It seems like years since you've been here. (The Beatles)

I felt a wave of clarity calming the seas that were drowning me just a moment before. I barged up to my apartment. I didn’t creep in. I swung open the door.

Tommy wasn’t there, which I thought anticlimactic. The place was a mess though. I wondered if I shouldn’t be paying my maid less. I climbed out of my destroyed prom dress and started picking bobby pins out of my hair. I cranked up a Beatles record. The trail of bobby pins followed me to the bathroom.

Here comes the sun. I opened the bathroom door where Tommy was laying lifelessly on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

Don’t get excited, he didn’t die. He tried to kill himself but he even failed at that. For a second I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to deal with him but in an instant I was scared at the thought of running this operation without him. I hated to admit it but he was the brains behind the production.

He went to the hospital for a healing of sorts. The police were sniffing around the “crime scene”. There’s something very uncomfortable about your most personal space being a crime scene. Obviously I didn’t let them in with anything lying around. The recreational supply and my handgun were both stowed away in one of the meth rooms.

You should have picked me. You’ll never have the chance again.

The simple suicide note was the most productive of Tommy’s efforts. It turned the alleged crime into a cut-and-dry suicide attempt. Once they knew he was going to live, which was touch and go for a while, they didn’t have much reason to stick around. LAPD had been waiting for an excuse to get into the Hundred Party apartment building for some time and they wanted to capitalize on their in.