It feels like ages before she is able to stop the flow of tears and finally drive herself home. Once there she refuses to open her purse. Merely changes clothes and pours herself a double shot of Scotch. She prays that it will be enough to kill the pain, the betrayal that she feels. She settles on the couch, pulling the blanket over her in a final attempt at some comfort. As she sits on the couch she replays the day's events through her head. She takes a swig of the Scotch, then another. It burns her throat, but it does not burn away the pain. She eyes her handbag, knowing of the easy escape its contents hold.
Damn him, damn his lies. The syringe and morphine is in her hands before she registers what she is doing. It doesn't matter anymore. She slowly draws the contents of the bottle into the syringe, not bothering to measure the dosage. She barely registers the prick of the needle in her arm. The warm flow of liquid into her vein. Merely closes her eyes.
Even as the drug starts to spread through her body, dulling her senses and her mind she cannot escape the images of him that are assaulting her. His green eyes boring into her, seeing far more than she could ever imagine. His gentle touch, the feel of his mouth on hers, running his fingers through her hair. The images start to fade - slowly - until only darkness remains.
