Riana's Cavatina (Sonata of Love Book 2) Read online

  His lips were warm, but wet—too wet. My nose curled as I noticed he tasted like whiskey and weed. Gross. Then again, it was Dylan McCray. Anyone with a sex drive would be more than happy with this situation. Maybe I don’t have a sex drive. Maybe I’m just being stubborn. Come on, Ri, surely this is what you’re supposed to do.

  Dylan pulled away from the kiss just as I was beginning to submit to it. “Come on.” He grabbed my arm just above my elbow and started to pull me through the house and to the staircase.

  Despite my naivety, and my intoxicated state, I instinctually knew what those stairs were going to lead to. I willed my feet to stay firmly planted in place as I pulled back with my arm. “I…um…I don’t think…” Why can’t I get the words to come out? I don’t want to. No. I won’t go upstairs.

  Dylan’s demeanor softened and he took a step back and placed his hands gently on my hips. “It’s okay Ri. I’m not going to hurt you. I just…” He brushed my hair from the side of my neck and placed a soft kiss under my ear. “Want to get to know you…better.”

  There seemed to be an internal battle that raged within me. My instincts cried out that it was all lies, while my body whispered that his touch felt nice—gentle and safe even. I didn’t know which to listen to and I found myself already at the top landing of the stairs. Seemed my decision had already been made.

  I’m not convinced that I actually made that decision. Or any other decision the rest of the night. I soon found myself in a dark bedroom, under the weight of Dylan as he explored my young body with his much more experienced hands. As my skirt was pushed up to my waist I shook my head. “Dylan. Dylan, no.” I tried to pull my sweater and skirt back down to cover my body.

  “Shhh, Riana. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  That’s when the memories start to fade in and out.

  His grip was firm as he grabbed my face and forced my lips to his. I tasted the salt of my tears along with the mixture of alcohol and drugs on his lips.

  My clothes started to disappear though I don’t remember taking them off. His hands were cold and his breath hot along my skin; causing it to crawl in disgust.

  I yelled out in pain as he forced himself inside me and his fist connected with my face as his other hand tightened around my neck.

  Blackness.

  “Ri? Riana?” I felt someone smooth my hair back away from my face. “Shit. Your mom is going to kill me. Riana, wake up.”

  Everything hurt. I tried to open my eyes, but could only seem to see out of my right eye. I sucked in a breath as I attempted to move. I tried to mentally take stock of myself, my head was throbbing, and my left eye was swollen shut, my throat burned, but worse than all of that was the searing pain in my groin. I choked out a sob as the realization hit me in an instant.

  I fought to bring myself to my surroundings and I heard Stacy next to me. “Fuck, what happened Ri? I should call someone. Who should I call? Can you get up? Shit.”

  My vision faded out again.

  As I became aware of the slow rock and bump of a vehicle I came to the conclusion that Stacy had called someone. I fought to open my eyes again—or rather my eye, as my left eye remained incapacitated. The flood of bright white lights forced my right eye shut again.

  “Riana can you hear me?” A gentle voice asked. I gave a small nod, my range of motion seemed to be restricted. “My name is Bev, I’m an EMT. We’re bringing you to Memorial Hospital.” I shook my head. I did not want to go to the hospital.

  “Do you know where you are, Riana?”

  I groaned softly in response as my right eye eased open. “On a bed.”

  “Okay.” She said with a small nod. “Who is the President?”

  The President? I shook my head, not quite sure why she was asking me that.

  “What day is it?”

  “Friday?” I wasn’t positive, but I was pretty sure.

  Bev nodded again and scribbled a quick note.

  “Do you remember anything? Can you tell me what happened?”

  I remembered too much. But my voice seized. My only reaction to the question was a loud sob as tears burst through. My stomach revolted against the visions that invaded my mind and I turned to vomit, quickly realizing that my neck had been immobilized. Bev was clearly quite observant and already had a specialized plastic bag to the side of my cot as I continued to force any and all contents of my stomach out.

