'Jesus Connie, what have you done?' he was at her side in an instant, taking in the small cuts that ran across her hands from the broken glass and the pills that scattered across the bathroom tiles with shards of glass from the bottle that she'd smashed and the large bottle of vodka that sat virtually empty beside her 'and where did you get that?'

'It was in there' she gestured towards the space beneath the sink 'Michael never thought to look there'

'Precisely how many of these have you had?' he scrabbled about on the floor for a moment, extracting the remnants of a label belonging to a bottle of diazepam. Fuck.

'I haven't' she insisted, slurring her words a little 'I couldn't get into the bottle…'

'So you smashed it' he sighed heavily, tentatively examining the damage to her hands concluding that the cuts were not as deep as they looked and would probably do little more than keep her out of surgery for a week, a situation that was no bad thing considering the state that she was in 'What the hell were you planning to do?'

'I thought they might relax me' she protested, her drunken form slumping against him as he led her into the bedroom and sat her down on the bed, gently rubbing her upper thigh 'I wasn't going to OD or anything'

'Really' he remarked, not entirely sure whether he believed her 'Strange as it may be, Connie, sex with a woman out of her mind on narcotics is not my idea of a good time'

'Well fuck off then' she retorted, the alcohol destroying her inhibitions and making her more crude than she would ever dream of being were she sober.

'No' he replied stubbornly, moving into the bathroom and extracting a pack of surgical dressings before starting to clean up the mess of her hands, relieved to see that most of the wounds that crisscrossed her palms were relatively superficial. Only one wound gave him a cause for concern and it was not so much the depth of the wound that worried him as the location; the cuts to her palms were explained by smashing the bottle but how the hell had she managed to sustain a jagged cut across her wrist? Miraculously she seemed to have missed all her arteries and nerves but he suspected that this was not her intention.

'That was an accident' she told as she saw his eyes widen at the sight of the injury to her wrist 'I wasn't trying to…'

'Right' he replied, utterly unconvinced 'by rights I should be calling you an ambulance'

'Why, my hands aren't that bad…' she trailed off as realisation dawned upon her and a flush spread up her cheeks 'you wouldn't dare'

'Oh believe me I would' he replied, his voice betraying a strength that he didn't feel 'You need help Connie; whatever it is that's fucked you up you need to learn to control it before you do yourself even more comprehensive damage'

'If you did that my career would be over; you wouldn't – it would be like signing my death warrant' she stated with confidence and he had to admit that she had a point; he wouldn't dare jeopardise her career because to do so would set her on a path to self destruction that would be tantamount to murder.

'So instead I should sit back at watch you kill yourself? I think that's just as bad, don't you?' he retorted with a conviction that he didn't feel 'You need help and I'm going to see to it that you get it'

'I don't need help' she protested, pulling her hand from his grasp and emitting a squeak of pain as her wounds were further assaulted 'just get out and leave me alone'

'No' he repeated, taking her by the arm, being careful not to touch any of the cuts that adorned her hands and wrists and bought her back to the bed, sitting her down and crouching in front of her as he finished tending to her palms with a tenderness that he didn't feel 'I'm not going to leave you alone to do something even worse to yourself. It seems to me you have two options…'

'And what might they be?' she interrupted angrily, pushing him from her once again and standing up, pacing the room furiously, pausing only to kick the door with temper, the look she gave him making it abundantly clear that really she would have been kicking his head.

'Number one, you tell me what you're having nightmares about and why you've told me so many lies'

'And the other option?' she demanded, her face impassive although she feared she knew what it was.

'I call an ambulance, you get taken in for psychiatric assessment and probably kiss your career goodbye; no psychiatrist on earth is going to believe that this wasn't an attempt to take your own life' he stated, pulling her wrist and gesticulating at the gash that still dripped blood onto the white cotton bedcover 'Which is it to be Connie'

'Option number three, you fuck off home and leave me to get on with my life however I choose'

'No; I don't want your death on my conscience and I sure as hell don't want you haunting me' he emitted a slightly bitter laugh 'which I suppose leaves us with one option – you're going to have to talk to me'

'I'm going to do no such thing – what's going to happen is that you're going to leave before I have to make you' she gave him a stubborn glare, his derisive laugh only serving to increase her anger about him 'What's so funny?'

'How do you propose to make me leave?' he enquired with slight amusement in her voice as she kicked the door again with rage at him

'Quite simple really – either you leave or I do this properly…' she held up her wrist and allowed one long nail to run down it, clearly intending to rip the wound open with her bare hands 'Goodbye?'

'No' he replied bluntly, amazing himself as much as her with his persistence but if he was honest, he was getting a perverse buzz from the whole situation, making bets with himself over whether he would be able to talk her out of doing something incredibly stupid; it was like surgery in that he held her life in his hands and there was no high like it 'if you do that, all you'll achieve is forcing my hand; I'll have to call an ambulance and you'll have to be sectioned. I'm giving you a way out Connie – you should take it'

'What the hell do I care if you call an ambulance? I'll be dead' she stated, her voice slightly taunting, daring him to believe that he could save her life after she had made up her mind to end it.

'No you won't' he sighed mildly, watching as she ran one long fingernail down her arm 'Will you stop that, you're making it worse'

'Will you leave?' she asked again but she already knew the answer and wasn't remotely surprised when he shook his head but she already had her next offensive planned and changed tack, suddenly going from serious suicide risk to steely medical director 'Ric, I'm asking you to leave. This is my home, please show me some respect and get out'

'Fine' he stood up and she surveyed him triumphantly has he made to collect up his clothes and made his way to the front door, turning back and surveying her with sadness in his eyes 'you should know that as soon as I leave here I'm calling an ambulance for you'

'Then I'm going to take a kitchen knife to my arm' she retorted instantly having anticipated such a response from him 'I'll be dead long before the ambulance get here and then you really will have my death on your conscience'

'Fine, I'll leave' he sighed with defeat and reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder, not caring when she flinched 'Just tell me one thing Connie; what is it that scares you most about telling me the truth?'

'That you'll loathe me and leave' she retorted immediately and a flush crept up her face as she realised the flaw in her logic; she was so terrified that he'd leave her that she ended up lashing out at him and pushing him away.

'Connie, believe me, if listening to you talk about carving yourself up with a kitchen knife doesn't stop me loving you then whatever it is that you're so scared of telling me certainly won't make me love you any less. Surely you must see how ridiculous this is…' his voice took on a note of pleading and to his amazement, her expression thawed slightly and the note of fear returned to her eyes, replacing the look of stubborn hatred that had previously occupied them.

'Screw you' she murmured desolately, stepping aside and allowing him to come back into the house 'you should know how much I hate you for this'

'I know' he smiled, chancing a squeeze of her shoulder as he passed her and to his relief, she didn't flinch, the alcohol having dulled that particular reflex 'it'll pass'

'Yeah' she sighed soullessly 'and then you'll hate me'