Thrust Into His Arms

GWENETH

I wake up with a terrible headache and instantly tried sitting up. It was so damn hard that I was starting to think that I am paralyzed. "You are finally awake." I hear someone say, the feminine voice cutting through the fog of panic that was starting to form from waking up to finding myself in a different place. I look around and notice that I was in the infirmary.

How had I gotten here? Wasn’t I in a restroom stall?

"Are you okay? How are you feeling?" She asked, coming into my line of sight. That concern is professional, not out of human feelings or whatever. The people here do not have any humane qualities at all.

I force myself into a sitting position, not giving her an answer. I squeeze my eyes shut when she suddenly shines a torch on one of them. She examines me, randomly touching my arms and legs and inspecting them. The sudden touch made me initially flinch, but she didn’t care about that and continued her inspection of me.

I noticed how she seems new and unfamiliar. Not that I’m a regular here to actually know if she is new or not. It’s just that she is way younger compared to the others on the school medical team. "Sorry for that, I just wanted to double-check if you really don’t have any injuries." She explains after she finishes.

"How did I get here?" I ask weakly, my voice coming out hoarse and unrecognizable. It almost hurts to speak. The brutal memory what Calix did invades my mind, and my stomach reacted, twisting with shame and disgust. I press my hand on it.

"Someone found you passed out in a restroom stall and raised an alarm." She crosses her arms, giving me a hard stare for seconds before she asked,

"Well, what happened?" I still kept quiet, not knowing what response that I could possibly give to that. She sighs,

"Look, everyone has bad days and misfortunes. Pick yourself up from whatever it is, it will all pass."

It would all pass? That was I also told myself when it first started. But today, it got a lot worse than I ever could imagine.

What kind of a bad day would involve being violated and assaulted? Jumping into the role of advisor and counselor as if she has any clue what had happened to me.

I quickly bit on my lower lip, drawing back the hot tears that were threatening to fall down my cheeks again. I shouldn’t break down in front of her. "Should I get you a glass of water?" She asked very softly this time. I barely nod in response. She padded to the water dispenser on the far side close to the wall and returned holding a glass of water and hands it to me. "Here."

I simply bowed my head, wordlessly thanking her as I took it with quivering hands. The glass clinks against my teeth as I put it to my mouth and drank from it. The cool liquid instantly soothes my burning throat. I gulped it all down, and then a cold shudder ran through my system when I realized. . .

I shove the glass in her hands and sprint off the bed, hand clamped tightly over my mouth, one on my stomach. She understood the gesture and quickly points to a door. "There. There!"

I crashed inside and retch up every bit of the water I just drank into the sink.

I did not realize that the nurse was besides me until I felt a hand rubbing on my back, her voice followed, soothingly whispering that it was okay.

I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t in the mood for comfort or physical touch but couldn’t.

I poured water on my face, and gargled repeatedly, stopping when I did not have any strength to continue. Dry heaving and shaking.

She suddenly turns me to face her, dabbing a paper towel at my face. "Thank you." I mumbled out, wanting to leave but she stops me. "Wait. Let me get one more look at you." She says, touching my face, and observing me down from head to toe with a scrutinizing gaze.

I thought she would actually see my misery. But instead she asks, "Are you pregnant?"

"What? No!" The outrageously absurd question forces my voice to come out strong to deny. She tilts her head, her observing look doubling, "That must be it.

You fainting, looking so pale, and now vomiting. Those are all symptoms of pregnancy."

"Thanks for your help." I angrily mutter, she stops me again as I try to leave.

"Wait, look. I can say I know how you must be feeling okay. I have viscerally been there through my older sister who got pregnant ten years ago at sixteen.

But it’s not the end of the world or your life. Getting pregnant as a teenager is not a death sentence."

I was forced to listen to her talk as I did not have the energy to explain that I wasn’t pregnant and that I am on birth control which is effective, just as my moral code but that would soon be broken because it is pretty obvious what next my sadistic bully would do. Where he’d force himself into next.

But then it is good that she misunderstands. If I tell her that isn’t the case, she would obviously pry. And there is no way that I would be getting the forbidden words of the violating act out of my mouth.

She leads me back to the bed, telling me to relax a little longer while she goes on to give a long speech about pregnancy and self-esteem that I barely listened to.

"Can I go now?" I asked when she finished.

"If you’re feeling strong enough, then yes."

I get up to do that but quickly discovered that I am without my schoolbag. Dread slowly starts filling into my system as I thought about where I could have left it and remember. . . .