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It bleeps, lights up, vibrates. Hello’s are exchanged at half-past-eight. The thumb calms the fit of excitement from the morning contact. Letters form upon the screen, buttons tapped. “Message Sending”.

She says she is fine, and doing well today, but her reply reads different. She seems distant. There are things she does, the way she responds, which let me know whether or not she’s being truthful.

She tells me she’s taken her medication, but deep down, I know she’s lying. Normally she’d be chirpy by now. She also tells me that there are no new track marks on her arms. I ask her to prove it. She sends me the exact same photo each day. I’m surprised at how stupid she thinks I am.

If we lived closer, maybe I could do more to help her. A hundred-and-forty-three miles isn’t exactly “just around the corner”, like I am to my other friends. I hear nothing all day, so I send her numerous text messages asking if she’s okay, and just as I’m about to call her, the phone bleeps, lights up, vibrates. It’s 11.57pm, and the message reads “Thanks for everything. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

I heard on Facebook she’s finally given in to temptation. Now all I have is the voice on her answering machine, and even that is full now…