She hated them all.
Her fingers trembled and slipped past the tap and the water was suddenly too hot, scalding. She felt it burning straight through her skin and into her cold heart but it made no difference; she was just as empty inside as ever.
She lazily traced words onto the shower glass and thought that maybe if she pressed a little harder they wouldn’t wash away with the soap suds.
Her head was pounding and it was getting hard to breathe; she couldn’t remember how many pills she had taken. They were clumsy and siren red and they grated against her throat when she had forced them down but she needed them. And needed was such a strange word, how do you ever know if you actually truly need anything?
Her knees gave way and her head met the bath tub, but she didn’t feel anything. She wasn’t even crying. If she cried anymore the whole world would drown.
The steam clouded her eyes and she felt her fingers sliding through the stream of water. She wanted to kill everyone.
They’re idiots, she thought. What didn’t kill me didn’t make me stronger at all.
The lights went out and her lids fluttered shut.