January
It's January when it happens.
She's barely eating and she goes to work only a couple of days per week. She spends her free time painting or being cooped up in her room. She's stopped talking to you altogether.
You get to the apartment one afternoon and notice she's not in the living room painting. You go to check her room, but don't see her in there either. She's probably in the bathroom, you think. You sit down in a chair and rub the back of you neck. You don't know why, but you're a bit anxious to see Amy so you go to open the bathroom's door, but it's locked. You pound on it and ask her to please come out. That you have to talk.
You get no response.
A few minutes pass and you're tired of waiting, you unlock the door with a pair of bobby pins and see her. At first you can't seem to take in the whole picture. You just see red in the floor. You see her skin pale and that she's shivering on the floor. You see a blade on the bathroom sink. Amy, red, blade.
Amy, a blade and the blood coming out of her wrist.
You finally register the whole scene and you pick up some towels as soon as possible. You wrap them around her wrists and attempt to apply pressure as you also try to take you're phone out of your pocket.
"Please, please, Amy. Don't die. You can't die. Please."
