Page 62 of Bound To Me

“Hi, love. Have you heard the news?” Her voice was calm and neutral, and I couldn’t tell if the news was good or bad.

“No?” I replied weakly, holding my breath.

“Hana’s been found. She’s alive. They were upstate and got into a car wreck. Michael’s okay too, that fucking wanker.”

Relief washed through my body and I began to cry.Thank God. Thank fucking God.I was angry with myself for being relieved that Michael was okay too.

“Thank you for letting me know, Jessica,” I responded after I calmed down.

She paused for a moment. “I wasn’t ignoring you, by the way. I’m sorry if it seemed that way. There’s been so much going on with Jack that I just…I didn’t really know what to say.”

My chest constricted. “I understand. Will you please keep me updated about Hana? I mean, if you want. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Of course. I hope you’re okay too, Jackie,” she said gently.

I nodded, trying my best to convince myself it was true. “I will be.”

* * *

Months went by before I heard from anyone again. I had been sinking into a deep, spiraling depression. Despite my therapist’sinsistence that I wasn’t at fault for what Michael did to me or to Hana, I refused to believe it.

Hana’s lawyers were the first to contact me. They informed me that I was a crucial part of the case against Michael. I agreed to help in any way I could and was asked to come to their office the very next day.

I nervously sat in the elegant lobby on the 40th floor of a modern skyscraper in downtown, not far from where Michael and Hana used to work. As I settled into a comfortable armchair, I gazed out the large windows, taking in the impressive view of Brooklyn across the river, its skyline marked by a blend of old and new buildings. My anxiety bubbled beneath the surface, making my heart race and my palms sweat. Each minute felt like an eternity as I waited. I took deep breaths, trying to steady myself, but the anticipation of having to talk about my experiences—yet again—kept my nerves on edge.

The receptionist poked her head out the door that led to the office. “Miss Olsen, please follow me.”

My legs felt unsteady as I followed her down a hallway lined by numerous doors. A well-dressed man and woman smiled and stood as I entered a room at the end of the hallway.

“Miss Olsen, thanks for being here,” the man began, extending his hand for a handshake, which I quickly reciprocated. “I’m Joseph Anderson. This is my associate, Claire Whitehall.” Despite their friendly demeanor, their presence didn’t make me feel any more comfortable.

We sat at the large table in the middle of the room. They began to ask me surface questions, like how old I was and when I began a relationship with Michael. I quickly interjected that it wasn’t a relationship; it wasveryclear to him that he only wanted a dominant/submissive relationship, devoid of any romance. They glanced at each other and then began to write things down.

“I need to make it clear, just right here at the beginning, that I never had any prior experience in a relationship like that. So I didn’t know any better when he began to immediately order me around. He had been very cruel to me since day one.” Tears welled in my eyes as I explained, my breath trembling with emotion.

“So then why did you start a relationship with him if he was cruel to you?” Joseph asked me, no hint of emotion in his tone.

Claire shot him an icy glare before turning back to me.

I took a deep breath as I stared down at the table, unsure of what I was even going to say before I answered. “Because I was attracted to him, and he made me feel like I was wanted. I grew up in and out of foster homes; I never felt like I belonged anywhere. So when he told me that he wanted me, I desperately wanted to hold onto that. I know it seems fucking naive and stupid of me to want a man that hurt me, but his charm was just…he was just so magnetic. I can’t explain it.”

My eyes shot back up at Claire’s. I had already decided I didn’t like Joseph, so I didn’t bother to look at him. But when he asked me about my childhood, about why I was in foster care, the look of concern on his face seemed legitimate after I explained what happened with my parents.

“Did you go through any therapy? At any point in your life?”

I blinked. “Yes. Very often.”

Claire looked down at her notes. “Jacqueline, can you tell us about your stay in a facility when you were sixteen?”

Oh, fuck. Are they really gonna go there? Are they gonna question my mental stability?

“Um…what does that matter?” I asked defensively.

Joseph answered without hesitation. “Because we see you’ve stayed in a mental health facility, you’ve been held on a 5150, that you were accused of trying to stab the defendant. We needto clear all of this up because they will grill you with these things when you take the stand. We need to be ready for that.”

I scoffed. “I have scars to prove what he did to me.” I stood up and removed my jacket, revealing Michael’s marks on me.

“We’re not saying these things didn’t happen to you, Miss Olsen. We just want to get all the hard questions out of the way to move forward,” Claire responded with a calm demeanor, though her eyes darted between my scars, her expression betraying her true feelings.

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