""Get off me! Please! leave me alone!"
Carla woke with a start, screaming at whoever it was that was wrestling with her, trying to stop him. It took her a few seconds to realise what was happening, and by then it was too late. He was running off and she knew there was no chance of catching him, her handbag tucked firmly under his arm. She couldn't catch her breath, terror coursing through her, unable to calm herself or think what to do next. The few people around at this early hour stared in horror at her distressed state, and then gave her a wide berth, not wanting to disturb their busy mornings with this clearly mad homeless woman. It must have taken twenty minutes for her to calm down enough to process what had happened, to realise what it meant. The bag had nothing of value, any money long gone. Her phone was in there, but it had now been switched off for weeks and she had no intention of ever using it, so this did not concern her. It was her medication that mattered. Even in her confused state she knew she needed to keep taking it. She had kept the ritual of her twice daily dosage, a routine that she had been following for so many months it had become second nature. There had been a couple of weeks supply left and she hadn't thought any further ahead than that, but now the issue was urgent. She tried to think what she had been told about missing her doses, but those conversations felt like a lifetime ago. She wished Roy was there, he was the one who researched it for her, helped her think of questions to ask the doctors all those months ago. She couldn't remember anything now, except that they had all said not to stop taking them. What if they were lying though? What if the tablets were part of the problem, messing with her mind, stopping her thinking straight? Maybe he had done her a favour. She would find out soon enough.
It had now been six days since she had left the squat, each day merging into the one before. She had been back to the park a couple of times hoping to see the kind woman again but had no success so decided that she too was against her, resolving not to try again. She had found it harder each day to summon the energy to move on, spending hours listlessly hunched near the doorway, watching people move past, in her more lucid moments looking for signs that they were watching her. Occasionally people had tried to interact with her, offering her food or water, or even money. This usually added to her agitation, and they soon left her alone when they saw the state she was in, muttering at them to leave, refusing to make eye contact. She was barely eating, she had been escorted from the store on the fourth day she had gone to take food; the manager had taken pity on her and decided not to get the police involved, but this had scared her enough to not risk it again. After she missed her third dose of medication she came to the conclusion that this too had been a lie. She was still alive, she obviously didn't need them. She missed her bag though. She now had nothing in the world except the clothes she was sitting in. It had become like a security blanket, she had held it close whilst she slept, and she now found it even harder to drift off. She sometimes wondered if it would be better if 'they' did find her. No punishment they could give would be worse than this surely? If she was evil like they thought then at least they could stop her hurting anybody else. These thoughts were fleeting, beaten down by the fear of what would happen to her, she would lose all control. She knew she needed to stay in control.
By the eighth day she barely moved at all. She was sitting, lost in herself, her grip on reality slipping yet further away. She just felt sad and alone, her mania of previous days replaced by a disconnection from everything. This was why she didn't see him approaching. He had made it to within feet of her before she sensed there was somebody there, slowly looking up to see who was invading her space, not prepared for who she saw.
"Carla? It's really you? I've come to take you home."