CHAPTER 31
Trent's hand tangled in my hair as he yanked my mouth to his. The momentum helped to dislodge the rock from the ground. When he slipped his dry tongue in my mouth, I bit down on it until I tasted his blood. Trent reared back, screaming, as blood poured over his lips.
With all the power I had, I swung the rock across his face, using the pointy end to jab at both of his eyes knocking his glasses off in the process. He howled from the pain, but it came out as more of a gurgling sound with the blood flooding his throat.
His face was covered in blood as he tried to move away from me. I reared back and hit him with the rock again. The skin across his cheek peeled back from the force. Trent's body fell back, his hand clutching his face as he choked on his own blood.
I stood up. The pain in my ankle was excruciating, and I ended up half crawling, half limping back toward the road. Trent reached out and caught my leg, his one good eye narrowing. I stumbled, my ankle giving out. A sharp stick impaled the thick muscle of my leg when I fell, and I screamed as I kicked at Trent with my good leg until I was able to slip out of his grasp.
My hands grasped the stick the blood on my palm making it almost impossible to dislodge it from my thigh. It took me numerous attempts to yank it out. I turned slightly and bashed the stick down toward Trent's head. His arms no longer reached for me as he curled them around himself to protect his body.
I hit him again and again, until he was a lifeless heap on the ground. Not bothering to check whether he was breathing, I wiped the blood off my face.
My fingers refused to relinquish their grip from the stick in my hand. Using it as a cane, I clambered up the steep hill. My feet were torn apart by the rough terrain, and my ankle shot white-hot pain up my leg every time I put any weight on it. My scalp tingled, and I was pretty sure it was bleeding as well. The hole in my leg was now trickling blood instead of pouring as it had been before.
My right eye was almost swollen shut—a consequence of Trent’s love taps—by the time I reached the road. Trent’s car was half hidden behind a tree on the side of the road. The night helped to blanket it from any cars that might pass by this late at night. I trudged toward his car, every breath labored but necessary.
I wrenched the door open, relieved to find it was unlocked. With my good hand, I fumbled around the steering wheel and cried out in frustration when the keys were missing from the ignition. Frantically, I searched for them, finally finding them stashed in the glove compartment. When my fingers connected with the cold metal which signified my escape, a sob escaped me.
I turned the key, and an awful grinding noise came from somewhere under the hood. I pleaded with it to just make it to the hospital before it went to car heaven along with my Mustang. My bloodied foot pushed the gas pedal as hard as I could, not caring that the water temperature was hovering in the red, causing the grinding sound to keep growing louder by the half mile.
The car was smoking and shuddering by the time I came to a complete stop in front of the ER. It sputtered one last time before shutting off completely as it churned out smoke from under the hood.
With my good hand, I laid on the horn. My body, like the car, was spent. Two security guards ran out seconds later, along with a nurse pushing a wheelchair.
When the security guard opened the door, a nurse I’d assisted many times in the lab recognized me. “Faith, we're going to have to pick you up and get you in the wheelchair. It's going to hurt like hell, but we'll be as gentle as we can.”
I nodded. My face felt bigger on one side, and I didn't think I could’ve formed words with my mouth drooping from all the swelling.
The nurse moved back, and the two security guards gently lifted me out of the car. A whimper escaped me when they placed me in the wheelchair. Everything hurt.
Once I was secure, the nurse raced the wheelchair inside the hospital. Vaguely, I heard one of the security guards ask someone to have a police officer come down to the ER before asking someone else to call for a tow truck.
I was placed in a room immediately. My brain flashed in and out of consciousness. Moments later, a doctor came in, and I was blissfully pumped full of pain medication.
As I basked in the rescue of liquid heaven, I thought I heard my dad and Martha's voice, but the medications had a firm hold on me. As I succumbed to the spell of the drugs, the last thing I heard was someone shout, “Slick!”
Pain assaulted me, bringing me out of my medicated fog. Everything rushed back to me, and Trent’s face flashed behind my eyes, making me cry out in fear.
“Faith,” my dad called out to me, squeezing my hand.
“Hey, Daddy.” My voice didn't sound like my own, and those two words felt like they were formed from razorblades.
A straw was magically placed between my lips. I took a sip, wincing at the pain brought on by swallowing. The room was dark, except for the small overhead light on the hospital bed.
“Easy, Faith. Your face is still swollen.” Martha placed her cool hand on my abused cheek. I leaned into the comfort.
“Thank you,” I said after taking a couple more sips of the cool water. My voice was still unrecognizable, but the razor blades in my throat felt like they’d dulled some.
“How are you doing?” my dad asked. His voice was clogged with tears. I turned my thousand-pound head, slowly, to look at him.
“I’m alive.”
My dad cursed and violently wiped away tears from his face. “Faith, the cops are here. They wanted to talk to you as soon as you woke up, so you can tell them what happened. I’ll hold them off as long as you need me to.” My dad tried to put on his cop face, but his dad face kept shining through.
“No, I need to talk to them."
"Do you want us to stay?” I wanted to tell him no, but I decided it might be best. He needed to have peace of mind that none of this had been his fault.