The Playmaker (Fire on Ice) (8 page)

I felt like I was a kid again and it was my first snowfall. I r
emembered how the snow felt as it fell on my warm cheeks. I remembered how cold the wet snow felt on my hands as I made my first snowball and threw it at my sister.

Slap! I was awake again. I could hear the sound of a zipper. Where was I? I was having a hard time remembering. Why was I so cold?

A man’s voice. “You know you want it.” Was it Blake?

I remembered making a snowman with my sister. We tried to anyway. We were only five and seven years old, so our skills were lacking. We used old buttons for his eyes and a celery stick for his nose. His mouth was a piece of red licorice. The snow was a little too wet and the snowman didn’t stand up very straight but we thought he was magnificent.

Slap! I could still feel pounding. I was being pounded into the ground. But why was I on the ground? It felt so cold and I could feel someone on top of me.

I heard a man’s voice again. “You’re so fucking tight.” More pounding. He was hurting me. I knew he was hurting me. But I couldn’t feel it. My entire body was numb.

“He won’t want you anymore once I’m done with you.” There was laughter. Why was he laughing? 

My mother made us hot chocolate with mini marshmallows. I got to use a real mug and I felt like such a big girl. The mug was hot but not too hot. It warmed my small hands as I wrapped them around it. I remember my mother told me to blow on the hot cocoa to make sure it wasn’t too hot before I took a sip.

Slap! Why couldn’t I see anything? Why couldn’t I open my eyes? There was breath on my neck. A voice in my ear. “You’re a sweet ride, baby.”

I heard a zipper. Footsteps. I no longer felt like I was pinned to the ground. But why was I on the ground?

Blake? Was Blake here? Everything was fuzzy. I tried to get up but my entire body ached. I felt like I had been beaten up.

Was I beaten up?

It felt so cold. I knew I couldn’t stay on the ground. I’d freeze. But I couldn’t get up. I felt snow falling on my face. I wondered if I was going to die.

If I did die, would anyone find me?

I heard a buzzing next to me. Was it my phone? I reached toward the sound and pain shot through me. I slowly and carefully reached in the direction of the buzzing until I had my phone in my hand.

Now what? I couldn’t open my eyes. My head was throbbing. The buzzing started again. I knew it was Kian. He was probably worried about me. I had to talk to him.

He won’t want you anymore you once I’m done with you
. I could hear those words echo in my head. 

Terror griped me as I reached toward my hips and realized my pants were down. I heard howling, like an injured animal. It took me a moment to realize the howling was coming from me. I wanted to be anywhere but in my body. I wanted to be back as a five year old, drinking hot cocoa in my mother’s kitchen. I wanted to be in Kian’s arms, secure and protected.

He won’t want you anymore once I’m done with you
. The bitter words were like another slap in the face.

I thought about screaming for help. The idea came to me in a sudden rush. When I made the first sound, my throat felt tight.
He had his hand on my neck. The image of his skin-tight black gloves flashed in my mind.

I moved past the pain and screamed, “Help me! Please! Someone help me!”

I continued screaming with every ounce of energy I had in my body. But it didn’t feel like enough. I had no idea what time it was. It was dark and cold. Snowing. I was sure everyone was inside already. Who would hear me yelling?

When I took in a deep breath, my chest felt heavy, and the cold air burned my throat. I had to at least try to scream again. “Someone please help me!”

When I put my hand to my chest, I realized the necklace Kian had given me at Christmas, when we were in the cabin, was gone. Had Blake taken it like it was some kind of souvenir?

I could hear my voice break as I started to sob. A wave of terror overtook me like as tsunami and I let out a guttural wail.

“What’s going on?” I heard a man’s voice. “Oh, my God!”

The voice sounded familiar. I had heard it many times before. It was my Statistics professor, Dr. Simmons.

I could hear dialing. “One of my students has been attacked. Hurry! I’m in an alley way. Right between Seventh Street and University. Yes, she’s breathing. I’m not sure if she’s conscious. Her eyes are swollen shut. Someone hurt her very badly.”

I recoiled when I felt Dr. Simmons
’s hand on my shoulder. It was an automatic reaction. I knew I wasn’t afraid of my professor.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.” I heard his voice crack and he sniffled. Was he crying? I wondered how bad I
looked. “I’m going to place my coat on your lower body. To cover you up.”

I felt him place the warm fleece on top of me.

“Can you hear me, Taylor?” Dr. Simmons asked.

“Yes,” I managed to choke out.

He carefully took my hand in his and held it. “You’re going to be okay. They’re coming to take you to the hospital. As soon as they get here, I’ll phone your dad. Your parents can meet us at the hospital.”

“You’re coming—to—the—hospital?” It was difficult to form words because my lips were swollen and my mouth wasn’t operating correctly. It felt foreign and painful.

“I don’t want you to be alone.” I could hear him sniffle again. He was such a tough instructor, never let anyone get away with anything in the classroom. He didn’t even let students in the door if they were late. There was definitely a softer side under that gruff exterior.

I felt so tired and so weak just keeping my grip on Dr. Si
mmons’s hand was an effort. I could hear sirens in the distance and as the sound got closer I realized they were coming for me. A few moments after the sirens stopped, there was a lot of commotion and sound of voices as I was placed on a stretcher and taken away.  

***

I was surrounded by a frenzy of emergency personnel as they wheeled me into the emergency room. Dr. Simmons let me know he was going to contact my parents before he disappeared into the crowd. I was surrounded by so many people but I never felt so alone in my entire life.

