The doctor's eyes narrow. "Gave you?"
I lick my lips. "Crazy, right? The idea of me being someone's property. But that's how they both saw it." I let out a shaky breath. "I was in Jesse's car. He was driving to Seattle and he said we were going to start a life there. That's where he has his house and runs his business. My dad only knew him because of, well, my dad's an addict." I close my eyes. "I'm sorry," I say.
"I think it’s time for you to talk to the police," the doctor says.
I frown. "I don't want any trouble. I just want to never see him again."
"Faith, if you were in trouble, if someone was forcing you against your will, they should be held accountable for that."
I nod slowly. "I suppose, but I feel like I've already had enough pain in my life. I don't want to relive it."
"Even if it meant helping someone else? Stopping the madness?"
I sigh. "I guess I see what you're saying."
"Would you be comfortable speaking with a police officer? Maybe the social worker, too?"
I nod. "I'll talk to whomever you want me to, I just..." I twist my lips. "I'm actually happy and relieved that I rolled myself out of Jesse's car, because I didn't want to be anywhere near him anymore. And the fact he left me there on the side of the road, well, I guess that just says everything we need to know about him."
The doctor nods, standing, "I guess you're lucky that Jake was there when he was, huh?"
"Jake?" I say.
"The man who found you. Jake Maddox."
It dawns on me then. I didn't even think about that, think about the fact that someone found me, saved me, that that's why I'm here alive at all. I could have been left for dead in the woods.
"Is he still here, Jake? Do you know how I could reach him?"
"Of course I do," the doctor says. "Jake's a local hero. And he is here. You want me to ask the nurse to bring him in?"
"Would you do that?" I ask. "Really?"
"After all you've been through? Sure. I just don't want to put you under any more strain or duress. I'm going to call the police now, and it's not because you're in any trouble. It's because if we can find the person who did this to you, well," he says softly, "the whole world would be just a little bit safer. Don't you think?"
I swallow, nodding, recognizing the truth in his words, even if they're a hard pill to swallow.
A few minutes later, the nurse comes to my door. "Hey, Faith. So Jake's here to see you. Dr. Trent let me know you were hoping to get a chance to thank him."
I nod. "Yeah, thank you," I say. "He can come in."
She smiles before opening the door a little more widely and stepping away. A man walks into my hospital room, and I find myself stunned, too stunned to speak.
"I'm Jake," he says. His voice is low and gravelly. He's tall, six foot two or three, broad-shouldered, tanned, with short-cropped hair and a clean jaw.
He looks like he was carved out of the earth itself. He is looking at me as if he's surprised that I'm sitting here at all. "Damn," he says. "Are you in pain?" He steps toward me as if we have a familiarity I can't remember.
He reaches out to the bandage on my head, it wraps around me like a headband. "I'm all right," I say. "I mean, they gave me some pain medication."
He chuckles. "Hell, when I saw you out there in the woods, I was so scared."
I look at him more closely, realizing there's a vulnerability in his voice. He's ragged and raw. When he speaks, when he looks at me, he's shaking.
I take his hand and hold it in mine. "Thank you for finding me, for being there. I feel like you're my guardian angel, Jake."
He gives me a soft smile. "And here I was calling you the angel that fell from heaven."
"Me? An angel?" I let out a shaky breath. "Hardly."
"What were you doing out there all alone? Those woods, they're not meant for someone wearing one shoe without even so much as a jacket, or a bag. Hell, I was hiking those woods with a tent and a sleeping bag, with a week's worth of food. You… you had nothing."
I swallow, embarrassed. "It's a bit of a long story. A story I guess I have to tell the police." I blink back tears.
"Are you in trouble?"
I nod, tears beginning to roll down my face. "I'm in trouble," I say. "I mean, I didn't do anything, but my father and this man, Jesse..."
"Is that why you have bruises on your wrists?" he asks, taking my hand in his. His skin isn't soft or smooth. It's calloused and rough and makes me wonder where he's been, what he's seen.