1 small escape. She's convinced that it won't stick.

But if she tries and if it works, the day would go better with it.

2 days after that, she wants to again. She knows she shouldn't, but just one more and that will be the end.

3 rules she makes to keep it under control: Only one and once a day, don't let anyone know.

4 weeks later it's an everyday thing. She tells herself it isn't wrong, because it helps her breathe again.

5 months now, with no plans to let it go. She depends on it, and still has never told.

6 months after that somebody found out. How many? They ask, and she says too many to count.

7 weeks that she's under their eyes but, when you need something that much you somehow still find time

8 weeks since they saw, now they figure she's clean.

It was stupid to begin with, so surely she wouldn't do it again.

9 months later, she hasn't skipped a day, but is starting to wish she had another way.

10 months and she tries to start to let go. Once a week, then less, then; when the last time was, she doesn't know.

11 months later and another year has gone by. She doesn't know if she can keep going without it but promises him she'll try.

12 months more and she decides to give up. She needs help, or needs something. And she knows what will work.

13 seconds and then it's over. Those past 3 years undone. Her hands are shaking, head is pounding. No way she can stop at one.

14 breaths she counts. Slow, deep, and measured. But all that's left is craving, she has no more willpower.

15 minutes later she looks at what she's done. Relief and disappointment wash over her at once.

Crimson red spilled in the sink, imaging frustration, and as if she's taken a sedative, comes a calm, placid sensation.

She knows that this will never be a fix for all her problems. But she'd do anything for just a day where she could forget about them.