  “That’s good, Riana. It’s okay. We have to get some of that alcohol out.” She adjusted the flow of the IV I only then noticed was in my hand.

  “How much did you have to drink tonight, Riana?” I was sure she didn’t realize that it wasn’t just the alcohol that was churning my stomach.

  I remained mostly quiet as the ambulance continued through town on its way to the hospital. I provided short, uncommitted answers when I felt it was absolutely imperative—such as when being asked about pain, dizziness, and relevant medical history, but other than that I just simply wanted to get out of this and back home.

  Shit. Home. They’re going to call my mom. I panicked at the realization. “My mom?” was all I could get my throat to release and Bev nodded.

  “She will be meeting us there.” I wanted to throw up again but was fairly certain there was nothing left. Bev continued to wipe my face off and close my busted cheek with a butterfly bandage and liquid suture. I winced.

  “I can’t…tell her.”

  Bev’s face softened, and I knew that she knew what had happened to me. “You don’t need to talk about it right now, sweetie. There will be someone at the hospital for you, to help, with talking about it.”

  The police were probably called, too. They’ll never believe me. Fucking Dylan McCray. I started to sob again just as the ambulance pulled into the bay. As the cot dropped from the back of the ambulance shooting pain flew through my body eliciting more cries despite my efforts to remain still and quiet. As Bev and her partner wheeled me into the Emergency Department I heard everything I needed to in order to confirm what I already knew.

  “Fourteen year old female. BP 134/76, pulse 128. Sexual trauma…blunt force trauma…likely moderate TBI…lacerations, bruising consistent with asphyxiation… …GCS 13…signs of shock…no disclosure. Advocate is in room 4 awaiting her arrival. Officers are standing by.”

  Officers are standing by. The statement echoed in my head as I was wheeled into a trauma bay and promptly surrounded by more people than I thought possible for such a small room. Bev, her partner, and a nurse helped me ease over from the ambulance cot to the hospital bed. My body cried out in agony at every move and jostle.

  “Her mother?” someone asked as my blood pressure was taken again and the dilation of my pupils examined. I fought to close my eyes against the intrusion as it intensified the crushing pain in my head.

  “In the waiting room.”

  “Any media?”

  Oh hell. No. Please no media. Oh my mom is definitely going to kill me. I’m so screwed.

  “None as of now. Scanners stayed pretty quiet on the whole thing.” I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I had that going for me.

  Their attention was turned back to me and they started rapid firing questions. Ones similar to the ones Bev had asked me in the ambulance such as the date, the President, where I was, what my birthday was. They brought in lab techs and tapped my IV for blood tests, and then rushed in a mobile x-ray unit. “We’ll need CT next.”

  I felt myself begin to panic. This was too much, too many people, I was going to be in so much trouble, and Dylan—he’d kill me if he thought I told anyone what happened. My monitors started to chirp and alert to my increased heartrate and breathing. “Riana, I need you to calm down.”

  I pulled the oxygen tubing from my nose. “I need to go.” I said.

  The male nurse tried to restrain my attempts at getting up—a move that clearly was not fully thought through. My vision went out completely as I started to flail and scream at him.

  “Get off me! Stop!” All I could see was
Dylan and his cold eyes. I heard his heartless laughter and I started to sob. “Stop!”

  Another nurse ushered the male nurse out of the room while a couple others, along with Bev and my doctor, brought my arms to my side and laid me back down. That just brought on another wave of images and more cries of agony and fear. I pulled my legs up to my chest and clung to them, desperate to protect myself. “Don’t touch me, please, just don’t.”

  Just as suddenly as the panic hit me, the exhaustion came. My breaths slowed and I eased my eyes shut as I relented to the demand that I uncurl myself and lay down. I continued to tremble as I drifted off. I was only acutely aware when Bev brushed my hair back once more and said goodbye.

