I watched the blood snake its way down the drain. A stark contrast against the porcelain white of my bathroom sink. I cupped another handful of water to my mouth, rinsing out the last of it, and spit. I wiped the condensation from the mirror with my palm, and studied myself. My skin was angry and reddening from where I’d scrubbed at it in the shower. I took a swig of whiskey from the glass I’d sat on the window ledge next to me and grimaced from the pain. I pulled my bottom lip to the side and examined the space where one of my wisdom teeth used to sit.

  The simmering rage I’d felt for the last two hours boiled over, and I grabbed the glass and threw it at the wall, raining glass over my feet and across the tiled floor.

  How had I let things get so out of control.

  Everything had been fine as we’d left the apartment car park, she was silent, unmoving. I got stupid, I got fucking complacent. I'd almost made it home, maybe a mile out, driving through an industrial estate when it hit me. When she hit me. I had this sudden blinding pain in my jaw and for a minute I saw stars, I think she must have thrown an elbow. I had the immediate sensation of blood filling my mouth. I swerved up onto the pavement, hitting the brakes. By the time I’d regained control of the cab, I looked to her side and the door was open, she was gone.

  Thankfully, she hadn’t made it far. The blood loss was insane, but she’d still managed to stumble through some trees at the side of the road and start heading up a grass embankment. Swearing, I flung my door open and chased after her. I burst through the trees to find that we were on some railway tracks, a small wall either side. I called after her as she staggered slowly away.

  “You think you’re the first one to try and run!?” I yelled loudly, so my voice could be heard above the rain

  She looked over her shoulder sobbing, probably realising she couldn’t outrun me. Realising she was already dead, that this was just her last ounce of adrenaline. Her final bit of fight or flight. It was impressive in a way, and I smirked at the sight of her still trying to drag herself along the tracks.

  “What exactly do you think you’re going to achieve here?” I asked her, walking slowly behind her now, all sense of urgency gone. “I mean to be honest you’re doing me a favour actually, train accident it is.” I grinned “It’s messy but it works, I’ve done this one before you know: ‘Two Girls In Fatal Shortcut Over Tracks’ was the headline if I remember correctly”

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  That seemed to do the trick. She stopped and turned to face me, her colour drained from the blood loss, swaying unsteadily. Her hands were shaking, desperately trying to hold pressure around the pen protruding from her neck. She’d stopped crying. I know the look well. It’s the look of acceptance. See, people like to think they’d never go down without a fight, never stop trying, but there always comes a point when the realisation hits: Your time is up.

  I stopped about six feet away from her, holding my hand to my jaw, pain still radiating from it. “Look, I’ll make you a deal, just pull the pen out. That should finish you off quickly, you can even do it yourself, I’ll stay ov-“

  I never got to finish my sentence.

  That crazy fucking bitch. She’d thrown herself over the wall like it was nothing. Just launched at it. I heard the disgusting crunch of her landing before I’d even processed what the hell had just happened. I walked over to the wall and peered over the edge, down at the path below. She was on her back, dead. Blood pooling from her head. She’d landed about a meter away from a canal, probably would’ve survived if she’d landed in it. Not her luckiest day.

  I shook my head and laughed, mentally thanking her for saving me from the effort of a lot of digging when I got home. Now she was just ‘Drunk Girl Falls From Bridge’. I gave a little salute down at her, and then turned to head back to my cab. I was halfway there when suddenly the realisation flooded me. My stomach turned over and I sprinted back to look over the wall. The pen. Her neck. Drunk people fall all the time, sure, but they don’t stab themselves in the fucking neck on the way down do they.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” I swore under my breath, smacking the wall with my palms, my eyes darting around trying to find the quickest way down to her.

At the end of the wall I spotted a dirt path leading down to the canal below. The rain had churned it up, making it muddy and almost impossible to walk on. I half fell, half slid my way down, scratching myself on trees as I blindly grabbed at their branches to keep from falling all the way to the bottom. A sudden movement in the corner of my vision stopped me dead in my tracks. Half hidden behind a tree I watched across the water as an elderly man rounded the corner walking a large German Shepherd, he would see her first, there was nothing I could do now. I scrambled back up the bank, clawing at the mud, cursing my stupidity.

  The blood was thumping in my ears as the panic set in. She'd held my hand in the cab, I'd held the pen. My prints. The blood from my mouth. Fibres from my clothing. Skin. Hair. Fuck. Was I even certain she was dead? This was wrong, all wrong. I'd seriously messed up. When I reached the side of the tracks again I turned so I was walking backwards. As quickly as I could, I dragged my feet, shuffling and kicking up pieces of mud and twigs as I made my way back to the cab, disguising any bootprints I saw. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do, I was out of time.