Andrew's POV
Sharp pains shot through my body as I slowly opened my eyes. I winced as my head throbbed mercilessly while the rest of my body felt pinned beneath an invisible weight… like a giant had decided to use me as a mattress.
This wasn't the effect of alcohol. A simple hangover should have been it, but what I was feeling was way beyond that.
I tried sitting up slowly so as not to upset the imaginary big man on top of me, but the moment I attempted it, an excruciating pain pierced through the muscles of my neck, sending me right back on the bed with a grunt escaping my lips.
"Did I jump down from a cliff or something?" I asked myself, perplexed.
"No, you didn't," a voice answered calmly.
I followed the direction of the voice and caught sight of a set of beautiful brown eyes staring back at me.
Did I die and go to heaven?
Probably not. I was in too much pain for that.
"You shouldn't be trying to sit up. You're only hurting yourself."
I frowned at her. "Who are you?"
"A ragged doll you can use and toss away, I guess," she said with a shrug.
"Excuse me?" I asked, confused.
That was when I noticed my surroundings.
"Wait, am I in a hospital?"
I took in the room. An ugly white table. A creaky iron bed with bland covers. A monitor. Annoying plain curtains. Things I could not name.
What am I doing in a hospital?
I shifted my gaze back to the lady, searching my mind for a name, a memory, anything. I would have remembered a face like that.
"Who are you?" I asked again, more confused than I was before.
Her frown deepened. She looked at me with something close to contempt.
"You seriously don't remember, do you?" she asked skeptically.
"Remember what exactly?"
"I'm the girl you tried to rape last night."
The words landed in the room and stayed there.
I heard them. I understood the individual meaning of each one. But my brain, still sluggish and waterlogged, refused to assemble them into something that had anything to do with me.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you and your friend cornered me on the road and tried to rape me, you bastard," she spat, slowly standing up from the stool.
"Hey, back up. What the hell are you talking about?"
"You tried to rape me!" she said sharply, then immediately dropped her voice, darting her eyes to the door. When she looked back at me, her eyes were red with unshed tears.
"I…I… don't understand…"
And then it hit me.
Hard.
It had all seemed foggy and distorted. But slowly, the images began slipping back.
Me. Paul. The party. The girl on the road. The tugging. The force. The pain.
It was all real.
The images came in flashes, each one jumping in and out, faster and faster, until they were spinning and overlapping, making a sound like rushing wind inside my skull. I pressed both hands to my head to stop the dizziness.
It was me. I had done that. I was in every one of those images.
"They say you are your truest self when you're drunk," she said, stepping closer until she was right in my face. "So which one were you? The one who stopped… or the one who came after me in the first place?"
I stared at her. Still in shock. Unable to move my tongue.
"I'm here because I couldn't bring myself to report you, even though that's exactly what I should have done. I made a decision to let you walk away from this, and I'm not even sure it's the right one."
She stopped and swiped at a tear.
"You almost broke something in me that cannot be fixed. Do you understand that? Not almost, you would have. If things had gone differently… you would have."
I had nothing to say to that. There was nothing to say.
She straightened, smoothing her dress with the back of her hand, then looked at me again.
"You should be rotting in a cell right now. Everyone should know what you did. But I didn't let that happen."
She turned and walked toward the door,
then stopped and looked back at me.
"Today, I've shown you mercy. I don't know why. Maybe I'll regret it. But please… don't do this to anyone else. Whatever you're running from, whatever darkness you were carrying last night, find another way to carry it. Not like this."
She closed her eyes and exhaled.
"I told everyone that thugs attacked us on our way back from study night."
She then opened the door and left.
I had no words. Not one. I wanted to call her back but my mouth wouldn't move.
For several minutes I kept my eyes shut, wishing it was all a dream, but when I opened them, the room was still there, and I was still in it.
I tried to sit up. The pain sent me straight back down.
I deserved that. I deserve every pain and more.
The door flew open and my mum rushed in, already in tears before she had even properly seen me. She ran straight to me and began pressing kisses all over my face. "Oh my baby, thank God you're okay. I don't know what I would've done if anything had happened to you." She sobbed.
"Mum, stop! I'm okay now." I said irritably.
My dad came in behind her. He stood near the door and looked me over, accessing the seriousness of my situation. When he was satisfied I wasn't at death's door, he finally spoke.
"What were you thinking? Why were you fighting when you were outnumbered?" he asked, his voice slightly raised.
I wanted to stick to the lie the lady had made up, but I couldn't bring myself to. Instead, I shut my eyes and listened to Dad go on and on, hoping he would eventually let it drop. But knowing my father, he wouldn't.
"You were trying to play hero and nearly left your family behind," he said. And then, because he could never help himself, he kept going. He said a whole lot of things, some of which I was used to, and some that were brutally hurtful. But I let it all wash over me. I deserved them.
Beside me, my mother pleaded with him to stop, reminding him that I was injured and that this wasn't the time.
I let out a slow breath of relief when Vincent walked in. His presence eventually eased dad up.
Vincent pulled Dad aside and said a few words. That was all it ever took. Dad respected Vincent in a way he never did anyone else. He always saw himself in him, the version of himself he was proudest of.
I knew my brother better than that though. He endured Dad's expectations because leaving them entirely was not yet an option. He felt the cage the same way I did. He was just better at not showing it. He always wanted to run for the hills whenever he was with Dad, hating the pressure and all the showing off. Vincent loved his profession alright, but just like me, he felt controlled.
Looking at them converse in my hospital room, then at my mum sniffing at the corner made everything real again. God! I tried to rape someone last night.
The thought left a nauseating taste in my mouth.
"Hey Mum, come on, let's give him space. The doctor said he needed his rest." Vincent said, coming over to peel her gently off my bed.
"He would be fine, right?" she asked Vincent, hesitating to leave me alone.
"Yes, Mum," Vincent assured, and led her and Dad outside.
The door closed behind them.
A moment later it opened again. Vincent entered alone. The second he crossed the room and stopped in front of me, I saw it. The clenched jaw, the rigidity in his demeanor, and an intensity in his stare that I knew all too well.
He was mad at me. More than mad. He was a volcano on the verge of erupting. And somehow, I knew the reason for his anger had little to do with the hole in my neck.
I braced myself.