It's all I can do to look around me.
The washroom is a mess; it almost looks like somebody ransacked the place. All the drawers are open, some hanging haphazardly out of their slots.
My sink is still running, the water coming in small torrents over the lip of the basin and adding to the wreckage on the ground.
The room is littered with pieces of broken glass and all the pills from my medicine cabinet.
A little closer to me, I can see drops of red marring the pristine white tiles on the floor. Shame. Razor blades lie neatly on the edge of the tub.
*Breaking the mirror was probably overkill,* I reflect, looking to my bruised hands that float in the wine colored water around me.
It's been two days. Nobody has come to get me yet.