Chapter 8: An Ironic Choice

Cameron robotically took off her work clothes and threw on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. For some reason she didn't want to die in her work clothes. Maybe because her job had had a hand in leading her to the precipice she stood on tonight.

Still nursing the bottle of scotch, Cameron walked into her bathroom to make the decision on how to end her life. She was a doctor after all. She knew the most effective way to bleed out when it came to slitting your wrists, but honestly that was just a little too gory for her taste.

She could try and hang herself but that seemed like a very painful way to die with a good chance of not succeeding.

All of a sudden a light bulb went off in Cameron's head. She walked to her medicine cabinet and started rifling thru all her toiletries. There in the very back sat a lone bottle. She had gotten them when she had had some surgery done on her teeth.

A full bottle of Vicoden.

She couldn't help letting a tiny smirk escape.

Vicoden: how appropriate.

She took the scotch, the Vicodin, and went to sit at the kitchen table to write some sort of good-bye note. She didn't know how long it would take once she swallowed the pills, so she wanted to write the letter before she took them. As she wrote the letter, the tears began to fall again.

Would anybody even really care, she questioned?

She finished the letter, folded it up and stuck in an envelope. She sealed it shut and then wrote on the front:

To be opened by Dr. James Wilson, PPTH.

She walked into her bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and opened the vial of pills. She placed a whole handful in her mouth and struggled to wash them down with the scotch.

Cameron laid back on her pillows and thought it won't be long now. It won't be long before the pain is gone.

And on that thought Cameron let her eyelids droop closed as she waited for the end. The last thoughts on her mind before sleep claimed her, were of a blue-eyed doctor who had stolen her heart, but wouldn't give his in return.