One a day: No Reason
I lost the picture for this one too. It was a bottle of white pills on the pavement in town.
“Oh my God Tash! What the hell are you doing?” I snatch the bottle of pills from her small hands. “How many have you taken?” The lid is by her bare feet. I screw it back onto the bottle. Flecks of violet nail varnish are embedded in the grooves where you twist to open.
“You came home too early.”
“I was supposed to come and find you dead? Is that it?” The bedroom window is flung open, as far as it will go. “What were you planning to do? Throw yourself out of it? Eh? That wouldn’t have fucking hurt you.” The Rag and Bone man passes under the window. I chuck the bottle out. I hear it smack the pavement but not break. I see the bottle of vodka, the one we had been saving for the house warming, under the sofa. The lid is near my shoe. The red alarm clock has been going off since she started to roll out of bed at midday, months ago, and make going to the job centre a massive issue, like killing a dragon or choosing which underwear to buy for valentines. I stab 999 into my mobile. The ambulance takes a full episode of Top Gear to arrive. They pump her stomach in the living room, her small little belly is red raw by the time they are done. The vomit is a thousand different colours.
“Why did she try and kill herself?” The medical asks me. I feel my voice trembling in my throat, my heart thwack against its four cavities.
“I’ve no idea.” I realise I’m crying and I don’t know why.