"She’s lying on her bed on her right side. Her left leg is hanging over the mattress and her foot touches the floor. I can’t see her face for all of the hair that drapes over her and as I approach, slowly and reluctantly, I notice her pillow is covered in what looks like some sort of light green foam. The smell of fish and vomit wafts over me and makes me retch. I turn her over and it hits me like a wall. I fall to my knees.
I don’t panic or rush my movements or call for help, but move the hair away from her face and open her eyes. They don’t respond. I use my little finger as a hook to pull out the remaining foam from the back of her throat and I sit her up a little. I place my palms on both sides of her face and use my thumbs to stretch the skin of her cheeks – I don’t know why. I let go and her head lolls.
By the side of the bed is an open bottle of water – not for drinking. I pour some of it into her mouth. She chokes a bit and her eyes begin to move a little. She’s breathing again and her legs twitch. The water splutters back out of her mouth a different texture and colour than it was before. I hold her by the back of her head, fingers locked into the knots of her hair and she looks up at me. I look down immediately, so as to not make eye contact, and notice I’m kneeling on one of her needles. Freshly used, it presses its tip into my leg. I shuffle away slightly before I look back towards her. I think she’s trying to smile at me. My face stays blank. It takes all of my willpower not to stand up at this moment and walk away, now she’s awake and safe. I guess I should be with her now, for comfort, but I don’t have any words. Nothing is spoken, nothing said, the only thing thought is that I shouldn’t be here. Her hand reaches for me three or four times but never makes it. I realise now that I’m afraid, and what I’m afraid of is not being able to remove my hand, of being forever tangled in the knots of her hair."
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