I search through the papers, digging through my entire collection of sheet music. I tipped all my boxes out onto the floor and spread them around like carpet. I've been trying to find the tabs for Only Angels Have Wings. My mother wrote the chords for me when I was a kid, before I learnt how to translate songs myself.

Since Tyler called me an American sweetheart, I haven't stopped thinking about it. It's been playing on repeat in my mind, but I don't even have the record. I swear I have the CD somewhere, but it must be in Greenbay with my sister. I haven't listened to it since my mother passed away, but I can't fight the urge to play it. I need it.

I let out a low grumble, dumping a pile of songs back into a box. This is impossible. I have way too much sheet music. As soon as I move out on my own, I'm buying a bunch of filing cabinets and storing the alphabetically. Maybe I should digitalise them. It's the 21st century, after all.

Just as my eye lands on another one of her songs, I hear a knock on the door. The front door.

Shit. I'm home alone.

I get up off the floor, throwing my robe over my pyjamas. It's pretty late at night, but I'm not tired yet. I stick my feet into my slippers, and walk into the hallway. I try to look out the window, just to check who it is, but I can't make it out.

I hesitantly pull the door open, but I instantly wish I hadn't. I squeeze onto the door handle, feeling my heart rate speed up. I have to fight the urge not to itch my thigh.

It's two men I don't recognise. One is dressed in plain clothes, but the other, is wearing a police uniform.

"Evening, Miss," the officer says. "My names Officer Marks. I'm with the local police department."

This cannot be about Christians car. Please, don't be about the car. I can't go to prison. There's no way I'd survive. I already feel guilty for what I did, but I won't be able to cope in a cell.

"Hi," I swallow. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so," he smiles. "We're looking for Tyler Thompson. This is his address, is it not?"

"Yeah... uhm... it is."

"Is he home?"

"I don't think so. I haven't seen him today."

"Are you sure about that? His vehicle is parked downstairs."

"It is?" I frown, my anxiety rising. "I don't know where he is."

"Why don't you check his room?" he suggests, but it sounds very condescending.

"Sure," I nod. I begin to turn around, but I'm interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Tyler steps out of his room, a scowl on his face. How can he be so silent all day?

"Relax, boys," he says. "I'm right here."

The two men barge into the house, forcing me out of their way. They head right to Tyler, pulling out a set of handcuffs in the process. Tyler holds his hands behind his back, letting the officer handcuff him.

No. No. This can't be happening. This cannot be happening.

"Tyler Thompson, you're under arrest for assault and battery," the officer says. "Anything you say, can be held against you in a court is law. Is that understood?"

Tyler nods, but it's not good enough.

"I'm going to need a verbal response," the officer says.

"Yes," he rolls his eyes. "I understand."

I gape at him, shocked by his calm demeanour. What the hell is wrong with him? How can he not be worried?

"Tyler..." I whisper, watching the men lead him out of the apartment. He looks down at me, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Call Owen," he tells me.

"I can't just... I can't..."

"Do it!"

"Tyler!"

"Call him!"

"I can't just let you go!" I blurt. "I need to come with you!"

"You can't! That's not how this works, Sarah!"

"I need to go to the police station!"

"No, you stay here!" he instructs.

"Tyler!"

"Stay here!"

"I- I-, I need to help!"

"Call Owen!"

"I will! I just... I-."

I cut myself off, letting my emotions get the best of me. I can feel my breathing waver, and my hands begin to shake. I instantly scratch my thigh, momentarily shutting my eyes to wish the pain away.

I cannot have two panic attacks in one week. That's way too much! It's too soon for my new meds to have kicked in yet, but I'm definitely glad I started now. This needs to stop.

"Sarah!" Tyler calls. "No matter what you do, don't panic."

I nod my head, but he knows I'm not listening. He gives me a stern look.

"Okay?" he insists. "Don't panic! Understand?"

"Okay," I nod, but the word barely comes out. This isn't helping the situation at all!

The officers walk out of the apartment, heading down the balcony, but I can still hear him.

"Sarah?" he softens his tone.

"Yes?" I mumble, letting his eyes pierce mine.

"Everything's going to be alright," he says. "Okay, Princess?"

I nod my head, breaking our eye contact. I watch the men lean him down the stairs, and into the police car. I track them as they pull out of the parking lot, and drive down the road.

As soon as they're gone, I hurry back inside. I slam the front door shut, leaning against it in a desperate attempt for comfort. This cannot be happening. No way. It can't be. Not whenever everything has been going well. We're finally getting along. Hell, I even kissed him!

It's not fair. How can this happen? He's always drinking and taking drugs, but he's arrested for assault? The assault of who? He's always fighting!

I suck in a deep breathe, forcing myself to calm down. I can't help him if I panic. I get up off the floor, practically running into my room. I grab my phone, and shakingly search for Owens number. I accidentally call Tyler at first, but quickly correct myself, bringing the phone to my ear.

"Yo, what's up?" he answers.

"Owen?" I ask. My breathing stifles.

"Sarah? Are you okay?"

"Tyler," I sniffle. "Tyler got arrested."

"What?!"

"These cops... they took him away."

"Sarah, breathe, okay? I need you to calm down and tell me exactly what happened."

I take a deep breathe, knowing I need to stop. This situation will not get better by me panicking.

I need to stop, right now.

Bon Iver, The National, The Shins, Volcano Choir. Bon Iver, The National, The Shins, Volcano Choir. Bon Iver, The National, The Shins, Volcano Choir. Bon Iver, The National, The Shins, Volcano Choir.

"Are you good?" Owen asks.

"Assault and battery," I tell him, repeating the words the officers told Tyler during his Miranda rights. "They took him in. He told me to call you."

"Where did they take him?"

"I don't know... I don't know!" I rack my brain. "He said he was from the local police department!"

"Alright. Thanks. I'll go there. You stay calm, okay? Call Lena!"

The line goes dead.