"Oh my god." I gasped. "The poor girl."
It didn't matter how many times I had witnessed the consequences. No matter how many times I looked down upon a young woman's body beaten to within an inch of her life. Every single time, the emotions swelled inside of me. If I owned a gun, I swear to god, I would hunt down and kill every rapist. I'm not usually a violent person, but to see this gorgeous young woman battered and broken. Her body so badly mutilated.
Given my chance, I would make the punishment fit the crime. The perpetrator of this ghastly crime, would pay dearly.
I stood at the end of her bed, staring at her battered body. She looked awful. Hard to look otherwise, when you jaw is wired, your head swathed in bandages, a cast covering your shoulder and arm. Black eyes, broken nose, mouth stitched back together, and bruises everywhere.
I'd read the file, knew the extent of her injuries, and in truth had seen many other cases just like this one. Rape, is never pleasant, but this one sat on the extreme end of the crime.
The police had been with her, and I knew she had laid a formal complaint. When I had read the file, I admit to being aghast. This young girl obviously fought hard. There was the assailants skin under her fingernails.
Two broken fingers, a broken arm and dislocated shoulder. Two broken ribs, Missing teeth, mouth so badly cut she needed six stitches, her jaw broken, both eyes blackened, her nose broken, her cheeks swollen and bruised. Her vagina so badly torn it needed stitches, lacerations on both thighs.
Yes, she must have put up one hell of a fight. I had to hold myself back. I felt the overwhelming need to hold her, hug her, whisper in her ear it would be okay. The physical injuries would heal over time. It was the mental scars, the trauma sometimes destroyed any chance they would return to a normal life.
The tubes running into her mouth made it impossible to talk, I was really there to meet her, and say hello.
Sound asleep, the digital monitors tracking the smooth constant beat of her heart. The lights flashed, the graph building steadily.
Without really knowing what to do. I sat beside the bed, and read the police report.
Her statement, explained. She had returned from work, at nine PM, had unlocked her ground floor flat front door and was walking through the door, when the assault occurred...
She had given a fairly detailed description of the guy, although she didn't know his name, she had seen him around the block of flats, so he clearly lived locally.
The Police had collected semen samples for DNA testing. I wondered about the mentality of somebody so stupid. To assault somebody who lived in the same neighbourhood. And to leave semen...
I sat reading, trying to get as much information as I could. Poor soul, she was only twenty three. Only recently moved her from Napier for work.
Being a nurse, meant shift work, and odd hours. Serving the community, as a nurse earned her this. Her parents hadn't as yet arrived, they were still in transit.
As I read, I felt Phoebe, stir. She turned her head, huge brown eyes staring at me. I reached out holding her hand in mine. "Hi, Phoebe. I'm Sara. I'm going to be your victim support person. Please don't try to talk. I only came to see how you were getting on."
She closed her eyes, and was asleep again.
The, report had photos from the crime scene, to say they were horrific, was a huge understatement. Her face so badly bruised and beaten, her mouth full of blood, her whole body bruised, especially her inner thighs, and arms.
I sat for a while, deciding there wasn't much I could do. I felt terrible abandoning her, but I knew with the medication she was on. She would be asleep all night.
My eyes filled with tears as I contemplated her ordeal. I leaned back against the cold aluminium of the elevator walls. Humanity, hard to imagine we were the same species as her rapist. How callous, how despicable was the man who inflicted those injuries.
The next day, when I walked into her room, there were a couple, obviously her parents standing beside her. At least the tubes from her mouth were gone.
"Hello." I offered as a greeting, extending my hand. "I'm Sara, I'm going to be Phoebe's, victim support liaison. I'll also be her therapist going forward."
Her mother and father shook my hand. Moving closer to the bed, I lifted Phoebe's, hand in mine. "How are you feeling? Don't speak if it hurts, Okay?"
She nodded her head, her eyes, those gorgeous huge brown eyes, wow, they were stunning.
I talked mostly with Phoebe's, parents, she was in far to much pain for anything else. I placed my card on the bedside cabinet, and left them to it.
Waiting at the elevator, I saw a policewoman who I knew wandering towards Phoebe's, room. "Any news Martha?"
She nodded, "Yeah, we got him."
"Already, wow. That was quick."
"It wasn't hard, Phoebe, gave us a really good description. The flaming idiot lived in the same block of flats. Can you imagine that? As if the balaclava was going to stop her recognising him."
"Has he confessed?"
"Not as such, but he has pleaded guilty. He's in the cells, and he's not getting bail. Not as long as I'm on the case. Fucking shit head. I was just going down to give Phoebe, the good news."
"Her folks are there as well. They're completely distraught. Knowing you got him, might give them a lift."
I hated these jobs, it was never pleasant, but so many girls in her position commit suicide. The one thing I needed to do was stay close to her. Make sure we spoke every day and that I got a feel for her state of mind.
Each day she healed, but it was her mental state that worried me. We refused to talk about the rape, like she was trying to suppress the whole nasty event.
My own levels of frustration climbed. I needed her to open up, to talk about it. Once the dam broke, I knew that would lead her out into the light. I had seen it over and over.
