She pulls into the parking space and takes a hopeful glance at the fourth-floor window before ceasing the engine. She enters the apartment building and checks the inbox. There are two heavy envelopes, both medical bills from the hospital. She leaves them inside--her mother will collect them on the way to work tomorrow.

Marabel turns around the corner and takes the stairs. The stairway is poorly lit with cracking white paint and railings rusted and sharp around the edges. Her footsteps echo up and down, and she considers taking the elevator tomorrow instead. She knows she won't do it, though. The guilt would weigh her down.

It's only seven floors, she reasons with herself and clenches the straps of her backpack.

Marabel opens the door to a pitch-black apartment. Her parents won't be home today. She doesn't bother to turn on the lights and trudges into the living room. It is finally her time now, and she basks in the precious silence. She sighs and thinks about the homework she'll have to complete today.

There's the lab report due this week. The benchmark for my English paper is on the weekend. I need to get started on studying for the math quiz.

Her train of thought stops when her phone rings. It is her mom.

The dinner is in the fridge. It says. There's no, I won't be home, no, I'm visiting your father, no, love you.

Mom, you don't have to prepare meals for me, Marabel thinks, but types ok, instead.

She knows her mom is busy. She can't blame her, and she's used to it.

Marabel walks to the kitchen to see what her mom bought for her. It sits on the top shelf of the fridge, still in the take-out package--spaghetti from the supermarket.

Marabel puts a hand to her stomach, thinking about lunch, the cake, and coffee. She thinks she's had enough food for one day. Marabel doesn't like wasting food but tosses the frozen spaghetti into the trash like every other meal. She stares at it and wonders if she should get a compost bin.  

Her stomach growls.

Marabel returns to the living room and lays down on the couch. If she closes her eyes, and she can hear cars speeding by the building..

The sound starts as a low rumble, and it begins raising in volume as it gets closer, until you can feel the tires scrape against gravel. Then it's quiet again as the car recedes away. If Marabel concentrates hard enough, she thinks that she might hear the sea, like waves that wash against the shore before retreating into the ocean. The next moment, she opens her eyes, and the fantasy shatters.

Her heart sinks. She knows she must start her homework if she wants to sleep tonight, but homework only reminds her of school where she can't stop worrying and her friends who've been so kind to her but only increases her self-loathe and pity and the world won't stop spinning and why can't she become better—

It's irrational, she knows, but self-hatred feels so good and so bad as if punishing herself will be the path to redemption. If she endures it just long enough, she can grasp happiness.

She buries into her hands and takes a deep breath, but her body won't stop shaking, and it takes all her will power to stop thinking and fight the urge to end it all because if she continues, she knows the feelings won't stop until she passes out.

She needs something to help her.

Marabel rummages in her bag. She takes out her homework, makeup, and everything else before she finds the pack of cigarettes and lighter stashed at the bottom. Her books have crushed the package, but the cigarettes are fine. She takes it to her lips and lights it.

The tip glows slowly as she takes a long drag and withers on the couch.