He stood, shirtless, before the sink and mirror in the public restroom. His hands rested, palms down, on the corners of the sink, fingers curled downward around the sides. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow, cheeks, and upper lip. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp in stringy, sticky clumps.
He was alone in the little room – just as well – though he could hear the occasional passer-by in the hall just around the corner. He knew he should hurry, before someone came in here, but the sight of his reflection held him captive.
Finally, he was able to tear his gaze from the mirror, and he looked down at the glass hypodermic resting on the sink next to the spigot. Its blackish-purple liquid still sloshed back and forth gently in the barrel, even though he’d set it down over fifteen minutes ago.
He took a breath. Nothing for it, then. He reached out with his left hand and plucked the syringe from the ceramic. Without pausing, he jammed it into his heart and pushed the plunger all the way down.