I sat by her bed, holding her hand, softly rubbing and massaging her skin. The pain was a constant companion. Moving in any way caused her to wince sharply. Her painful grimace a nasty reminder how close she had been to losing her life.
Two days later, and Phoebe, could at least sit up in bed, even if her movements were awkward, and yes still painful.
"Hey. How are you feeling today?" I asked handing over a big brown paper bag full of fresh grapes.
"Okay." She mumbled, her eyes unable to hold my hopefully friendly gaze... Her glaring look full of guilt.
"Is there something you need, or want?"
Her head moved imperceptibly as she shook negatively. "No, not really. Be a couple of days before I can do much."
"Any word on when you'll be able to leave?"
With another little shake of her head, she she said. "No, not yet." She looked scared, embarrassed and above all guilty. I had seen that look on almost every victims face.
They all asked the same questions of themselves. What did I do to allow this to happen, what did I do wrong?
"Would you like to talk?" I asked.
"No!" She yelped in anguish, "Not today."
Giving her hand a squeeze. I said, "I'm going to be in and out every day. If you can think of anything you need or want. Get your parents to call me."
That was how it went. Each day, she got physically better. A week later, she was able to go to the toilet unassisted. That seemed like a milestone. Still, we talked about generalities, but never the rape. I tried to pry open the door. She, on the other hand, pushed it shut tight. There wasn't a damn thing I could do. It had to be her who opened the discussion. If I pushed to hard, then I would be cast as the evil bitch.
Another week, I sat through some physio sessions with her. Held her hand along with her mother as her stitches were removed. Physically, her improvement was wonderful. She now moved around the ward, with the aid of a frame. She was able to shower, wash her hair, which seemed like a biggie for her.
The end of the third week, she was informed she was going home. I knew instantly it wasn't going to work. The look of horror on her face, as the doctors gave her that information, was the proof for me she didn't want to go.
Determined, stubborn, both words I happily used to describe her. She squashed my attempts to open up dialogue about the rape. When I asked about going homer. She smiled, although she couldn't hide the grimace.
"I can't wait to get home. This place is driving me up the wall."
"Are you sure Phoebe? There's no shame if you can't face it."
"No, I'm looking forward to it." She grumbled in frustration at my prying.
She still hadn't been able to talk to me, or anybody for that matter. Trying to suppress, push down the emotions that clearly upset her. Wasn't helping her. She had obviously made a decision that she would deal with it by pretending it never happened. If she didn't talk about it, the pain would remain locked away in the dark recesses of her mind.
Go home day... I knew it would possibly be the worst day. Having it happen in her own home was going to make it impossible for her to return.
That's where we were heading. Back to the scene of the crime. The source of all the pain and anguish built within her.
Her Mother, had been in and cleaned up the flat. Got rid of the pool of blood on the floor. Prepared it as best she could.
I waited patiently at her door. The car pulled up, and I rushed over to help her mother get her out of the car.
Still weak, she struggled to move easily. I felt her tense up as we neared the front door. Her movement slowed. Her unease clear and apparent. "Take it slow." I mouthed to Janet, her mother, as we supported her through the door.
Exhausted, her heart beating a mile a minute. We placed her on the sofa, and I found some cushions to support her arm. Janet scurried off to make the obligatory pot of tea. Her father, who looked incredibly ill at ease, said. "I might go for a walk."
It was mostly Janet, and I who did most of the talking, Phoebe, still seemed intent on her plan. Pretending it never happened...
"I think I'm going to lie down." Phoebe said softly. We assisted her to bed, and it was so clearly obvious. She was struggling being here. So often it was the case. Returning to the scene of such a horrific scene, is traumatic.
After getting her comfortable, I ushered Janet towards the door. The first indisputable signs of Phoebe's real anxiety about being back here, emerged. "You're not leaving are you Mum?" She called out, her voice full of fear.
Janet, glanced at me, before replying. "No, I'll be in the lounge. You get some sleep darling." Janet whispered consolingly. "Just call if you need something."
"Are you staying?" I asked Janet, once we had Phoebe's bedroom door shut.
"I don't think she should be alone tonight."
"God yes, I'm not leaving her alone. I'm staying with her." Janet replied.
"Good, I'll stop by tomorrow. How much longer are you going to be able to stay?"
"A few more days, but I am worried. She is not herself. She's always been such a bubbly girl, always positive and friendly. Now she looks empty."
"It's a major traumatic event she's been through. It will take quite a bit to get her through it. I felt how reticent she was to even walk into the flat."
"Yes, I felt it as well. I will talk to her, see if she wants to come home with us, or if she can stay with one of her friends."
"Excellent idea." I replied as we fell into a tight embrace.
"You mustn't push her though, Janet. She has to talk when she's ready."
"Yes, I understand. I am just going to support her."
The screaming phone woke me from a dead sleep. "Sara, are you able to come over? Phoebe's, been crying, screaming she doesn't want to stay here."
"Did you ask about her going home with you?"
"Independent little bugger, refused. She wants to stay. She's going to ask her friends for a bed."
