AN: I've written this based on my experiences with visiting loved ones in psychiatric hospitals and others I know that have suffered from BPD and other serious conditions, as well as my own experiences with mental health issues. If something doesn't sound right to you or is offensive, please let me know and I can change it. Also, this scene does discuss self harm briefly.

An orange light was fading outside as Donna looked out of the window of the Maudesley Psychiatric Hospital in London. She woke up feeling ill and groggy from the medication they had given her and the exhaustion of the day. For a few seconds she wondered why they had taken her back here. She wasn't mental. She wasn't going to hurt herself. She was fine. Everyone worried about her but she was fine.

And then she remembered, remembered trying to wake Erica up, trying so hard. She remembered being sat on the floor and yelling and - oh, God, what had she said? What had she done?

Erica was dead.

Donna's lip trembled and she drank a bottle of water. Down the corridor someone was yelling about demons. Demons don't exist, Donna thought, clenching her fists in rage. The patient's cries reminded her of that episode about Satanism her and Erica had done. Erica had been so credulous about things like that. She wanted to believe the crap she got fed even when Donna had proved it was all lies.

The thought still enraged her. They said she had borderline personality disorder, that was what they had called it when she had gone in the first time. It didn't mean that she was mental enough to believe any of that.

And it didn't mean she was stupid.

A nurse edged open the door. As hospitals went it wasn't the worst one she had been in. Was it private? It seemed posh. She had her own room. Maybe she would have to pay. The anxiety rushed back at the thought. The successful version of her, the confident, calm, stable, normal version, was totally different from the version that was in hospital, that had been in so many hospitals so many times. She felt herself tear up.

'Hi, Donna. How are you feeling this evening?' a nurse said, pushing open the door. Down the corridor someone was crying.

'I want to go home,' Donna grunted, trying not to cry.

'Well, the good news is, I had a chat with the psychiatrist. He thinks you are not at significant risk of harming yourself or others and you don't show signs of psychosis. So, we might be able to discharge you tomorrow.'

'No. I'm not psychotic. So, can I go?' Donna raised her voice, sitting up in bed. 'They said it would only be a few hours! It's what - 5 o'clock, or 6!'

'He'll tell you more details in a bit, but first some detectives are here to have a chat with you. Do you think you're up to talking to them?' the nurse said nervously. 'If not, we can advise they visit you at home.' Donna wondered what she had done, trying to remember. People told her she'd got so angry or so upset, shouting, screaming, but Donna couldn't always remember the things they said she'd done.

Except when she did.

Disassociation, they said. Had she attacked the nurses? Had she been that out of control?

'I guess,' she said, feeling numb.

Donna had screamed. She'd felt blood on her top. Sometimes she scared herself with how angry she got.

Two women stepped into the room. They were dressed normally, but even without the nurse, Donna would have known they were cops just by looking at them. One of them was in a headscarf. The other had short dyed blonde hair. She looked familiar and Donna cast her mind around, trying to remember when she'd seen her. The memory slammed back to her. She'd been crying and shrieking and it had been so embarrassing she wanted to die but she couldn't stop.

'Donna, how are you doing?' the woman in the headscarf said gently. 'I spoke to you earlier. I'm DI Sabbagh. My colleague Tiffany will be your family liaison officer throughout the investigation. She might ask some things at the end. And she'll come and visit on her own.'

'Hi, Donna.' Tiffany smiled in the same way the doctors did.

Donna looked at them. Her lip trembled. If a DI was asking her things, they clearly didn't know who did it. 'OK.'

'Are you OK to talk?' Subeera said. 

Donna leaned back against the headboard. She gave a small nod.

'I know it will be difficult, but do you want to talk me through what happened this morning?' Subeera pulled up a chair beside her. Donna felt her heart pounding in her chest. The room flashed in front of her, the horrible little dark pool around her head, the way she just lay there and didn't move.

'Me and Erica were supposed to be doing a talk tonight.' Her throat was so tight, like she was choking. How could she imagine doing any talks now? 'She was going to meet me for breakfast at 8.30 and then we were going to go through it at 9. We were meant to be recording an episode for next week. We'd written it all. And she wouldn't reply to any of my texts. I reckoned she had gone off to spend the night with that arsehole.'

She took in her breath, felt her stomach clench with rage, even though she knew it was her fault. Her fault for not protecting Erica. Her fault for being such a burden on her that Erica had found comfort in the wrong places. Her fault for being wrapped up in all her stupid emotions that she couldn't cope.

'Who do you mean by that?'

'Jon Phillips.' Donna breathed out, her lungs feeling heavy as she remembered seeing them together, the shock and outrage flooding back. They had been at a table together and they'd had drinks. Subeera's mouth tightened momentarily as she typed something into her tablet.

'Erica was having a relationship with him?' Subeera said.

