They ring me at three in the morning and I’m feeling fine. Their voices slurred and bitter. They speak a language I barely understand, the language of the three am drug hazed alcoholics. They don’t say it explicitly, they’re beyond that now. They want me to look after her, I don’t mind. Except I do. I don’t ask them where they are, I don’t pry. I expect them to be at some party at the other side of town, slowly killing themselves like the rest of the people there. It’s always more fun to die as a group. I live three blocks away. Isn’t it funny how things always come in threes? Triple the trouble. I don’t drive, I want the cool air on my skin. Life is suffocating me and I’m not having fun. No one else is dying with me, except maybe my hope and faith. The pavement is hard against my feet. I forgot my shoes. My bare feet tiptoe and dance, my arms outstretched and twirling in the darkness. Serenity comes at peculiar times, at this very moment I could die happy. I dodge the needles that swarm the streets with ease, the gentle glow of a streetlight guiding me like the holy star. The silence is broken by the grumbling of an old car, loud music thumping like the heart of the night. It continues down the road, going in the direction I just came from. I hope they have fun. I’m almost at the house now, the poverty of before now easing away into dignified park benches and clean streets. Two teenagers slide into view, walking hand in hand. They walk a German shepherd with cold, sober faces. I recognise them, my old students from a couple years ago. They stare at my bare feet and my face for too long. I realise I’m smiling too wide. “Hey boys! Going for a three am walk?” I sound too enthusiastic. They mumble before one speaks up. “Hello Miss Vale.” Hesitation is clear in his voice. “Are you on drugs?” The other blurts out, slapping a hand over his mouth. Regret seeps through like a bloodstain. I stop walking. “I don’t think I am.” I can’t remember if I am or not. Everything feels hazy. “You know, I wasn’t fired. I was discharged, actually,” I sound childish, petty. “I’m ill. Sad. That’s why I left.” They nod warily and continue walking in silence. I call after them. “Depression doesn’t care if you aren’t wearing your shoes, kids. You do what you can the second you’re able to. Before it steals that moment too. I have a kid to babysit, she’s a good one.” The streets were empty again, just me and the pavement underfoot. The house was ahead, the light on in the kitchen. Peculiar. I reach in my pocket and bring out the golden key. The neighbours didn’t know the delinquents inside, the guise of honest lawyers and mowed lawns screamed normalcy. I hesitate for a second and check the door. It swung open and I’m hit with the stench of alcohol and vomit. I almost leave, except I don’t. I walk in and announce my presence cheerily. Two cheers come from the kitchen as his head pops round the door. He grabs my sleeve and pulls me into the kitchen. “Our guest has arrived! Little Lucy has been so excited to see you,” her words were slurred and happy. I smiled widely. It was clear they’d been on a bender for a couple of days. “I heard Lucy hadn’t been at school this week,” I spoke lightly. Both their eyebrows furrow before shooting another line. They stop looking at me all together, as if I no longer exist to them. Sometimes I don’t feel like I exist at all. I say I’m going upstairs to say hello to Lucy, they don’t respond. They hadn’t vacuumed the floor for a while. Sometimes feelings cling onto you like unwanted fluff on your clammy feet, the more you try to get rid of it the clammier you get. A new smell enters my nose, a rotten decaying scent. I stop my ascent up the stairs and stare. They say anxiety lies to you, but you learn to trust your gut even after puking it over the banister of the stairs. When that stray thought, so vile and horrific crosses your mind like a fiend, it doesn’t leave. I knew what waited for me at the top of the stairs. I begin my ascent again and reach in my pocket for my phone. The cool glass blesses my fingers as I pulled it out, the black screen mirroring my blank expression. I’m already calling the police before I’m up the stairs, each step feeling like a mountain. I reach the top and slowly walk towards her room. The smell gets worse with each hesitant step, until I’m at her bedroom door, looking in. I didn’t need to go any further, I could see all I needed. With a hushed voice I whisper to the call operator. Stomping comes up the stairs and I hide my phone, the leering hands of both grip my shoulders as they sing, unaffected by the sight before us. “Little Lucy’s been sleeping-“ he hiccups loudly before throwing up in his mouth. “Been sleeping for a while, she’s my sleepy girl.” He swallows the vomit and saunters forward into the room. He places a hand on what used to be Lucy and shakes her, as if trying to wake her. Decomposed goo sticks to his hand as he stumbles back to us, oblivious as to what he’d just seen. I smile with a forced smile, something I’m used to. I begin to make excuses, slowly descending the steps until I’m out the door. I sit on the cool pavement and weep as the red and blue lights illuminate the night sky.