• "What did they do to you, Annabelle?" he sobbed, clinging to the stretcher. I couldn't speak. Or move. Or breathe. But I could hear. I tried to shake my head, but it hurt too much. I felt the stretcher being lifted. I heard doors slam. I felt light-headed from the lack of air. I heard sirens. I felt blood drip from every cut I had gained. His words echoed in my head. They were the last thing I remembered before I blacked out. When I awoke, he was still there. "What did they do?" he asked again. He was at my side at once. I could only shake my head. He held my hand and stroked my hair as he reported the damage to me. Two broken ribs, one concussion, one shattered ankle. It hurt to breath. And move. But he stayed right there. For as long as he could. But after many a night in the hospital right next to me, they made him leave. "I promise I'll be back tomorrow." he assured. "What did they do to you, Annabelle?" he asked one last time before leaving. Those were the words he left me with. The only thing I thought about that night. The loneliest night of my life.