Free Pretty Little Dreams by Jennifer Miller

need to gather hair samples from your scalp. This is going to sting just a little. I need to pull one hair out of your scalp in five places. One on each side of your head, the center, and then from the front and back.”
    I remain silent as I feel her selectively comb and then the sting and snap as she pulls a hair from each place on my scalp, and then places them in their own plastic bags labeling each one.
    Next, she approaches me with cotton swabs.
    “I need to take swabs of your saliva, please. Just open your mouth for me.”
    I open my mouth and wrinkle my nose at the feel of cotton in my mouth as she swabs my gum line, and the inside of my cheek. When she’s done, she smears the samples on glass slides. The process is repeated with two more cotton swabs, but these are not placed on slides.
    “Normally I would collect samples of the blood from each of the scratches on your body, however each of your punctures and scratches were cleaned and medicated when you were brought in. Next I need to retrieve pubic hair samples, as well as do a pelvic exam. Do you have any questions about that?”
    “No.” Is she crazy? I don’t want to ask her questions. I want to pretend none of this is happening and drift off to la la land.
    “Okay. I know this is going to be difficult with your leg cast, but we will make it work.”
    “Okay.” What else am I supposed to say? Should I say ‘great’ or ‘thanks’, because I don’t feel either of those things.
    Katie comes to the side of my bed and presses a button that makes the bed rise into a sitting position. She can’t lift it too much because the cast on my leg does make it difficult, as predicted.
    “Are you ready?”
    I can only nod – or at least I think I did, because she efficiently pulls the cover and sheet back as she deftly adjusts my gown to assist in providing needed access without undue difficulty.
    “I now need to help you disrobe down to your waist.”
    I start to try and awkwardly pull the hospital gown off my shoulders, but the bandage on my arm makes me clumsy, and I only manage to get one side – and not fully off. I can tell getting dressed each day is going to be an interesting experience. Joy.
    Grabbing her camera from a nearby table, she matter-of-factly states that she needs to take a few pictures and begins taking photos. I look down at myself and gasp when I see all the scratches and bruises covering my torso. There are even a few bandages on places where fluid has leaked through enough to show on the other side.
    “Can you tell me how you got these marks, Olivia?”
    “I’m assuming most of the injuries were sustained during my fall.”
    “Yes, I would assume that too, however, what about the marks on your arms that look like fingerprints?”
    I just stare at her. Is that a rhetorical question? I think the obvious hand prints speak for themselves.
    “Did Deacon Brooks do this to you, Olivia?”
    “Yes.”
    I don’t realize until after she asks, that she’s making notes on a notebook.
    “What are the notes for?”
    “I have to make sure I have notes that correspond with each photo I’m taking.”
    “I see.”
    The flash is on the camera and it is blinding. I don’t realize how much I’m batting my eyes, until they start to water. I close my eyes, just trying to shut this out and more tears fall down my cheeks in silent succession. I want to blame it on the flash, but I know better.
    “We belong together, Olivia. Do you hear me? You are going to stay in this fucking room until you get that through your head.”
    “Deacon, you’re hurting me.”
    I open my eyes, hoping that doing so will make the images of him shaking me go away.
    “Okay, let’s put this back up on your shoulders,” the sound of her voice startles me and I realize she had pulled the covers up in an attempt to provide modesty while she was taking pictures and writing, “then I am going to pull the bottom up to your waist and pull the covers down one more time. We