“I’m okay,” I whisper.
“You could have died. You could have died in that trunk, and I’d have had no idea.”
“I didn’t die. I’m okay.”
“Never again. I’m never letting you out of my sight ever again.”
“Okay,” I tell him, knowing he’ll calm down once I’m out of the hospital, or whatever this unfamiliar room is. “This doesn’t look like a hospital,” I say, glancing around at the soft lighting, comfortable-looking furniture, and drapes hiding the windows.
“It’s the VIP wing,” Sebastian states nonchalantly.
“I could have just gone into a normal room.”
“No, you couldn’t.”
“Tell me what happened,” I ask, shuffling up the bed so I can rest my head on the pillow and not on Sebastian’s chest.
“The cops used the tracker to find you. They arrested Courtney after they found you in the trunk and called an ambulance because you were unconscious. The EMTs brought you here, and they checked you over. They were worried about your breathing. They did a tox screen and the drug she used was a low dose of Rohypnol. If you hadn’t had a reaction to it, you likely would have woken up after an hour or so.”
“So how long have I been unconscious for?”
“You woke up very briefly, just as the ambulance arrived, and several times since then, but it’s been twelve hours since we got to the hospital.”
“Twelve hours?” I gasp.
“Twelve fucking hours,” Sebastian repeats, his jaw twitching manically.
Our conversation is interrupted by a nurse wearing pink scrubs entering the room.
“She’s awake and talking,” Sebastian tells her, carefully extracting himself from the bed and retaking a seat in the chair again.
“Mrs. Lockwood, how do you feel?”
“Tired,” I admit.
Nodding, she types something into the tablet that’s attached to a strap hanging across her chest. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake. The police are still here, but the doctor will want to see you first.”
“Could I have a drink, please?” I croak, my throat dry.
“I’ll get it for you,” Sebastian says, standing and moving to a small refrigerator built into the wall. Pulling out a bottle of water, he unscrews the lid, slides a straw into the top, then holds it up to my lips, not letting me take it from him.
I take a small sip, then a longer one, sighing happily as the cool water coats my throat.
“Mrs. Lockwood,” a young female doctor says as she pushes through the door and into the room, wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope hung around her neck. “I’m Dr. Gupta. How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay, tired and confused, but other than that, I think I feel fine.”
“You were unconscious when you arrived at the hospital, and you’ve had several brief moments of consciousness, but not long enough for you to fully wake up. We did a tox screen when you first arrived, which showed a low dose of Rohypnol in your bloodstream. Given the low level of the drug, we believe that it was only intended to render you unconscious for a short amount of time. Maybe an hour or two, perhaps less. However, your body reacted to the drug, and we have observed some mild side effects. Your heart rate was slower than we’d like, your breathing became labored, and your blood pressure dropped to a concerning level. Now that you’re awake, I’d like to do a few tests so we can rule out any complications,” the doctor says.
“Okay.” I nod.
Nodding back, the doctor glances over her shoulder to the drape-covered glass wall that separates the room from the rest of the hospital. “The police have been waiting to speak with you. Do you feel up to it, or would you like to wait until after the tests?”
“After,” Sebastian says, speaking before I have a chance.
“Okay,” Dr. Gupta agrees, speaking quickly to the nurse before turning and leaving.
“I could have talked to them now,” I tell Sebastian.
