Ashley was now seemingly calm, as if the sudden discovery had given her hope. She now had some sense of what she was dealing with. A faint sob escaped her lips, imagining Spencer in the bathroom, digging some metal blade into her thigh, trying to force the hurt and pain away, hoping it would cling to the blade when she was finished, only to be washed down the drain away from her sight where it couldn’t harm her anymore.

The thought tapped Ashley on the shoulder and her eyes fell over her shoulder to Spencer’s bathroom. She walked across the room, shutting the door behind her, and turning on the light.

The room seemed sterile. There were only a few hair care products and such lining the counters. It reminded Ash of the hospital. The few familiar items the staff placed on the shelves and counters, to fool you into thinking comfort was there waiting for you. Such a vicious trick that always pissed Ashley off.

The medicine cabinet door swung open. Ash caught her reflection in it just as it opened, her hair beginning to curl on the sides, making her look older.

It all just stared back at her. It took a few moments for her eyes to take it all in. There was just so much. A tear struck her bare skin above her breasts, running down underneath her shirt.

A confidence began to rise through her insides. She didn’t feel so lost anymore; so helpless over not knowing what was so wrong with Spencer. This didn’t explain it all, but it gave her a foundation to stand on.

Her phone vibrated. She read the text and responded: “The door open. Upstairs. Be quiet.”

Her legs shuffled backwards until it hit the toilet and she sat down, staring back at the rows of pill bottles that lined the shelves.

Dr. Ward. Prozax. Xanax. Elavil. Norpramin. Wellbutrin. Take two before bedtime. Don’t Mix with Alcohol. Take with Food. May Cause Dizziness. May Cause Exhaustion. Common side Affects are Nausea, Weight Loss, Constipation, Blurred Vision, Sedation, Impair Vision, Sexual Problems, Nervousness, Head Ache, Dry Mouth…

Jesus, Spencer.

A box of razor blades sat underneath the bottom shelf right next to her toothbrush and some floss. Her daily ritual, all lined up and ready to go, an assembly line of self-mutilation.

Ashley’s head rested in her hands, the terror over where Spencer had gone for six months began to manifest within her chest. There was no sick aunt in New York. Spencer’s mother had lied. Spencer was drowning and they had sent her away to deal, she just knew it. To a hospital, an institution? Her mind began to fill with images of Spencer’s thigh and bile began to rise to the surface. It was all becoming clear now. The last pieces of the puzzle located, resting out of sight, underneath the card tables wobbling leg, blending into the patterns and color of the carpet.