“Dakota.”
“What is your date of birth?”
“8/30/96.”
“Dakota, can I ask you a few questions in private?” the doctor asks before suspiciously looking over at Carson, causing my panic to spike.
“It-it wasn’t him. He can stay. Carson brought me here when I showed up at his doorstep like this.” I try to take a deep, calming breath, but it gets caught in my throat as pain slices its way through my chest.
The doctor pauses, chewing the inside of her cheek as she assesses the two of us. She seems to believe me, but she also knows someone did this to me.
“Alright. Your injuries were quite extensive. Your left lung collapsed upon your arrival. That, along with the three broken ribs on your left side, may make breathing painful, so we’ll get you some more morphine. Your left kidney has a renal hematoma, also known as a bruised kidney. We’re monitoring it for internal bleeding. You also had several lacerations that required stitches,” the doctor explains before asking, “Dakota, do you feel safe?”
“Right now, yes.”
“Do you feel safe at home?”
I don’t verbalize my answer; instead, I slightly shake my head at her.
“Did someone you live with do this to you?”
Lowering my head, I’m too ashamed to look her in the eyes when I answer. “Yes,” I whisper.
Carson gives my hand another reassuring squeeze, giving me the courage to speak my truth.
“My husband, Aaron Ackerman, did this to me.”
“Thank you for telling me. Dakota, do you feel comfortable answering a few more questions?”
I nod my head in response.
“Perhaps I could ask you these questions in private?” The doctor looks over at Carson again, this time less suspiciously.
In this moment, Carson feels like my lifeline. “He can stay, if that’s alright.”
“That’s okay, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable. Some of these questions will be quite personal.”
“I understand.” Carson and I exchange looks, and it’s as if a conversation passes between the two of us.
Are you okay with staying here?
I’ll be here as long as you need me.
“Okay. Do you recall passing out or being unconscious for any amount of time during the assault?”
Wincing at that word and the flashback of the look on Aaron’s face it brings, I reply, “No. The only time I recall being unconscious was when I was brought here.”
“Was any part of the assault sexual in nature? Would you like us to run a rape kit?”
At that question, Carson goes completely rigid beside me.
“No,” I answer truthfully. “I don’t need a rape kit. Aaron didn’t sexually assault me.”
Dr. Frederick’s features soften with sympathy. “Thank you for answering my questions, Dakota. There is also a police officer here to ask you a few questions. Do you feel comfortable answering them now, or would you like me to ask him to let you rest and return later?” Fear and panic slither their way back up my spine like vipers ready to strike.
“I’d like to rest, if that’s okay,” I whisper, my voice laced with unease.
“Okay. We’ll be keeping you overnight for monitoring. Do you have any questions for me at this time?” she asks.
