Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Fifty-Eight

A/N Hello my loves! I hope all of your weeks have gone very well, and work and school haven't been too stressful. I don't really have much to say otherwise, only that I am so grateful for you guys! I absolutely love reading your comments and seeing you interact with the story, and I hope you continue to like this novel. Love you!

Anne remembered giving statements to the police, and she wasn't particularly looking forward to giving another one. Luckily, she got a reprieve—the police weren't going to ask her to come down to the station when she was still hopped up on opiods prescribed to control the pain. That compounded with the fact that she was still loopy from surgery made giving any sort of testimony out of the question.

"I love you guys," Anne said, her cheeks slightly colored as she looked at the group around her. "Like, I really love you guys."

Samantha smiled down at Anne, gently brushing her hand against Anne's arms. "And we love you too."

"I thought I was going to die." She spoke matter-of-factly, without a trace of fear in her voice. It seemed that as soon as she established what was pressing on her mind—Mr. Phillips was behind bars—her body could relax back into a natural state of being completely out of it after surgery. "Like, I really thought I was going to die." Her nose scrunched, feeling the soreness around her throat. Still, the medication was doing a good job of removing pain, and she hummed happily.

"As if I would ever let you die," Diana said, hip halfway on the bed as she leaned over and brushed Anne's hair back. "I'm not going to let you get away from me that easily."

Anne didn't quite smile, but her lips turned up at the corners anyway. "I don't want to leave you," she whispered, leaning into Diana's touch. "But what about your mom?"

"Don't you worry about Mrs. Barry," Samantha interjected, and then Anne did smile at that tone of protectiveness interlaced in her voice. "We'll have a talk."

"Do you need to rest?" Matthew said, his own hand rested on Anne's calf. It was as if they all needed to touch her just to know she was there, she was alive, and she was going to be okay.

"I don't know," Anne said, her head cocked to one side. "I don't think so. Didn't I just wake up?"

"It's not the same," Samantha gently chided. "You tell us if you need to take a nap, okay?"

"Okay," Anne acquiesced, taking a deep breath and then completely relaxing herself into the pillows propped up behind her.

Anne saw Nurse Sophie walk toward them first, all smiles. "Hey everyone," she said, causing everyone to turn their heads to the newcomer. "I think Anne's ready to be transferred. We have another room just for you, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Anne replied. For the first time, she glanced down at her arm. Her left was wrapped tightly in gauze, and IVs were inserted into her right. It took her a minute to remember that her left arm was going to be the home to some ugly gashes, and she frowned. "Okay, though."

Sophie nodded her head, a hint of a sadness entering her smile. Anne had seen that so many times, so she relaxed a little more, as if proving to the nurse that she was one strong girl who wouldn't be beaten so easily, not with the circle of people around her.

Still, there was still that voice that thought about Sadie and Hannah, about how much she missed them, about how much she had craved death—did she still crave it? Sometimes, and she took a deep breath, trying to dispel the darkness encroaching around her mind. The depraved middle school assistant principle was not going to be the one who broke her. Not when—Prissy.