Clara
"Clara?" I recognize the voice knocking at the door. Oh please no, he can't see me like this.
"Clara?" The Doctor calls slightly louder this time, "Angie said you were in your room, can I come in?" I want to disappear, I can't reply, I'm still lying in the bloody mess on the bathroom floor and the door leading from here into my room is wide open, he'll see as soon as he comes in.
"Clara, are you asleep? I'm coming, like it or not," he twists the door handle, but it's locked, aha Clara nice one. Then I hear the sonic screwdriver, now I'm fucked.
I can't even bring myself to move. I don't care anymore; he doesn't care for me at all. The door swings open, and The Doctor gasps as he sees me lying straight ahead of him on the bathroom floor. He shuts and locks the door behind him and runs over to me.
"Clara! What the hell have you done? Clara, speak to me!" I lift up my head, pulling some my hair out of the yuk, but collapse again. He catches my head before it hits the tiles and lays it down gently out of the mess. His hands were so strong so comforting, I wish he would never let go.
"Oh Clara, I never knew it was this bad" he picks up my wrists seeing numerous cuts and scar all the way up my arm. All I could do was cry. He lifted me up and hugged me so tightly and strongly, I have never felt safer. Do not fall into it Clara, he doesn't love you. He picks me up and carried me onto my bed, he turns back to the bathroom to tidy it, I try to speak to stop him leaving, but he doesn't hear me: I'm to quiet, to weak to even move. I smell of blood, but all I can do is sleep.