They did not speak of it afterward, either, when they were home.
Now, she had another bottle. She thought him rather stupid to have left all the medicines in the cabinet, if he had truly been concerned; perhaps he'd only taken her to the hospital because she'd still been breathing when he found her. She had a knife, too. She sat in the bath tub, up to her neck in water, and swallowed the pills one by one, each carried by a mouthful of sweet wine. When they were gone, she lay back for a time before picking up the knife, savoring the duel sensations of infinite heaviness and absolute lightness, as though she were sinking and floating all at once. Moving slowly, as though it were a dream, she picked up the knife and lay its blade against the white skin on the inside of her wrist.