Constance cuts herself.
Her leg bleeds.
She wipes the foam from the area and dabs the blood with a towel.
She rinses the razor and sits down on the edge of the bathtub.
Her neck hurts.
She hums a tune. By Mahler, maybe.
She slides into the bath tub, the hot water caressing her.
She smiles and lets herself relax.
Her skin feels like electric crinoline.
She opens her eyes and stares out from the water.
She’s happy, content.
She no longer feels the little cut on her leg.
She can feel the stress sliding from her neck muscles.
She breathes in deeply and stares at a drop of water, hanging motionless between the faucet and her foot.
She lets out her breath.
The drop continues to fall, joining the rest of the water.
The world begins spinning again and Constance finishes her bath.