It was a cold, rainy October day when she first started killing herself. Sara let her thoughts take
her back all those years, as the tears rolled unstoppable down her flushed cheeks. She could
almost hear the rain pushing against the windowpanes, much like the syringe she had held poised
against her vein on that fateful day so long ago.

She vividly replayed the scene:

She had hissed through clenched teeth, as the needle, much more successful than the rain at breaking
through its barrier, had sent the drugs crashing through her unsuspecting system for the very first time.

At 22, Sara had thought she knew exactly what she was getting in to.

She had told herself that she would only 'use' every once in a while,
only when she really needed to escape.

She knew that some drug users liked to be amongst friends when they used for the first time,
but Sara had chosen to do it alone. She did most things alone, why should this
have been any different? Besides, back then she didn't have any 'real' friends, just people her father thought
she 'should' be friends with. She laughed bitterly through her spilt tears. Who was she kidding?

She still didn't have any 'real' friends. Colleagues? Yes. Aqaintances? Those too.
But friends? She was alone. Alone, but not by choice, not this time.

She stared longingly at the needle she now held in her hand. She knew she could so
easily make all the pain go away. All it would take is just one little push. She shivered at the thought...

He had done this to her..Michael Scofield.
Done this with his smiles, his eyes, his kiss. She had been happy until he showed up in her life.
No, happy was the wrong word. She had been complacent, complacent at least where her job was concerned.
She had found pride and meaning in her work. Letting that meaning consume her had been a distraction
from what was missing in her life. Then he walked in and everything had changed.
Now she was all too aware of what she was missing.

She squeezed her tear filled eyes closed and thought again of that long ago day.

She remembered leaning her head back against the wall when the nausea hit her, trying to fight the urge to vomit the veggie omelet she had eaten for breakfast. She knew now that she should have just given in to the
urge, and gotten the unpleasantness over with. But Sara had always loathed that sort of thing, so she had
tried to sit still, had closed her eyes against the spinning room.

She could almost feel the bile rising up in her throat at the memory.

She had opened her eyes, seeking out the bathroom, the quickest route. She remembered wondering
why her bedroom was so big, the bathroom so far away. She had tried to gain her feet,
but stumbled back down when the floor moved beneath her. She had known that she would never make it to the toilet.
But Sara, ever resourceful even whilst stoned, had grabbed the waste can beside her bed and neatly deposited her breakfast omelet.

She wondered now if maybe she should do this in the bathroom just in case. But what did it matter how they found her?

Sara had no intention of becoming a junkie again. Her only intention was to make it all go away.
Yes today, as on that long ago day, Sara sought escape. But unlike that day, she no longer held any hope that
things would someday be different for her. She knew that all she had was the here and now. And that just wasn't enough anymore.

If she listened closely she could hear the rain pushing against the window panes, much like the syringe she held poised
against her vein..

Just waiting for that little push...