Miss Hawkridge

eleven

The constant phone and pager rings stopped bothering her. The luminescent glow became adjustable too. What wrung her gut was the tightly guarded door by men in uniforms.

The nurse checked her as soon as she awoke, and after declaring her normal, she was surrounded by two police officers, interjecting her with questions she had no clue of or answer to, before Johanna stepped in. She promised her safety, but Liv wanted familiarity.

His face peeked in through the door, as she said his name aloud.

"Wherever you been?" Alaric burst, embracing her warmly. "Do you know how worried I've been? Where's your phone?"

"Chill, fam," Liv laughed. "By God's graciousness I left my phone home."

"What happened to you? Why are you in a hospital?" Liv shrugged.

"Johanna said I fainted," she smiled.

"How can you smile at a time like this. What did the doctors say?" Liv waved her hand at him.

"Chill dude," she rolled her eyes, her lips curved upwards, "it's nothing serious." Alaric's turned around to address the police officers.

"We're here because the doctors raised alarms over her drug results," one of them replied.

"What do you mean drug results?"

"The hospital staff was concerned with the amount of dilaudid in her stomach. Now, we understand the pressures of high school, but," he addressed Liv, "it's not good for bright, young girls to use drugs. Of course, because Miss Beckett here firmly attested to your character, we won't proceed with the charges but if our investigation reveals that you in fact do have a drug abuse problem, then, I'm afraid we will have to charge you."

"I think you've mixed her up with someone else, Officer, Olivia doesn't do drugs," Alaric snapped.

"Young man, we know you love your girlfriend, but lying and covering up for her won't help her."

"It's not a cover-up if it's the truth. She. Doesn't. Do. Drugs. You know why? 'Cause she doesn't have access to them. 'Cause she doesn't need them. 'Cause I make sure she will never ever do anything that cause she's self-harm, so with all due respect, Officer, I think you have the wrong person."

"Is her name Olivia Cosima?" Alaric's nodded. "Then we have the right person. Now if you don't mind, we'd like to ask the young lady a few questions."

"You can't ask her anything alone 'cause she's not eighteen yet. I'll stay with her."

"Yes, me too," Johanna added. The police denied her request.

With Johanna out of the room and Alaric holding tightly onto her hand, the pit in her gut was almost disappearing. He squeezed her hand and nodded at her, before the police asked her questions to which she replied truthfully, that she had never used drugs, that she didn't have access to them, and everything she remembered before she lost her consciousness.

"Odd. Miss Beckett seemed to tell a completely different story."

"What'd she say?"

"That she found you, drunk out of your mind, in Corey Slinger's office, while they were talking. She said you seemed delirious, so she immediately brought you to the hospital, before which you lost consciousness."

"Did she say I was drunk?"

"She said that's what she thought, though you didn't smell of alcohol."

"And you believe her?"

"Look, kid, I know you're Detective Cosima's daughter, and knowing the kind of woman she is, I know you aren't the kind to turn out this way, but life happens, and sometimes, even the star students go wild sometimes."

"I didn't go wild," Liv raised her voice, "I went to interview them." Her eyes swam. "Officer, please, believe me."

"If She were to do drugs or alcohol or whatever, she wouldn't be doing it in the middle of the day, and if she did 'go wild' then she'd have her friends with her, and guess what, none of them are. Someone must've done this to her." It was then that something clicked in Liv's head.

"What day is it?" She asked. She was told the day. "I request you to all leave me alone, please," she said.

"Liv-" Alaric began.

"Please," she said firmly. The officers nodded and Alaric lingered before he too left.

Liv put her head in her hands. She dug into her head, thinking over and over and over where she went wrong. Where did she go wrong? Where did she go wrong? Where did she go wrong? Where? Where? Where?

She wanted to throw something, she ripped her I.V. drop from her hand, the act leaving a gash and sting, tears welling in her eyes, she wanted to throw something. She shook her head, the thoughts raced in her head, every word, every action, every moment, magical, she went through.

She threw off her covers, barely wearing her shoes, she rushed out the door, the bustling hallway an convenient cover for her escape.

It was her bedroom she ended up in. She snorted at her destination but the sheets of haphazard books and unkempt newspaper clippings with stale coffee and smeared ink and dry paint and the sheets and sheets of writings and all of them in her own hand and the words not making any sense except at the time she wrote and the sentences which strung together weren't proper and that didn't matter and what mattered is that she knew and the sheets and sheets and sheets of papers just wouldn't stop and she just crumpled them in her hands and threw them, hitting her hands on top of the table.

She knew. She just knew.

How?

She opened her phone and texted.

I know everything. Meet me at the studio.