I open my eyes. My flesh is pale, the water cold and tainted.

I’m still here.

Fuck.

“I’m still here,” I say, as if hearing my own voice will underscore the fact.

I shiver and step from the tub. I want to cry, but no tears will come. I step onto a small plastic container which I pick up and examine. It’s now empty of the pills it once contained. Tentatively I look down at my wrists; the two deep slashes now congealed and purple. I take a deep breath and step in front of the mirror.

I’m not there. No me, no reflection, no nothing at all.

There comes kicking at the door and I stand back as a police officer comes rushing in. He steps to the tub and desperately heaves my limp body from it. My elderly neighbour gasps from the doorway.

“I’m afraid she’s gone, ma’am.”