Page 35 of Wildling
Human DNA. If I had sex last night, they would know.
When I walk inside, I’m surrounded by homeless people and junkies, most take the train in from East Hastings when they need urgent care or detox.
As each moment ticks by, my regret grows deeper until finally, the triage nurse waves me in. I walk into a small room where she rises in her blue scrubs and pulls a curtain closed, sitting on her stool, staring at her computer, barely registering that I’m here. The bags under her eyes are worse than mine.
“I need your identification and health care card, please,” she asks without looking up.
My belly twists into itself. “I um…I don’t have it.”
She finally glances at me, presses her lips together, and then scans me from head to toe. She appears to be around my age. “Okay, can you tell me your name, if you are in pain or any immediate danger?”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I eye the exit…It’s not too late. I can still get out of here, and all they would think was some crazy girl came in the urgent care then left again. Metro Vancouver has over three million people. What do I matter?
She scoots her stool closer to me, pressing a cold stethoscope against my neck. “Can you take off your coat and let me take your vitals?”
I inhale deeply, the cool, damp air filling my lungs. As I shrug off my trench coat, a mist settles on my skin. My hair is matted, and my eyes are puffy from crying. I sit with my jacket folded over my lap, with my head down.
She sighs and takes my vitals, starting with my blood pressure. She’s gentle with me but pauses as she takes note of my wounds.
“I need to ask you again. Are you in present danger?”
“I don’t know. I might be.” Truly…I’m not sure.
I was never raped in that bunker. Never raped…not once. Everything I did with Nick was consensual. He made sure of that, and I wanted him as badly as he wanted me. If he was in my room last night, I can’t describe it using that word.
Everything is so confusing. I just need to know if I’m imagining him, and this is the only way I can find out. I lift my gaze to meet hers. “I…I need a rape kit.”
She crinkles her eyes and gives me a once-over. “Has someone hurt you? Are you in danger?”
She’s now asked me three times.
I shake my head. “No… no, it’s not like that. I just need it done. Can you do this without identifying me?”
She clicks something on her computer, leaning back.
“Where did this happen?”
“In my bed last night.”
She purses her lips. “Do you know who did this to you?”
“I wasn’t conscious. I was intoxicated, so I’m not one hundred percent sure it even happened. It’s more like a feeling I have.”
She reaches out and grabs my hand, exposing a bruise on my arm from where my fingernails dug in. “And these?”
I lift my eyes up to her, my damp hair falling down my face. I must look pathetic to her. “I did that to myself,” I tell her.
She rises and lets out a deep sigh and double-checks the curtains to make sure no one can see in. “I’m going to check you out. Is that okay? I’ll need to see the rest of your body.”
I nod slowly, and she leans forward and pulls up my shirt, running her hands along the bruises on my belly and breasts. I gasp at my sensitivity to her touch.
“You don’t remember who gave these bruises to you?” she asks.
I wipe the mist from my stinging eyes. “I went through something traumatic earlier this year. I have episodes and PTSD from it.”
Her head tilts, and recognition sparks in her eyes. I see the exact moment it happens; she knows who I am. “I see,” she says. Luckily, she doesn’t say anything. She examines my belly, and I realize how bad this looks. While some marks are fresh, there are undeniably faded bruises.
The triage nurse gently grabs my wrist and slaps an ID on my wrist with the name Jane Doe on it. “Okay, Jane. Have a seat. We’ll call you in when the bed is ready. It might be a long wait.”
