Simone suddenly reaches out with a hand, knocking the blanket away, and grabs my fingers. “Please don’t go.”
I move to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping her precious hand in mine. “Not going anywhere, baby.” I probably shouldn’t call her that in front of other people but fuck it. If Simone doesn’t like me calling her baby, she can tell me to stop. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks.
The nurse is holding a gown, and now that the blanket has shifted, I realize that Simone is still in her own clothes. She has on a pink-and-black, pleated, plaid skirt, a pink sweater, and black tights. A pair of pink boots are on the floor at my feet.
I wonder where she was tonight dressed like that. I suspect she was at Surrender. She looks Little. Now that I pay closer attention, I see that her hair is in a ponytail that has almost slid out. A pink bow is barely holding on at the ends.
The nurse asks in a very gentle voice, “Can you change into this gown for me, honey?”
She stares at the gown in the nurse’s outstretched hand. “Why?”
The officer sits in the chair I vacated. “I know you’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now, but it will help if we have pictures of any bruising or scrapes you might have on your body, Simone.”
This isn’t some random officer. She’s a rape-victim advocate. Why didn’t that occur to me? Even though it appears Simone was not raped, she was assaulted. This officer is collecting evidence.
Simone shifts her attention to me. Her bottom lip is quivering.
I hurt for her. My heart is breaking. I have no claim on her, but I intend to. I don’t know what decade I will ever let her out of my sight again—maybe I never will. I have a sudden irrational thought of quitting my damn job at the university so that I don’t have to go back to work in the fall.
I keep her hand in mine and reach with my other to stroke her forehead—it’s the only part of her face I dare touch to avoid hurting her. “I’ll wait in the hallway, baby.”
She shakes her head, gripping my hand tighter. “No. Don’t leave me.”
I lick my lips. My girl needs agency over her own body, and I will not deny her that. “It’s your call, Simone. No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to. Why don’t you let the officer and nurse get some pictures in case they need them to prosecute the guy.”
Her eyes pop out, and she pushes to sitting, wincing. “Prosecute him?” She looks around at each of us as if she hadn’t considered this before now. “But he’s gone. He got away.”
The officer smiles as warmly as possible. It’s her job to remain calm and helpful. “Simone, hopefully, we’ll be able to catch him quickly. His DNA was under your nails. The nurse has already taken the samples, remember?”
“But…” Simone looks to me again. “What if he comes back? What if he kills me next time? Or worse?”
My breath hitches. I know what worse is.
Simone jerks her gaze back to the officer. “What are you going to do? Put this on every news channel so he gets angry and comes back to finish the job?” Her voice is rising. She may sound frantic, but she’s thinking logically, even though it is a sad state of affairs.
I interject, “He’s not going to be able to find you, baby. You’re not going back to your apartment.” I keep my gaze on her. No one else. I’m on her side. Always. Just stating the facts.
She shakes her head and looks toward the officer again. “I’m a smart girl. I know how these things work. My name ends up all over the media. If you’re lucky and manage to pick him up, he gets out on bond in a few days, and I hide for a year until the trial. Then maybe, he gets six months in prison for assault. If he’d raped me, he would get a couple of years at most. If he’d gotten me pregnant, he’d get custody of the fucking baby when he got out.” She’s shouting now. And rightfully so. That last part is a bit of a stretch, but barely. The law is not on her side. “If he’d killed me, he might get a few more years, but in the end, no matter how you slice it, my life is ruined. Not his.”
She’s shaking violently now. My chest hurts.
The officer looks as if she might cry because she knows Simone is right. I’m sure she sees cases like this every day, but I doubt most of the victims are as clear-headed as Simone is.
The woman nods slowly. “You’re right, Simone. The system fucking sucks ass. I hate it. The decision to prosecute is not up to you. It’s up to the state. My job is to collect as much evidence as possible so the state has the best chance of a successful prosecution when they catch him. All I’m asking for is that you let us take pictures so that the evidence will exist in the event of a trial.”
The nurse says nothing. She’s still standing close, holding the gown. This is not something she necessarily deals with every day. She’s trembling. She lifts a hand to her face. I don’t look at her directly, but I guess she’s wiping away tears. I’m barely holding my own back.
Simone glances at me, eyes still wide.
It’s my fucking call. I can see it in her eyes. She’s waiting for me to make the decision here. I look to the officer to make sure I’m not misstating. The last thing I want to do is promise Simone something that isn’t true. “Did she give you a description of her attacker?”
“Yes.”
“And you got the DNA evidence and pictures of her face, right?”
The officer nods again.
“You’ve already got officers out looking for this individual, correct?”
