Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
I calm her down, collect a rape kit, treat her injuries, and give her the phone number of a women’s shelter where she can stay if she feels unsafe at home. I also suggest she contact the police, but she’s adamant about not filing charges.
“My mother would kill me,” she says, her brown eyes red-rimmed and hopeless. “She says he’s a good provider, and we’re lucky to have him. He’s got priors, so if I say anything, he’ll get put away, and we’ll end up on the street again. I don’t give a fuck—I’d sooner turn tricks in an alley than live with that asshole—but my brother’s only five, and he’ll end up in a foster home. Right now, I take care of him when my mother can’t, and I don’t want him taken away from me.”
She starts crying again, and I squeeze her small hand, my heart aching at her plight. Though the paperwork Monica filled out says she’s seventeen, with her petite build and baby-round cheeks, she looks barely old enough to be in high school. I often see girls like her come through here, and it shatters me each time, knowing there’s only so much I can do to help. If she were on her own, it would be easy to extract her from this situation, but with the little brother in the mix, the best I can do is call Child Services, and that might lead to the very thing my patient dreads: having her brother in foster care without her.
“I’m so sorry, Monica,” I say when she calms down. “I still think going to the police is the best option for you and your brother. Isn’t there anyone else you could turn to? A family friend? A relative, perhaps?”
The girl’s expression turns hollow. “No.” Jumping off the table, she pulls on her clothes. “Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Cobakis. Take care.”
She walks out of the room, and I stare after her, wanting to cry. The girl is in an impossible situation, and I can’t help her. I can never help girls like her. Except—
“Wait!” I grab my bag and run after her. “Monica, wait!”
“She already left,” Lydia says when I burst into the reception area. “What happened? Did she forget something?”
“Sort of.” I don’t bother explaining further. Rushing to the door, I step out and survey the dark, deserted street. Monica’s small, dark-haired figure is already at the end of the block, walking fast, so I run after her, desperate to do something at least this once.
“Monica, wait!”
She must hear me, because she stops and turns.
“Dr. Cobakis?” she says in surprise when I catch up to her.
I stop, panting from the exertion, and rummage inside my bag. “How much do you need to tide you over?” I ask breathlessly, pulling out my checkbook and a pen.
“What?” She gapes at me as though I’ve turned into an alien.
“If you go to the police and they take your stepfather away, how much will you and your mother need to not end up on the street?”
She blinks. “Our rent is twelve hundred a month, and my mother’s disability check covers about half of it. If we could last until this summer, I’d get a full-time job and pitch in, but—”
“Okay, hold on.” I prop the checkbook against the side of a building and write out a check for five thousand dollars. I planned to use that money to send my parents on an anniversary cruise this summer, but I’ll come up with a less costly gift.
My parents won’t mind, I’m sure.
Tearing off the check, I hand it to the girl and say, “Take this and go to the police. He deserves to be in jail.”
Her rounded chin quivers, and for a moment, I’m afraid she’ll start crying again. But she just accepts the check with trembling fingers. “I… I don’t even know how to thank you. This is—” Her young voice breaks. “This is just—”
“It’s okay.” I put my checkbook away and smile at the girl. “Go cash it in, and put the bastard away, okay? Promise me you’ll do that?”
“I promise,” the girl says, stuffing the check into her jeans pocket. “I promise, Dr. Cobakis. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“It’s okay. Go now. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be out alone.”
The girl hesitates, then throws her arms around me in a quick hug. “Thank you,” she whispers again, and then she’s off, her small figure bobbing between the streetlights before disappearing from sight.
I stand there until she’s gone, and then I turn to go back to the clinic. My bank account just took a serious hit, but I feel as jubilant as if I’ve won the lottery. For the first time since I’ve started working at the clinic, I’ve truly helped someone, and it feels amazing.
The cold wind slaps me in the face as I start walking back, and I realize I forgot my coat at the clinic. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m glowing with an inner joy that’s no match for the chilly March evening.