Joy (26 page)
Anya pressed her lips together. She'd hoped that somehow it hadn't happened. But to hear the doctor say the word aloud made it a terrible reality. She shook her head.
“A rape kit?” Braxton whispered. He gripped Anya's hand tighter.
Dr. Young frowned. “I'm sorry,” she said, looking from Anya to Braxton. “You didn't know?”
Braxton shook his head, and hoped not to hear details. He couldn't know—not right now. The veins in his head pulsed.
The doctor sent him a reassuring smile, then turned back to Anya. “Dr. Covey says you're going to be fine. The bruises are superficial and will heal in a few days. So, we want to focus on getting information for the police.” Dr. Young squeezed Anya's hand again, then continued, “The more you give us, the better chance the police have. You understand?”
Anya breathed again and nodded.
As the nurse assisted Anya in sitting up, Dr. Young said to Braxton, “Mr. Vance, I have to ask you to wait in the lounge. You can go right out there,” she pointed. “You don't have to go to the waiting room.”
Braxton shook his head. “I need to stay with Anya.”
“I'm sorry.” The doctor's soft eyes told him she understood. “It's procedure. We have to ask Anya some questions, but that's why we have the lounge,” she said gently. “You'll be close by and I'll get you as soon as we're finished here.”
This time, it was Anya who squeezed his hand. In the next second, their fingers slipped apart.
Braxton left the room and walked straight to the desk in the center. “Is there a rest room I can use?” he asked no one in particular.
A nurse pointed toward the opposite corner.
He walked with surprisingly steady steps even though his mind screamed, “Rape!” He entered the bathroom with images cannonading his mind. Who? Where? How?
A man stood at one of the three urinals and Braxton stumbled past him. He barely made it to the last stall before he fell to his knees and retched into the bowl.
“Hey, man,” a voice behind him called. “Do you want me to get a doctor?”
Using the back of his hand, Braxton wiped his mouth. “No,” he finally responded. “I don't need a doctor.”
When the sounds of footsteps receded, he stood. He flushed the toilet, then washed his face at the sink, before he went to the lounge.
He leaned back in the chair, letting his eyes focus on the picture across from him. There was a man, woman, and child holding hands with the caption:
FAMILY FIRST
. He clenched his hands into tight fists.
“Please, God, help me to find a way to get through this without—” He stopped, and his shoulders slumped. He was afraid to think, afraid of where his thoughts would take him.
Anya was groggy—like she was wakening from a dream that she couldn't quite remember.
Dr. Young handed the clipboard to the nurse and sat back down on the stool.
“We're finished with the questions, now we'll do the physical. I'll explain each step, Anya, and we'll continue only as you feel comfortable.” The doctor paused. “The first thing you have to do is take off your clothes. You can use that screen,” the doctor said, pointing to a thin partition. “There's a large sheet of paper that you'll stand on as you're disrobing. That's part of the package that we'll send to Forensics. Okay?”
The doctor helped her from the bed. It took a moment for her to begin, but then she quickly stripped the remnants from her body.
“Doctor, is there a robe I can put on?” Anya peeked from behind the screen. She was surprised that her voice sounded like she was just going through a routine exam.
The doctor's voice was low. “There's a robe, Anya, but first I have to conduct a visual exam and Kathy will take photos of any bruises. Is that okay?”
She closed her eyes and cringed. Photos? She knew she had to do this, but all she wanted to do was go home. She opened her eyes when the doctor called her name. Anya stepped from behind the screen with her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Dr. Young said, “I promise, this won't take long.”
As the doctor looked over her body, and made notes, Anya's gaze roved through the room, from the stark white walls to the removable ceiling tiles. She shivered and the doctor tried to soothe her, but Anya found no comfort in her words. When the nurse picked up the Polaroid, and the camera's shutters clicked, Anya squeezed her eyes so tightly, they began to burn.
“Okay, Anya,” Dr. Young said after an eternity. “Put this on.”
Anya hated the paper robes that she wore during gynecological exams, but now she grabbed the thin blue paper as if it were a gift from God. She lay back with her feet in the stirrups and tried to focus on what Dr. Young was saying.
