Chapter 6

“SINGER-SONGWRITER ESTELLE SHAWN FOUND PASSED OUT IN NYC ALLEY: WERE THERE DRUGS INVOLVED?”

“ESTELLE SHAWN, YOUTUBE HIT TURNED POP SENSATION, UNCONSCIOUS IN NEW YORK - ESTRANGED MARRIAGE AT FAULT?”

“AN IN-DEPTH PROFILE ON ESTELLE SHAWN’S STRUGGLE WITH ADDICTION”

My personal life had never spread so far and so quickly as it did today. I laid in the hospital bed, arms weak and eyes puffy, staring solemnly at the television. Every news outlet was running a short piece on me. On Courtney. On what I had previously kept a secret. I looked at the IV in my arm, wondering what drugs they were shooting up in me. Wondering how much I shot up on my own. Courtney is probably glad she left me. I deserve it.

The moments leading up to me passing out were... terrifying, to say the least. In the dark, paranoid thoughts were running through my head. I was seeing things, and I remember feeling very dizzy and delirious. I’m not sure how much of it I had, but the hospital told me I had traces of heroin and coke in my system when they found me. They said I had overdosed and if I hadn’t been found, I could have died.

I wish I had.

On top of the immense headache that I had and the fact that my whole body felt like it was hit by a truck, I had to deal with the divorce and the press surrounding both situations that I found myself in. I saw my kids on the TV and teared up. I would probably never see them again, for their own safety. I wasn’t responsible enough anyway.

“Mrs Shawn,” the doctor popped her head in. “It’s good to see you awake. We need to discuss some things.”

“Please, just call me Estelle.” I struggled to turn my gaze to her. My stomach churned.

“Absolutely. Estelle, you have gotten really lucky,” she sat next to me on the doctor stool. “Every sign of your overdose shows you should be dead right now. Yet you’re here.”

“I’m feeling like a true survivor, doc.” I said sarcastically.

“We’re going to keep you here for another day, but you’re basically in perfect health still. We will be referring you to a rehab specialist though. We could tell that you have a history with drugs.” She looked down at her clipboard, and back up to me. Her brown eyes were like pools of caramel, her auburn hair pulled up into a neat bun. I knew it would never happen, but I wanted it to. I struggled to put my hand up to touch hers.

“You are so pre-“ I got out half of my compliment before my door burst open. It was my manager.

“How dare you go and do this? Do you know what kind of disaster you’ve caused not only the label, but me as a person? You are a stuck up, arrogant bitch!” He continued, yelling obscenity after obscenity at me. I just laid there staring at the ceiling while my doctor called for security and started to push him out of the room.

“I’m so sorry about that. I’ll let you get some rest now.” The room was quiet, aside from the beeping of my heart monitor.

“It’s fine,” I said to no one. “He’s a controlling asshole. If he ever has a kid, I’m going to feel sorry for that poor bastard.” I rested my head on my pillow and thought about my second chance. The doctor was right. I’m still standing.