As he prepared to pick her up and make a mad dash through the door, she opened her eyes and spoke again, “I took pills, you know?” her lips stretched into a cold grin. “My tricyclic antidepressants. I think I must have even overdosed on them,” she laughed loudly, as though she had heard the greatest joke of the century.
“My doctor had said they would reduce my suicidal thoughts and tendencies. He had said that they would prevent my mood disorder, my inactivity and my difficulties in thinking straight, but now I realised he hadn't said that they would take away the aching in my chest,” she slowly and painfully moved her bloody hand to her chest, clutching the area.
“He hadn't said a word about them taking away the endless guilt I always feel. He hadn't said anything about the head–s