“This won't hurt at all. It'll be a lot like the exams you're used to. I'll be checking for blood and fluids and …”
Anya shut her ears but she couldn't close her mind and she remembered another time when she lay on a hard table, with her legs spread, as she stared at the ceiling.
Back then, the red-faced, bald-headed man had uttered almost the same words Dr. Young was saying now. “You'll feel some discomfort, but it will feel a lot like the exams you're used to.”
Both doctors had been wrong. This wasn't what she was used to.
Dr. Young occasionally pierced the block Anya had around her.
“Checking for semen …” She felt the cold metal of the speculum being inserted.
“Need a saline swab … ” The nurse handed Dr. Young a small package.
“Pubic hair… sexually transmitted diseases.”
Anya began to hum silently.
“The blood we're taking is for an AIDS test…”
She hummed a little louder as the nurse tapped her arm for a vein. She kept her eyes on the ceiling and imagined that it was heaven.
It seemed like long hours had passed before the doctor finally said, “We're finished. Are you all right?” The doctor helped Anya sit up.
Anya couldn't bring herself to look into the doctor's face, so she simply nodded.
Dr. Young scooted the stool to the edge of the bed and began showing Anya brochures about rape counseling.
Anya shook her head. “I won't be needing that. I'm fine.” She paused. “I'm strong,” she added faintly.
Dr. Young frowned. “Anya, everyone needs help with this.”
Anya was still shaking her head. She wasn't about to sit in a room with ten other women,
sharing
this experience. That was not the way to handle this. All she needed was God and prayer. She folded her arms in front of her.
“Counseling will help you cope with this trauma and deal with things like flashbacks or feelings of shame …”
“Dr. Young, I'm a Christian,” Anya said, holding her chin high. In her mind, words finally came together to form the question that filled her. Why did God let this happen?
“Anya, I'm a Christian too.”
Anya's face softened in surprise, but she kept her arms folded. “Then you know that I don't need anything but God.”
Dr. Young looked directly at Anya. “There is no doubt God will get you through. But he has provided other vessels to help with healing.”
“I'm sure that counseling is good for some women, but it's not necessary for me. I don't feel ashamed; I know that I didn't do anything wrong.”
“That's true,” Dr. Young said, as she nodded and patted Anya's hand. “But feelings may come up later and counseling prepares you.”
Anya stared at the doctor and said nothing.
Dr. Young sighed. “All right. There is one other thing. Pregnancy—”
Pregnancy! Anya exclaimed to herself. Dr. Young rambled about the chances being minuscule, but there was a pill they advised all victims to take.
She nodded, then interrupted the doctor. “I'd like to see Braxton now.”
The doctor nodded knowingly. “I'll get him.” But before Dr. Young left, she dropped brochures on the bed. “These are for you. Think about it.” She patted Anya's arm.
All energy had been ripped from her and she lay back down. The room had become smaller and Anya prayed that Braxton would come quickly and take her home.
The door squeaked and she turned. Braxton was standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets. The rims of his eyes were swollen red, and Anya knew he'd been crying.
She forced herself up and he rushed to her. They held each other for long minutes before the tears that had been clogged inside of her were released.
“I am so sorry,” Anya sobbed into Braxton's shoulder.
Braxton shook his head, but kept his arms around her. He wanted to tell her that she had nothing to be sorry about. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that he hadn't protected her. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. But the words were choked in his throat. So he held her tightly and hoped that she felt safe.
They held each other until the nurse assisting Dr. Young returned to let them know that she'd delivered Braxton's note to Sasha and David.
Within an hour, Sasha returned with a sweatsuit for Anya. While Anya dressed, Braxton noticed her hand, but said nothing at first. He watched her as she signed the release papers and took medicine from Dr. Young. As they waited for a wheelchair, Braxton took her hand and kissed it.
She smiled.
Then he said softly, “Anya, baby, where's your ring?”
T
he pitch-blackness of the middle of the night was beginning to fade by the time Sasha and Braxton led Anya into the house.
“Do you want me to take you upstairs?” Braxton asked, as Anya held onto his neck.