I was wheeled into a room. Everything was so bright, and white, and metallic. It was noisy and chaotic while hospital staff prodded and poked me
. They hooked me up to various machines and medical devices and put stitches in my bottom lip.

Everyone was professional but gentle, almost like I was breakable, or maybe I was already broken and they didn’t want pieces of me scattered around the room. It was hard to tell exactly what
state I was in except that I was still alive. I remembered wishing for death. Would that have been the better alternative?

Time is a trickster. It plays with your mind. While I was being attacked, I felt like the trauma was never going to end but when he was finished with me, it felt like
only the blink of an eye. I felt like I waited forever for someone to find me but when Dr. Simmons arrived, it felt like he had found me right away. Now that I was in the hospital, everything felt rushed, and time accelerated with the flurry of activity. Until I was alone again, then the seconds seemed to drag by.

Hospital personnel entered with a female police officer and I froze. I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk to anyone, especially the police. It made what had happened to me, what was happening to me, seem more real. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be real yet.

“I’m a sexual assault nurse. And this is a sexual assault forensic examiner. We need to do an examination. And to collect physical evidence. We’ll need to take photographs. The police officer would also like to get a statement.”

Time was quickening again. I felt like things were happening too fast, faster than I could comprehend. I was always told I was sharp, that I had a quick mind and a keen intellect. I didn’t feel
sharp
or
quick-minded
though. I felt like my thoughts were being dragged through thick mud. Nothing immediately made sense to me. I could hear people talking but it seemed to take days before I understood what they were saying.

“We need photos.”

“We need to do a full body examination.”

“We need to get fingernail scrapings.”

“We need to get hair samples.”

“We need a rape kit.”

“There are signs of penetration, lacerations, vaginal tearing, bruising, but
no semen.”

“Test for STDs. and HIV.”

“Send her for X-rays and neurological tests.”

The room started to spin as words flew at me from what seemed like every direction. Words I was having trouble compr
ehending. Were they even asking me questions? It was hard to decipher.

“We need your ID.”

“We need to take a statement.”

More words.

My purse. Where was my purse? My purse had my ID in it. And where was my book bag? Did someone grab it or was it still lying in the alley where I had dropped it?

The alley. My entire body stiffened when I thought about the alley. A surge of panic rushed through my body. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Beeping. The machines. I remembered I was in a hospital surrounded by people. I was safe.

“Her heart rate is elevated.”

“Just relax. Take deep breaths.”

Was I in a dream? Everything felt surreal.

“Close your eyes. We need to get some photos of your facial injuries.”

My eyes felt like they were barely open. There were several flashes of light.

“You can open your eyes again.”

I could hear my mom’s voice. “Taylor, Taylor!”

“Are you the next of kin?”

“I’m her mother.”

“We need to get some information from you. Does she have insurance?”

“She’s a college student. She’s still covered under our insu
rance.”

It was my dad’s voice. I felt my body relax slightly. My pa
rents were here. I wasn’t completely alone.

“I need to get a statement. Taylor? Are you able to make a statement?”

A female police officer hovered over me. She was small, and fairly young, maybe late 20s, but I could still hear an air of authority in her voice. She kind of scared me.

“Can this wait until later?” my mom asked.

“I’d like to see what she remembers, while it’s still fresh.”

Fresh
? That seemed like an odd choice of words considering what had happened to me.

“I’ll try.” My lips didn’t feel right. They felt like balloons.

The police officer sat down in a chair next to the bed I was lying in. I felt like I should sit up but it hurt when I tried to move.

“I’m Detective Moore. Do you remember what happened to you?” Her dark eyes didn’t hold much compassion. This woman was all business.

I nodded. “Some of it.”

“Can you tell me what you remember?”

I told the officer what I could recall. Feeling unsure about whether or not to walk alone but deciding to do it anyway. Hearing footsteps and realizing I was being followed. Hurrying my pace. Being afraid to turn around. Then being attacked and pushed into the alley. His gloved hands around my throat. His threats. The menacing tone of his voice. The darkness in his eyes. I felt terrified. I made one attempt to escape. I kicked him. I tried to run. He grabbed me. He was angry. More threats. He wanted me to tell him that I wanted him. I couldn’t. I didn’t want him. I felt like I wanted to die instead. I knew I was powerless. There was no way I could escape. I was on the ground. It was cold, really cold. He was on top of me. He was so heavy. I couldn’t breathe. Then he slapped me. He seemed to enjoy it. He said that after he was done with me, my boyfriend wouldn’t want me.

I started to sob. The police officer handed me a tissue. Just one. It was completely inadequate and fell apart as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

   “Take your time,” the officer said but her voice sounded impatient, like she really wanted me to just get on with it.

He started punching me. I passed out, or maybe I blacked out. Is there a difference? I could feel my eyes swelling. Then I couldn’t see. My cell phone started ringing. I knew it was Kian. I thought about dying again. I didn’t want him to rape me but he said he would. He kept hitting me. I passed out again. I reme
mbered hearing his zipper. My stomach clenched. More prayers for death. I blacked out.

I remembered feeling pounding. He was pounding into me. It hurt. And it was so cold. I thought I would freeze.

Then he was gone. I tried to get up but it hurt too much. I realized my pants were down and that he had raped me.

I heard my phone ringing. I grabbed for it but I couldn’t see. I couldn’t dial. I started screaming as loud as I could. I was wailing. Finally, I heard a man’s voice. I recognized it immediat
ely. It was Dr. Simmons, my Statistics professor. I knew things were bad because he started crying when he saw me. He phoned for help.

“Do you know the alleged assailant?”