12:57. Three minutes until Joe gets home. Maybe enough time to pull it off. Dammit, the lid won’t budge. Damn childproof caps.
Only two minutes left. Oh crap.
There it goes, finally.
One, two, three, four. Just enough, but not too much. Definitely not too much. Down they go. One blue pill, two blue pills, three blue pills, four.
Just enough time left to scatter the remains of the bottle before I lay myself down, arms extended over my head. Just enough time to close my eyes before the sleepers actually kick in.
“Sarah,” he calls, voice normal.
He hasn’t noticed the house yet; my clothes thrown around, the broken dishes.
“Sarah!” He noticed.
His feet are loud as he climbs the stairs two at a time. My door slams open as he frantically searches the room for me. I peek out of the slits my eyes have become to see his face, the anguish there. I stifle a smile.