But you carry this alone

You can't go home. You can't turn back

You have to go to work. Pushing on, pushing down

(But my skull is uglier than before, and my nose refuses to stop leaking this viscous fluid)

Rush through security. Don't let that smug bastard see

That's it. Ease down in the boss' chair

Relax. Sleep a little. You're three hours early

Woken by a helmet lifted out of your dog weary hands. Oh god, the boss

If you fell off your bike why didn't you go home?

The moment of truth

She takes your helmet and notes that it's smooth and unblemished. Looks like new

And you know she knows

You can't go home

You no longer have one

(The point where I break. I cannot stop this violent shaking. I want to die. I wish I had. I'm so embarrassed, so ashamed. It must've been my fault.)

The shame is complete

(How arrogant of me to assume this could never happen in my world. Or to me.)

Your boss. Hugging you. The weirdest feeling in the world.

 And you don't want hugs; you don't want that self-conscious pity

(Ok? My arse. Will I ever be? I'm so humiliated. And I know I will always be a different person from this day.)

You don't want people to tread around you like on shells.

You want to be the woman you were yesterday.

(What happened to the girl who laughed and sang and fell in love? Where did she go? When did she sell out for protection?)

By sunup she's arranged money, housing and the supposed necessities

(But I had everything I could have wanted. I had nothing I needed.)

You're ok

Ok, not now

But you will be

You're stronger than you think you are

And you'll never be anybody's pet cat again…