The Syringe

By: Tori Auckland/Senior Writer

I slowly made my way up the stairs with a bra, a syringe, and a glass of orange juice. Medical school was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. As soon as I got home I took my uncomfortable bra off, grabbed a glass of orange juice and headed up to my room. I let out a long, deep sigh and face planted onto my bed. My husband, Jeremy, came out from the bathroom to ask me what was wrong. He sat down on the bed next to me and slowly rubbed my back. I wonder if he will still love me when he finds out what I did. After all, the empty syringe in my pocket wasn’t meant to save a life, but take it instead.