Anya nodded. She was already feeling groggy from the sedatives. Sleep would be a relief. If she could sleep, she could forget.
It was a slow trek up the stairs and, when Anya finally lay in her bed, the clock on her nightstand blinked 4:07. She tried to calculate how much time had passed since this all began. But her eyes closed before she could begin to count the hours.
Braxton covered her with the quilt and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Do you want me to stay?” he whispered.
Anya shook her head. “No, go home,” she said, her eyes still closed. “You've been up all night.”
Braxton stroked her arm until her steadied breathing told him she'd fallen asleep. Then, he tiptoed from the room, leaving the door opened to hear any signs of her waking up.
As soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs, Sasha asked, “Did the doctors say that she was going to be all right?”
Braxton squeezed his tight shoulders and sighed. “She'll recover from the beating. It's the rape that I'm worried about.”
Sasha's eyes widened and immediately filled with tears. “She was raped?”
“I thought David told you.”
“No, maybe he didn't know.”
“Well, that's good. The fewer people who know, the better.”
She nodded. “But we have to tell Madear. She'll call Donovan.” Sasha reached for the phone.
Braxton glanced at his watch. “Let's not wake her up. We'll call in a few hours.”
Sasha nodded, then tried to stifle a yawn.
“Go up to bed,” he said.
She shook her head resolutely. “I can't, suppose Anya needs something.”
“I'm going to stay until Anya wakes up.”
With a wide smile, Sasha hugged him. “Anya is lucky to have you.”
He followed Sasha up the stairs and took a blanket from the linen closet, then tiptoed into Anya's room.
He sat on the bed and gently stroked her face. She stirred in her sleep and he paused until she was still again. Even with the scratches and bandages, Anya had never looked more beautiful to him.
“I will take care of you for the rest of my life,” Braxton whispered. “Forever.”
He took her hand and kissed her bare fingers. He'd report the missing ring in the morning, but it really didn't matter to him. He'd buy her one hundred more, if that's what she wanted.
Finally, he stood and rolled the chaise across the carpet so that he had an unobstructed view of her. He pulled the blanket over his body, though he had no intentions of sleeping. He was just going to watch her. Watch her, protect her, and pray for both of them.
In her head, it was completely dark. Anya tried to grasp the air, needing something to hold on to. She tried to lift her legs, but they were bolted to the floor. Scream, she thought. But her lips wouldn't move and she could feel him coming…
Anya's eyes fluttered, then slowly opened. She blinked in confusion. She was in her bedroom, but how did she get here? The last thing she remembered was being in her office—she had to go to the bathroom.
Her eyes followed the soft snoring and she saw Braxton, twisted like a pretzel in the chair that was too small for his frame. What was he doing here? She lifted her head, but felt heavy and bounced back onto the pillows.
“Ouch,” she wheezed. She glanced back at Braxton; his snoring continued.
What time is it? she wondered. Her neck hurt too much to turn toward the clock, but she could tell by the sunlight pouring into the room that it was mid-morning.
“I've got to get to the office,” she said. As she lifted herself, a pain shot through her stomach. “Ouch,” she grunted, this time waking Braxton.
He jumped from the chair. “Are you okay?”
Anya pulled her mouth into a smile. “I feel like I've been in a fight with Mike Tyson.” Then she remembered, and her smile disappeared.
“What do you need?”
“Nothing.” She tried to stretch, but her body wouldn't move without pain. “Did you sleep here all night?”
Braxton sat at the edge of the bed. He nodded.
She reached for his hand. “I wish you hadn't done that. It couldn't have been comfortable in that chair.”
Tears burned behind his eyes. “I couldn't leave. I'm just so sorry about—”
“Braxton, there was nothing you could do.”
Braxton lowered his head. He was apologizing for much more than last night, but maybe this wasn't the time. “Nothing bad will ever happen to you again.”
He hugged her, then pulled away when he felt her flinch.
“I think you need to take another pill.”
In the bathroom, he filled a paper cup with water, then gave her two of the small red pills that the doctor said would make her more comfortable.
She grabbed the pills eagerly. Slumber was safer.
