Everything hurt. I had to peel my cheek from the dried vomit sticking me to the rough utilitarian bath mat. Whilst levering myself up onto one elbow I brushed across my face with the back of my hand. Hair tangled over my eyes and mouth,  catching on the rough skin made raw and broken by however many hours against the floor . It was another grey dawn, but I could see and feel the mucus blood and undigested pills in the sick all around me all over the room and covering the sink and the sides of the bath and the  toilet bowl. The smell hit me and I started again, though I had nothing left to expel.  

Then a bell rang. And rang twice and twice again. I looked over to the bed and shuffled to pick up the phone. Myles. There was only a moment of signal then he was gone. He said no signal. More lies. Enough to taunt me but no help at all.

I realised my face was wet. Still everything hurt and I had nothing to hold, I cried and cried. No sound, just tears. The signal clicked on again, and text message flashed up ‘you have 17 new messages’.

In a foetal curl I carried on weeping silently. How can I be here? A year ago, less, we had everything, I loved the way you’d watch me walk across the room, and ask me where I’d been who I’d spoken to. It made me feel alive knowing that you,  tall handsome strong, wanted me, every part of me. That was so good, felt so good. We talked about a family. You wanted children. I wasn’t sure, but you made me feel so -  whole again. The way you talked, it would be wonderful. So wonderful. But it isn’t. it never will be, I never will be.

Horatio climbed onto the bed and started to lick my face. His breath smelled sweeter than the room. I pushed him away. Sitting up on the edge of the bed I reached for the table lamp. The switch made no difference. I moved to the window and drew back the curtains. The day was still grey, and barely made any difference to the light in the room.

When I put my fingers to the back of my throat I’d made a decision. I never thought I’d come back from that, but here I was. Not sure that was the end of it. But here I was now.

The old casement windows wouldn’t dislodge to allow any fresh air in, the paint on the frames was cracked and peeling but thick and clearly had not been shifted for some time. I suddenly felt I had to get out. I looked down at my dress, it was caked with bile, but I reasoned my coat would cover the worst, and wrapped it about me.

Horatio looked expectantly at me, I had no idea how long we’d been there, it might have been days though in amongst the rancid human odour there was no foul faecal smell of dog shit. Not much to say about a life, but we couldn’t’ have been in there for that long.

I reached for the door and turned the handle. No movement. I pulled again and still nothing. Oh yes, I can’t kill myself properly and now I’ve lost the key. I looked around there was no sign of a key, nor of a key hole.

That couldn’t be right surely, I pulled the handle again, but nothing moved. A sudden sense of panic hit me and I started to bang on the door and found my voice. ‘Hey. Hello. Hello can anyone hear me?

‘Yes’

I froze, The voice had come from behind me, inside the room.

‘I can hear you. And see you. You can’t see me though can you,  you dirty whore. Look at you disgusting bitch, dressed in your own filth, you’re not going anywhere’