Then
I lay in my hospital bed, curled up in a fetal position. On day two of my seventy-two-hour involuntary psychiatric hold, the medication left me feeling groggy and numb. I couldn’t keep any food down, and the relentless drowsiness made every minute feel like an eternity.
I was notified that Michael was not going to press charges against me. Duh, I didn’t do anything wrong . Did he just want to scare me? I had no idea if I would ever see him again, not after what he said I tried to do to him. Did I somehow forget that I tried to stab the love of my life? Why would I do that? All I wanted was to get his attention. And apparently that hadn’t even worked. I thought he would at least come and visit me and confess his undying love to me. But after my seventy-two-hour hold, the psychologist on site declared I was safe to go home under the supervision of a therapist. And Michael never walked through the visitor doors.
I endlessly called and texted him in the following days. I knew I had fucked everything up. How am I supposed to live now? The only person that gave a shit about me is fucking ghosting me. He was leaving me just like everyone else had. But I couldn’t give up. I had to fight to win him back. He needed to see that no one would ever love him the way I did.
I watched Michael walk into his office building, just as I had been doing for the past week. My heart dropped every single time I saw him ignoring my call. I started to panic. I couldn’t take it anymore—I needed to speak to him. I rushed into his building on the chilly November morning, my heart pounding as I searched for him. As I waited for the elevator to reach the lobby, I caught a glimpse of him approaching from the corner of my eye.
“Jackie, come. Follow me,” he instructed, holding his hand out for me.
I was both surprised and overjoyed as I took his hand. He pulled me into the stairwell and quietly shut the door behind us. He glanced up the stairwell before shoving me against the door, his hand pressing firmly against my throat.
“You need to leave me the fuck alone. Stop fucking following me. Stop fucking calling and texting me. You need to move the fuck on, Jackie,” he spit out, his gray eyes dark and angry with a vein popping out of his temple.
I began to sob as he quickly let go of me and straightened his jacket up.
“Why don’t you love me anymore?” I cried, trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t upset him further.
Michael just laughed—he fucking laughed out loud in my face.
“You really thought I could love someone as vile as you? Jesus Christ, Jackie. You’re pathetic,” he hissed.
Now I was angry. “ why did you fucking tell me that you did? Why did you scar my skin with your name? Why did you give me a fucking ring?” I didn’t care about my tone anymore; I was yelling now, my voice echoing in the empty stairwell.
He smiled sinisterly. “Because you were so easy to manipulate. You were so eager, and for what? You cured my boredom. You were an easy fuck.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if dismissing my very existence. “I knew you wouldn’t turn on me, even when I did all of that to you. You were just so fucking pathetic, Jackie.”
I shook my head, words unable to form in my mouth.
“And now look at you, sweet Jackie. You’re ruined. You will forever be all mine and only mine. And I will never, ever be yours.”