Then
I woke up alone and groggy in the hospital, my arm bandaged and aching. A surge of horror gripped me as I realized my other arm was handcuffed to the side of the bed. The rapid beeping of my heart rate monitor intensified my panic, flooding my body with sheer fear.
“Hello? Hello? Can someone come in here, please?” I called out, tears already streaming down my face.
A nurse entered with a uniformed police officer, who stood by the door. The nurse approached my bedside, adjusting the IV bags.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice trembling as I looked at her.
“You were brought in because you hurt yourself, Jacqueline. You’re lucky your boyfriend was there to help. You cut yourself pretty deep,” she explained curtly.
I looked over at the officer. “But why am I cuffed to the bed? Am I being arrested for trying to kill myself?” I asked with confusion.
He shook his head. “Michael Barnes notified the police that you were also attempting to stab him.”
My mouth flew wide open in shock. “What? That’s insane. I would never hurt him!”
“Honey, keep your voice down,” the nurse scolded.
“But they have it all wrong! I didn’t try to hurt Michael. Where is he? I need to see him!” I tugged on the handcuffs with my sore arm, trying to break free.
“Calm down, Miss Olsen!”
“I will not fucking calm down! Let me out of here! I need to see Michael!” I sobbed, my panic escalating. My breathing quickened, and I could feel a panic attack looming.
“We have a code gray on our 5150 in room 407,” the nurse announced as I writhed in emotional agony.
“I need Michael!” I cried, my breaths coming in shallow gasps as I began to hyperventilate.
I felt a flurry of activity around me and a sharp prick in my cuffed arm. My eyes fluttered open just in time to see the police officer’s disdained scowl before the sedative took effect. As the world faded away, I drifted into a dreamless, terrified sleep.