I try to pull forward any recollection of what might’ve happened that resulted in me lying in the hospital, but my memory is foggy. Fear tightens the muscles in my chest.
“No... my head... and my stomach. And my...I-I feel sore. Everything's blurry.” I touch my head slowly.
"My name is Dr. Moore. It seems you were given something... a drug, likely without your knowledge. We’re running some tests, but the important thing is that you’re safe now.”
“A drug? What do you mean? Did someone...” My voice falters in realization.
"We tried to track down your I.D. to phone someone but couldn’t find it in any of your clothing. It looks like someone tried to hurt you. You were found unconscious. But you’re in good hands now, and we’re going to help you through this. The wounds you came in with were extensive in some areas," She sighs, glancing to the door; a man and woman in police uniforms stand in the entryway of theroom, one with a clipboard in his hand. The look they give me tells me they’re waiting for permission to step in.
I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the tears slipping down my cheeks. The pain and fear mix with confusion as I try to process what she’s saying. I take a shaky breath and open my eyes again.
Dr. Moore squeezes my arm. “It’s going to take time, but you’re going to be okay. You have people here who care about you. The police are going to want to talk to you just to understand what happened and help find out who did this. The rape kit we’ll administer is very straightforward...”
"Eden!" Aiden yells, pulling me away from my thoughts, my foot slamming on the brakes, narrowly avoiding blowing through a red light.
Gasping, I extend my arm out over my brother’s chest.
"Where did you just go?"
Shaking my head, I roll my fingers over my eyes, trying to calm myself down, focusing on reality rather than the memory of that night.
"Nowhere, Aiden," I sigh. "I'm just tired."
Hit with the comforting smell of roasted coffee beans, I point to a couch isolated in the corner of the room, texting Aiden the Wi-Fi password, letting him go and do his own thing.
"Want anything?"
"Anything that will keep me up. I barely slept last night," He sighs, narrowing his eyes at my neck.
"Right," I smile, my throat still swollen.
Zoey waves at me from the counter, ignoring the customer in front of her.
Making my way around the counter, I playfully nudge her to the side, clocking in on the register's tablet.
"Can you make Aiden a double shot of espresso?" I ask, her mouth stuck in a pout as she looks at my brother. He gives her his best doe eyes in hopes she’ll eventually cave.
"Fine," She sighs, rolling her eyes. "I was going to make one for myself anyways."
I don’t find it hard to smile at Zoey as she giggles and makes her way over to the espresso machine. Her apron is covered in pins representing different organizations and causes that some might argue compete with the large, silver cross hanging from her neck. She’s never struggled to have an open mind, which drew me to her instantly. I never felt less than or judged when I was around her.
Back at college, I never had anyone I’d consider a friend. Sure, there were people I saw regularly, but everything always seemed so superficial. It reminded me a lot of my family, which was ironic since I left for college to get as far away from them as possible.
My roommate spent most of her free time shacking up with frat boys any chance she could get, sometimes even bringing them back to our room, locking me out until she was finished. I spent more nights than I care to admit sleeping in the hallway of our dorm. I’m not sure she cared.
I can’t picture Zoey doing anything like that, which is why I’d consider her a friend. And although she makes an effort to go tochurch with her parents every Sunday, I know if she had a choice, she'd say fuck it to organized religion entirely.
Finding her own relationship with God outside the church has always been her mindset.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of a man’s voice. “I’m looking for recommendations. Anything on the menu you’d recommend?”
The sound of coffee beans spilling on the floor draws my attention to Zoey. She does this almost every shift I have with her, but I’m still surprised.
“Sorry!"
The man in front of me is at least six feet tall, with light brown curls and a sweaty, flushed face. A hockey jersey covers his large frame. Freckles like mine dance across his face adding to the charm of his dark blue eyes and friendly smile.
This is exactly the type of boy I would’ve fawned after in high school if I wasn't busy planning a perfect Catholic wedding with Eric.
