It was pitch black when the phone rang. The first thing Lucy remembered was running into her door. And somehow her eye did land on the door knob. She squinted hard, still full of sleep. She struggled to go on, but tripped on the coffee table in the living-room and bummed her legs up real bad. The phone prevailed. It kept ringing.
She fretted, feeling the pain in her thigh, before she knew it, she hit the side of chair and almost broke a rib when she tumbled yet again on that over-sized coffee table. Just when she jerked the old house phone up, she somehow whacked herself in the other eye.
"Huh." She sat there with her eyes scrunched up. There was no one on the phone. She felt so dizzy and tired and horrible. Her legs were scrapped and her arms banged up, just like her thigh. She squinted to cry, rubbing her nose, just to wonder if she'd messed up her makeup.
She went to the bathroom, very carefully, and turned on the light and saw how her face looked. Miserable. Streaked massacre. She looked kind of wicked. A laugh came over her. Why not, she thought. She jerked open the cabinet and found a razor. It had been a very long time. She'd almost forgotten about cutting. But she slammed the cabinet shut. Looked at herself, again. She was going to stare at herself all night if she had too.
What was wrong with her? She was black and blue. Both eyes were pathetically bruised. She wasn't sure if it were make up or the real deal. Yeah, it was the real deal. Her eyes hurt. She was in pain. All this emotional shit made her want to hold her breath. But it wasn't enough. Just holding her breath. Maybe there was a rope in the garage. But she'd check the basement first. Yeah, she bet there was one in the basement.