plan for weeks, ever since that night, but I never really thought I'd follow through with it. Tonight, I know I will. There is no more doubt. No more fear. Only a deep relief that soon it will all be over.
Once inside my flat, I don't bother kicking off my shoes or placing my keys on the hand-painted table under the mirror along the entryway. Instead, I drop everything on the floor as I make my way to the small bathroom adjacent to my bedroom. After weeks of anguish, my hopelessness propels me. I don’t stop moving toward the inevitable. There’s nothing else left to do anyway. I've already written the note. They will find it on my desk next to my laptop.
I don't bother taking off my white dress, though I do pull off my coat. I almost laugh at the absurdity that the moment before my death I would be worried about ruining my favorite—and most expensive—indulgence, my beautiful red wool coat.
But thinking about the coat keeps me from thinking about her. Or my mother. Did either of them feel this way before the end?
I take the razor blade I purchased just for this occasion, turn on my bath, and sink into the warm water. My red scarf floats around me like blood. How fitting, I think, as I place the silver blade against my left wrist.
I know how to cut, vertically not horizontally. I know which veins to hit to get the job done correctly. Living alone helps. No one will look for me until tomorrow when I don't show up for school.
I idly wonder who will come checking in. Probably Mike, from Art History. He's been asking me out for months and would want to be the first to ‘help’. But maybe Lacy will insist, knowing I don't fancy Mike at all. I actually hope it's Mike and not Lacy. I don't want my friend seeing me like this.
The slice doesn't hurt like I imagined it would. It almost feels good, like it's cutting into an illness and letting out the infection. As the blood flows into the water, covering my pale skin, staining my white dress, I imagine all the crazy bleeding away. Soon I'll be with my sister and my parents again.
Soon, I will be free of the madness that has taken the sanity—and lives—of every woman in my family for generations.
My eyes are closed, lost in dreams of death, when a stranger’s arms pull me out of the water. Heat tickles across my wet, chilled skin.
"You poor girl. There's hope for you yet." His voice is the last thing I hear before I fade into nothing.
1
I wake with a sudden gasp, inhaling damp, chilled air that burns my throat. My fingers are cold as I bring them to my face, rubbing at my eyes. It doesn’t help against the blurriness. Blinking, I sit up, then wobble as the room spins around me. What time is it? Where am I?
In the muddled mess of my own thoughts, I struggle to remember the events that led me here.
Searching for a clue, I look down at the simple gown I’m wearing. It’s not familiar and is too baggy on my slender frame. Below the short hemline, my legs are tangled in a threadbare blanket draped across the cot I woke up on. Staring down at my own body, confusion turns quickly to fear. Nothing feels right about this. How did I get here?
I look up again, studying the room around me as the dizziness recedes and my vision finally begins to clear. The space comes into sharper focus. Concrete walls on three sides, and on the fourth—
I blink at the sight of iron bars.
A cell?
Panicked, I try to jump up, but the sudden movement sends me swaying and I ease back again.
“Careful now. The cocktail they gave you takes a bit to wear off.”
The voice is deep and gravelly with a distinct Australian accent. He speaks in almost a whisper, but in the strangeness of my surroundings, I cower against the wall as if he had shouted. Searching for the source of the voice, I give a quick jerk of my head left then right, but I don’t see anyone.
My heart pounds as I begin to wonder if I’m hearing imaginary voices. Again. Though they’ve never had an Australian accent before.
“No fast movements or you’ll cover yourself in piss in no time. Trust me, you’ll regret it.”