“I’m not hungry.” I said automatically. My stomach disagreed with a loud grumbling sound.

The girl in the doorway smiled. “That’s okay. You don’t have to eat but you should drink this- it’ll make you feel better.” She thrust a glass of milk at me and held it there, waiting.

Getting out of bed seemed to indicate a certain willingness to take responsibility for the day. I didn’t know if I was up to that. I wasn’t even sure what I’d done. I remembered descending into pain and darkness. Martin’s glazed eyes looked at me from the back of my mind; the face of my weakness. Control. The first step to being in control is being responsible for yourself. That meant making choices.

Shoving the comforter away, I sat up and stretched until my joints popped, before moving to the door.

I took the glass from the girl and took a sip. The milk was cold, sweet and delicious.

My first act of the day had been to accept milk from a stranger and it hadn’t ended in disaster. That was encouraging. Maybe things were changing.