Eventually

Janice slipped. The water bottle tumbled off the counter, rolling through the spreading dark on the floor. She watched it turn slow circles through her own blood, the printed words catching the light: “The bleeding always stops… eventually.” She laughed – a wet, broken sound, that tasted like old pennies. Her chest pulled tight. Each breath came with a sound like something drowning. The bottle thumped lightly against the wall with a metallic ting. She kept laughing. The fluorescents hummed overhead. Bleach and copper hung thick in the air. The linoleum stayed cheap and beige. Her hands were already shaking.