  I awoke again as my cot turned into what I figured was my regular, non-trauma room I noticed a young woman waiting in a corner chair. The young woman waited for the nurse to do a run of vitals before she stood and approached the side of my bed. She watched quietly as my nurse finished up. “You gave us quite the scare, Riana. We’ll need to do a few more things yet, but you’re not critical anymore.” I forced a small, polite smile. She patted my hand before walking out. I then turned my attention to the young redhead at the side of my bed.

  “Hi. My name is Mel, I’m an advocate from Four County Crisis.” I didn’t respond. “I’m not here to ask questions, but to answer any questions that you might have. I know that this is incredibly overwhelming and scary.” I gave a hesitant nod. “Would you like a warm blanket?”

  How did she know I was cold? I nodded more firmly in response. Mel left my room for only a moment before returning with a delightfully warm blanket. It was about the only positive thing I could recognize at that point. Everything else was utter shit.

  “What other things do we still have to do?”

  Mel pulled the chair from the corner and sat down next to the side of my bed. “Well, they have reason to suspect that you’d been sexually traumatized and they’d like to ask your permission to conduct a sexual assault evidence collection exam.” She found my eyes and held my gaze as she continued. “You do not have to agree to the exam. It is your decision. If you do allow the exam to be done, and if someone has assaulted you, the evidence collected could be crucial in your case against them.”

  “I have to go to court?” My lip started to tremble as I fought more tears.

  Mel shook her head. “Not necessarily. It is a possible outcome, especially with you being so young. We’ll take this one step at a time, okay?”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t yet fully trusting of her assurances.

  “Your mom has been waiting to see you. Are you alright with her coming in?”

  “I don’t think I have a choice.” I could tell that she wanted to disagree with me, but I could also see that she knew she’d be wrong. She gave a short exhale and stood from her chair. She pulled the door open a bit and slid out. It wasn’t long before my mother rushed in with Mel and my doctor shortly behind.

  My mom grabbed my face between her hands and I pulled back as I winced, the pain hadn’t even come close to dissipating yet. “What happened, baby?” Her eyes were swollen and red, but no tears welled; it seemed as though she had literally cried every last tear she had. “Who did this to you?”

  I shook my head as I averted my eyes from her.

  “Do you know who did this to you?” Mel asked softly from my side.

  I nodded and my mother gasped. “Who did this, Riana?”

  I swallowed and closed my eyes as I whispered, “Dylan.”

  “Dylan?” she repeated. “Dylan, as in, Dylan McCray?” It was the only Dylan we both knew. I nodded. “What the hell were you doing at a party with Dylan McCray, Riana!?” Well, there went the loving mother act.

  “Ms. Graham, I don’t think it’s beneficial right now to bring that up. What we need now is to gather evidence and have her give a statement to the police.” My doctor interrupted.

  My mom stood up and started to pace my small room. “Absolutely, yes, bring them in. Let’s get this taken care of.”

  I turned to Mel and whispered, “I’m scared.”

  “That’s okay, Riana. I’ll stay right here and explain everything that’s happening.”

  “I have to make some phone calls.” My mom declared curtly as she stepped from the room.

  “There goes the mother of the year.”

  “Riana,”

  “Ri.” I corrected.

  “Ri. Parents react in many different ways to their children enduring trauma. We can offer services to both of you to help in processing. She’s doing the best she can right now.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, well, her best is never good enough.”

  Mel stayed with me as the doctor brought in another nurse and the evidence collection kit. She walked me through each step and was my voice when I needed to take a break, which was more often than I’m sure the doctor wanted. They had me fully undress from the flimsy hospital gown and stand for pictures of pretty much every inch of my body. I went into a full fledge panic attack as they started the internal exam. The team hastily collected internal evidence as I panicked, but then injected 1mg of Ativan into my IV, and I soon slipped into a calm state of rest.

  “She could hardly make it through the exam.” I vaguely heard.

  “We need a statement.”

  “Give her about an hour. She’ll be ready to talk then.”

  When I woke up again I had been moved to yet another room. I was no longer in the Emergency Department. Instead, I had been moved to a single room, in the Neurologic Wing. The sun was just high enough over the horizon that I realized I had made it to a new day.

