I try to open my eyes again but it’s a struggle so I give it more time. Flashes of what happened in the shower come back to me, sending shivers down my spine. For a second, I consider doing what that other poor bastard did, just end it all with one clean slice.

But then my thoughts return to Olive. No, she’s worth fighting for. Even if she was the one who turned me in, I’ve got to stay strong for her. I’ve got to prove to her that I didn’t do those horrible things they are accusing me of, if it’s the last thing I do.

“He’s not going to make it,” a nurse with a deeper and lower voice says, walking right next to me. My heart sinks.

“No, he’ll be okay. Those bruises will heal eventually,” the younger nurse insists. She touches the sheet draped around my torso and I feel it get taut under her palm.

“I’m not talking about that.”

“What do you mean then? The rape?” The last part she says so quietly, it’s barely audible, as if the word itself is forbidden.

“No, that happens all too often,” the older nurse says in a nonchalant sort of way that makes me sick to my stomach. “I just don’t think he’s going to make it through the trial.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, he’s too famous.”

“It’s not like he’s an actor or a celebrity or something.”

“He’s a celebrity in these circles. His face has been all over the news and he was on the FBI’s list.”

A loud sound of metal hitting metal interrupts their conversation, but only briefly.

“What does that matter?” the younger nurse asks.

“Everyone is talking about the four guys who did this to him. What do you think is going to happen to the one who puts a shank into him and watches him bleed out?”

The grotesqueness of the details makes me want to vomit but I can’t seem to move a muscle.

My body is still too weak and tired. The only thing I can do is to put these images out of my mind by replacing them with something else.

I take a small breath and focus my mind on a place that’s far away from here.

I see a little cottage overlooking the sea. The breeze is warm and there are palm trees swaying nearby. The cottage is freshly painted, white with blue shutters and a white-picket fence that Olive would love.

I see her in the garden, kneeling down next to a bushel of daisies that she has planted herself. Everyone loves roses but daisies are Olive’s favorite. They are sunny and friendly and unassuming and yet breathtakingly beautiful just like she is.