Free Don't Make Me Beautiful by Elle Casey

tubing floating above her.
    “Ma’am … ma’am!   I need you to calm down!”   A stranger is yelling by her head.
    “Give her some Midazolam.   Just watch her respiration after.   I’ve got her.”   Strong hands take her wrists and force them down to her sides.
    She sobs.   It hurts so much.
    “Is she allergic to anything?”
    A male voice that seems familiar answers.   “I don’t know.”
    “I thought you were related.”   The other voice is annoyed.   A cold sensation moves up her arm from a spot on her hand.   Moments later the need to struggle seems … less.   Her muscles go slack.
    “We are related … she’s my sister.   I don’t know her medical history much, though.”
    “Did you know she was being abused?   How long has it been since you’ve seen her?”
    “Of course not.   How do you know she was abused?”
    “Classic signs.   Worst case I’ve ever seen, though.”
    “Her face,” the voice says.   It’s the tone laced with worry and concern that makes Nicole able to remember.   A memory of his face flashes across her mind, clear as day.   It’s the boy’s father.   The one with the baseball .   She doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad about the fact that he’s here with her.   The pain and fear are too great.   John will know.   He’ll come for her.   He’ll make her pay.   She has to get back before he realizes she’s gone…
    “She’s still struggling.   Should I give her more?”
    “No.   She’s maxed out and we don’t know her history.   I’ll strap her down.”
    Strong arms and then restraints trap her arms to her sides.   She gives up fighting; it hurts too much anyway.   She cries instead.
    “What’s wrong with her face?   And her ears?” asks the boy’s father.
    “You must not have seen her for a while,” says the other voice, the one who’s giving her the drugs, she thinks.
    “No,” the man says softly.   The boy’s father.   He’s so nice.   She can tell.   He’s sad about her face, just like she is.   She wishes she could tell him it’s too late to be sad about it.   What’s done is done.
    “Ma’am, can you hear me?” says the medical person.   He’s close to the side of her head.   She can’t see him because her eyes are swollen shut, but there’s nothing wrong with her hearing in that ear.
    She doesn’t respond.
    “She’s out of it.”   The man sighs.   “She might also be deaf from the beatings.   So, yeah, the face thing.   Pretty bad.   And the ears?   That’s what you see when someone’s been punched in the head way too many times.   Her whole face … I’ll bet her whole body … is covered in signs of previously broken bones.   Whoever did this to her should be shot. I’ll bet it’s been happening for years.   The cops are there at her house, though.   Maybe they’ll take care of that problem while we’re at the hospital.”
    Someone takes her hand.   Someone with bigger ones than hers.   Warm.   They envelope her scraped and bruised fingers.
    “I need to get your sister’s name,” says the other voice, the third one in the space where they are.   Nicole doesn’t know if it’s a room, a car, or a spaceship.   The longer they go on and on, the less sense they’re making to her.   All she wants to do is sleep.   Sleep, sleep, sleep.   Darkness, take me with you…
    “Her name is … Briana.   Briana Jensen.”
    Nicole falls into unconsciousness, wondering who the man with the warm hands is talking about.

Chapter Fifteen

    BRIAN SITS AT THE SIDE of her bed, staring at her face.   He’s never seen anything like it in all his twenty-eight years of life.   Now he knows why his son called her a monster.   His heart breaks for her, and for the life of him, he can’t let go of her hand.   He has this idea that his touch is what’s keeping her alive.
    “Brian?”   A nurse is standing in the doorway to the ICU room.
    “Yeah?”   He looks at her only briefly