was "clean," whatever that meant. As she thought about her impending procedure, her hands twitched at her sides. She had been without her batons for almost a week, and she desperately wanted something to twirl. It was bad enough that she was stuck in a bed and couldn't pace or walk or run, but not being able to spin the heavy wooden rods that she had made for herself in shop class two years ago was driving her crazy. Moving around helped her to think, to stay calm. It was one of the reasons she still played soccer, even though it made her schedule hectic and her dad grouchy. She loved the feeling of tearing down the field, chasing after a loose ball, the wind on her face and her legs pumping hard. She squeezed her eyes shut, warding off the tears that were threatening to come at the prospect of never being able to run again. She hoped that whatever the doctors did tomorrow in the operating room would be enough to get her back on her feet before long.

When she awoke post-surgery the next afternoon, she felt as groggy and confused as she had when she first arrived in the hospital. Her whole right leg was numb, and she was thirsty. There was a roaring in her ears, and her mouth had that same, cottony feeling. At least her tongue didn't feel too big, and she was breathing without a tube up her nose. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her thoughts. Something felt different, felt wrong. There was a kind of electricity in the air, some kind of unnamed tension. That's when she heard it. His voice. He was here, and he was angry.

"What do mean, I can't go back there? I'm her father! You told me last week I could bring her home today, and now I can't even see her? She's my kid, goddammit!" The blood in her veins turned to ice, and her chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice grip. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see. Everything was fuzzy. He was here. Why was he here?

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I have strict instructions not to let anyone back to see that patient aside from a very short, approved list."

"This is ridiculous. You people are running a sham, you know that? First the goddamn cops show up at my house asking all kinds of bullshit questions, and now I can't get my kid?"

"The patient isn't even scheduled for release today, sir. She just had surgery this morning."

"Surgery? What for? I didn't approve any surgery, and I'm sure as hell not paying for any!" She was crying, her hands clawing at the tubes and wires she was still hooked up to. She had to get away from him. They had lied, they had all lied. He was here and he was going to kill her for telling.

"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Like hell you are. Get out of my way!" The sickening sound of knuckles against face rang out, and a cry of pain bounced off of the sterile walls and floor. She felt nauseous, or like she was going to pass out. Giving up on trying to detach herself from the machines, she moved instead to swing her legs off the bed and stand. Pain exploded in her ribs, but she forced herself to sit up and put her feet on the floor. She still couldn't feel her right leg, but she hoped it was in place along with her left one. With tremendous effort, she heaved herself off of the bed. For a split second, she was standing, and she had visions of springing away from the hospital and her father and never looking back. Then she was on the floor, her daydream crashing down with the rest of her body. She cried out in pain as she hit the ground, her sore muscles and bones protesting the harsh effects of gravity. Her face was pressed into the cold tile, and all she could do was lie there. Lie there and cry, because she knew what was coming.

She was still crying when the first set of feet appeared in the doorway. She tried to move away, but barely made it an inch before strong hands eased her up and back into bed. In her mind's eye she could see his bloated, red face, his eyes practically rolling and the spittle flying from the corners of his mouth. It took several panicked minutes before she realized it was Monica the nurse, not her father, who had come in and picked her up, but even that wasn't enough to calm her down. She couldn't breathe, and her hands were fluttering away, trying to swat all of the bad feelings out of the air.

"Shh, honey, it's okay. You need to stay in bed. You just got out of surgery, and everything is fine. He can't come back here, security took him away. It's okay, honey. It's okay." Bobbi couldn't see past her own terror, but suddenly the familiar feeling of something entering her veins washed over her, and she was plunged back into sleep.