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“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

She moved towards the door and then, fingers brushing the handle, hesitated before turning to look at me.

“I know it’s not okay right now. I understand. But when it gets to the point where it hurts less, we can talk. I get it. I’ve been where you are. You don’t need to be alone.”

She didn’t hover, for which I was glad, because her words were a vice around my throat.

She closed the door behind her, and I let out a shuddering breath. The effort needed to fight the tears was almost too much. I was so exhausted from balancing on a knife’s edge. I was fine for minutes at a time, until I wasn’t.

I looked up to the ceiling, trying to resist the tears that were always just on the brink of falling, but eventually I gave in, swiping at them in frustration.

I blew out a breath.

One thing at a time.

I changed into a clean set of flannel pyjamas. Thick, and a little Christmassy for November, but they were soft and warm.

I sat at the vanity that was pretending to be a desk, and opened my laptop. I had plugged in my phone to charge, but I hadn’t yet worked up the courage to turn it on. Instead, it sat there, a silent victim of blame.

I took a breath, my fingers hovering over the mousepad until I forced myself to press ‘call’ on Becka’s picture.

She picked up immediately, and it was like our roles had reversed with the click of a button.

She looked a mess. Her hair was unbrushed and swept up into a top knot, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked as though she’d slept on the floor.

I recoiled even as I stared at her, running my eyes over every part of her that I could see, looking for wounds or visible signs of injury.

After a moment… she just burst into tears.

“Oh my God, what’s happened?” I cried in alarm, watching as my best friend dissolved into tears with the same efficacy as a biscuit being dunked into a cup of tea.

She kept trying to take a breath, and kept getting stuck halfway with a hiccup.

“I-I sh-should be a-asking y-you that!” Becka wailed as her face crumpled.

I inhaled sharply, a pang in my chest taking me by surprise.

“Are you?” Becka went on. “Okay, I mean? Oh god, of course you’re not. Are you okay?”

She didn’t seem to have realised she’d repeated the question. I wanted to smile, but the muscles in my cheeks felt rusty.

Tears ran down Becka’s face, and I watched them in an almost, but not quite detached, sort of way.

“Oh, Becka,” I sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, smearing a limp tissue over her face. “I c-can’t stop!”

“I can see that.” My voice was strangely monotone. I wanted to care, but it felt like there was a layer of fog between me and… everything else.

“Are you safe and well?” I asked.

“Uh huh.” Becka’s voice heaved with a hiccup.

I sighed as I absently rubbed my chest. “What’s wrong, then?”

She snapped her head up to look at me, hiccups shocked into submission.

“Huh?”