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It took me a second to realize that it was holding me to the bed.
Panicked, I pulled on my arm, trying to dislodge it. A moment later I realized that my ankles were also bound.
As I continued to struggle, a nurse entered the room, of course wearing a meticulous white uniform.
I’d obviously realized by now that something bad had happened. And the pitying way she was staring at me wasn’t making me feel any better.
“Can you please undo these?” I asked desperately, even though I had a feeling I knew what the answer was going to be.
“Don’t you worry, darlin,” she cooed. “We’re going to get you the help you need. That’s a promise. Your family is working very hard.”
My family?
“What…?” I whispered in confusion. The door to the room swung open and my mother and Marco rushed into the room.
“Oh you’re awake. Thank God!” my mother said, almost hysterically, as she squeezed Marco’s arm like she’d fall over without his support.
“We’re going to help you,” said Marco gravely.
I blinked up at them owlishly, trying to understand what they were saying. It felt like I was the punchline of some kind of joke…and I didn’t get it.
I bit down on my lip, trying to think of how I’d gotten here. I’d been performing right? And then I’d gone home. We’d been celebrating the last show and…
“You drugged me!” I screeched, pulling at the bindings desperately and thrashing around. I had to get out of here. I had to tell someone.
“Is this from the drugs?” my mother cried pathetically at the nurse, one hand still clutching Marco.
The woman nodded her head. “Coming down from that amount of ketamine can cause delusions. And combined with the other drugs she had in her system…she’s so lucky you were able to get her here in time.”
Ketamine?! “I’ve never taken ketamine in my life,” I snapped, hating how the nurse kept looking at me.
“Can we have a minute?” sniffed my mother.
The nurse hesitated and then nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to check some more vitals.”
Marco and my mother waited until the nurse had closed the door behind her before their masks slipped. Gone was the concern, and in its place…pure evil.
“Did you really think we were going to let you destroy all of our hard work with one of your tantrums?”
“What have you done?” I whispered, desperately yanking again at the bindings. What was this fabric? It wouldn’t even budge.
“Well, we started with a 5150 psych hold,” Marco offered with a grin. “And tomorrow we’ll be appearing in front of a judge to start the conservatorship process.”
“I won’t let you get away with this,” I said…as fiercely as I could manage in a hospital gown, tied to a bed with all my basic rights stripped away.
“Okay,” my mother snickered sarcastically.
Marco opened up the briefcase he had with him and began to throw newspapers and magazines on the bed. All of them covered in pictures…of me.
From that night.
I was in my sweats, with a bottle in my hand, vomit stains on the front of my top. In one of the pictures my sleeve was rolled up and there was a needle in my hand that I was pressing into my arm. In another of the pictures, I was on my knees in front of some guy…On and on they went. Like I’d had a personal photographer witness to my downfall.
The headlines were just as bad.
"Pop Princess Olivia's Shocking Downfall: A Tragic Tale of Drug Scandal and Despair!"
"Olivia's Dark Descent: From Chart-Topping Sensation to the Depths of Addiction."