  “Hey.” I said softly when I noticed that Mel was sitting on the couch along the wall.

  “Riana.” She stood and came to my bed. “How are you feeling? You took quite the nap.”

  “You didn’t have to stay.”

  “It’s my job to stay, Ri. The police are still waiting for your statement, and I wasn’t about to have you do that alone.”

  “Thanks, Mel.”

  There was no way for me to know at that moment, but those four hours that Mel had been with me was the start of a long, intense, and life-altering relationship. The truth was, she could have left and waited for a call from the hospital requesting that she return for my statement.

  She gave a soft smile before patting my hand. “No problem. I’m going to go get them, if you’re ready?”

  “I guess I have to be.”

  I realized that Mel was right in not wanting me to be alone in giving my initial statement to the police. They weren’t exactly warm and welcoming. They seemed impatient as I tried to piece together my shattered memory. Mel assured me it was okay to take my time, and reminded the officers of the after-effects of trauma and TBI’s. She made sure that we understood that my disjointed timeline was not a sign of being untruthful, it was a sign of my neurological and psychological trauma from the sexual assault. The look that passed between the officers did not go unnoticed either when I disclosed Dylan’s name.

  Mel also fiercely redirected the discussion when their questions ventured into territory that might be considered victim blaming. She reminded the officers that my underage drinking did not negate or justify the sexual assault, nor did my outfit. I, however, was unable to bring myself to believe her. Of course it was my fault.

  The officers did not stick around after my statement. They thanked me for my time, then let themselves out. I turned away from the door as it closed and became, once again, overwhelmed by sobs. Mel stayed, assuring me that it wasn’t my fault, that we were doing everything right, and that she would continue to help me through the process. She left her card, with her cell phone number on the back, next to my hospital room phone, and told me to call anytime I needed. I told her I would, but that I didn’t want to talk anymore. I just wanted to sleep.

  When I awoke again the clock said 11:14am. My whole body still throbbed, though not as intensely as it had been nine hours earlier. I groaned a bit as I tried to fin
d a more comfortable position. “Ri?”

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief at the sound of her voice.

  “Lex.”

  She was sitting on the side of my bed in an instant, grasping my hand and kissing my forehead.

  My voice was thick and hoarse. “I thought you were camping.”

  Lexi fought through something that sounded like a mixture of a sob and a laugh. “I was. But when your mom called my mom, we packed up and came back as quickly as we could. I…I couldn’t stand thinking that you’d wake up…alone.”

  Lexi knew my mother and our relationship well enough to know that it was true—if she wasn’t here, no one would be.

  “Have you heard…you know, what happened?” I avoided looking at her.

  “I only heard bits and pieces from my mom’s side of the conversation with your mom. I don’t need to know anything, Ri. All I needed to know was that you’d been hurt—it didn’t matter how or by who. Now all I need to know is that you know I’m here for you, for anything you need.”

  I didn’t feel the typical force of sobs in my chest, but hot tears ran down my cheeks in silence. And that was why Lexi was my best friend. She always seemed to know exactly what it was that I would need in the very moment we were in. She let me be when it was best, and she pushed me when it was best. Lexi never judged, or pitied, she was simply there and would remain there for years to come.

  I eventually told her what happened, by bits and pieces at first. Mostly Lexi just stayed with me in my hospital room, watching horrible daytime television, but sometimes as I became overwhelmed by pain or panic she’d be my rock. The hospital released me two days later, on Sunday, when they were certain that my traumatic brain injury wasn’t an immediate threat to my health or safety.

  As things intensified with the police investigators, district attorneys, and court systems Lexi learned more details about that night because I needed someone outside of the political and judicial circus to bear witness with me. She remained just as steadfast as always, even as the rumors and whispers started. Her fierce protective instinct kicked in to high gear as she dared our classmates to keep talking. I knew though, even as the chatter in the hall quieted, that people still talked. I could tell by the way voices dropped as I walked into a room, or by the way their gazes changed. It seemed that most didn’t believe me, but those that may have only felt sorry for me.