She has a black heart drawn across her wrist. Maybe her own heart. Or her dad’s heart, broken after the divorce. Or the baby’s heart since he was born without one beating. A dead thing inside his chest. Or her friend’s heart that always had another heart beating with hers and hands grasping at the other. Maybe it’s black to represent the cancer seeping into the blood. Or the pain of loss. Or the night on which it was drawn. Perhaps it was just the color of the ink of the pen her hopeless hand reached first. And a heart was the first thing to come to mind as she tried to avoid the poison.