Thank God, I remember thinking, angling the blade in the incandescent light of the kitchen. Thank God it’s not so reflective that I could see the look in my eyes. The stupid fever.
My knees were weak and drunken, pressed against the cabinet under the sink for balance. I was afraid my lower back would cave in and I’d fall back on the floor and mess it all up. It was like my brain had been stitched into a mannequin.
This time’s for good. You can’t undo something like this. You can’t uneat that many pills. One for every poor bastard who remembers me.
I swung around, my elbows supporting my torso along the edge of the sink, the knife pointing away clumsily so that I could stare out the window at the other end of the narrow kitchen. Blackness. Nothing. I glanced at the half-empty bottle of w
