He leaves for the bathroom, to relieve himself, and she call on all the strength she can gather. She runs, but not to the door, to the window. It’s locked, but she hurtles herself through the glass. You can’t hurt yourself when you’re already numb. He hears the glass break and runs back to the bedroom just in time to watch her, bleeding and barely conscious, slip and slide down the fire escape.

For a moment he debates running after her, but halfway down she slips and falls. Chuckling he turns around. ‘_No way she’s survive that._’ Pouring another glass of whiskey he leans back in his arm chair and holds up his prized belt, remembering.

Down on the ground she’s lying in a puddle on the cold hard ground. Bloody and covered in bruises she tries to stand but collapses back down. Crawling on her belly she heads toward the street. They say we gain extraordinary strength when we need it.

In the middle of the sidewalk she can’t crawl any further and faints, with the word “help” on her lips.