'She shagged him on and off before she started dating Wayne. When he came out of prison. They'd had kind of a thing. Before we started our show, she was a co-host on the podcast that got his case reopened.' Donna gripped her duvet hard. Anger rose in her chest as she remembered.

'I told Erica, don't you fucking get involved with him. He's a bully and he's not as innocent as the evidence might say he is. Did she listen? Did she fuck as like.' Donna took a wheezing breath. Her throat was scratchy from crying. 'She told me she hadn't seen him for two years. She'd not mentioned it, had she? And he's what - 52? It's a big age gap. It's fucking weird.'

'Do you think he may have wanted to harm her?' Subeera said gently. Her hands tensed around the black tablet she was using to write. A fluorescent light buzzed softly on the ceiling.

'I dunno. He likes to fuck with people's heads,' Donna mumbled. Details from those days came back that hurt too much to hold in her mind. Erica following him round like a lost puppy. All those comments on her weight and little jokes when he thought she wasn't listening. But Erica did.

She couldn't not have listened.

'OK. We'll check it out,' Subeera said uneasily. 'Sorry - go on. What happened when you got upstairs?'

Donna gulped in air. 'I wanted to go to his room first of all. But I didn't know the number. I thought it was on the 6th floor. I walked around there, I banged on some doors trying to find him and I couldn't. And then I went to our floor. Her room was a couple down from mine and it was unlocked. I knew it wasn't like Erica to leave the door unlocked and go out so I thought she must be in - she must be ... ignoring me or something ...' Tears welled in her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

'I think that's enough,' the nurse said.

'When I got there - she was just lying there. I touched her arm and she was cold. And I knew. I knew but I kept trying to wake her up just in case, I kept screaming and yelling but she wouldn't -' Donna bit her lip hard and scratched her arms under the duvet with her long fingernails. The pain felt like a distraction from the memory of what she had found.

'I was looking around the room,' Donna sobbed. 'It wasn't right. It all looked really fucking weird. There was something missing.' She took a breath. The muscles in her face hurt from tension and panic.

'You gotta understand, Erica never went anywhere without like 12 different outfits. I looked around and all her clothes - the ones I'd helped her pack for - were all gone. Someone had taken them.' She breathed out. Her throat hurt. Her face crumpled and she couldn't hold back the tears. Through her wet eyes she saw Subeera give her a concerned look.

'I think you should go,' the nurse said to the detectives. 'You're upsetting her.'

'Maybe it was me. Maybe I killed Erica,' Donna said, trying to stop crying. 'I'm not a reliable witness. I do things I can't remember when I'm angry. And believe me I've been raging...please. Please. If I killed her, I need to go to jail.'

'Donna,' Subeera said. 'Please try not to worry. We will come and speak to you properly in the next few days, either here or at home depending what happens with your treatment.' The detective got up and her and Tiffany began to walk out of the door. Their shoes made annoying squeaky sounds on the floor. They'd come back but what if something happened to her in the mean time, like she died, or some drug they gave her in here made her forget what she was going to say or -

'Wait,' Donna yelled at their retreating backs.

Subeera turned around. 'What is it?'

Maybe it's not a good idea to say it here, Donna thought, as the nurse looked at her. The wrong person would listen. They'd think she was too ill to go home. They'd make her stay longer.

Maybe she'd even be arrested.

'You will come back when I'm better, right?' Donna begged. 'You will come and talk to me again. Right?'

*

After the detectives had gone, Donna opened the locker beside her bed and took out her phone. She didn't know what the nurses had done with her tablet when she arrived. Maybe the police had taken it. Maybe she'd left it in the hotel.

There was supposed to be a new episode released tonight. They hadn't recorded it. Donna would have to do it herself but she didn't know how she was going to do it without Erica. She checked her phone. It was flooded with messages saying things like, 'Donna, I'm so sorry about Erica. Are you OK? I heard you were in hospital. I can come visit you.'

They had never visited when she had been ill in the past, she thought. They only cared now Erica had died. She bit back tears, feeling worthless. She shut her eyes for a few seconds, took a deep breath like the nurse had said, fighting the urge to hurt herself, and to tell them all to go to hell.

Then, she went to the cloud, to find her and Erica's episode script. For a second she imagined announcing that she was recording a podcast from a mental hospital. It made her giggle for a second but then she imagined nobody would want to listen again.

Episode 248 had been modified at 13.45. Huh? She couldn't remember doing that. The drugs they had given her when she arrived put her flat on her back; she hadn't woken up once unless she'd gone in and mucked about with the files and put the phone back in her sleep.

When Donna selected the episode and tried to open the file, it said, 'Please enter your password'.

She auto-filled it on her phone and pressed enter.

But it didn't work.

It said 'Access has been removed or changed. Please request access from the system administrator.' Her frustration rising, she tried bashing it again a few times, then again with her back up email address.

It still didn't work.

Who had modified it? Surely she wouldn't have locked herself out? She would remember doing that. This was her work, the way she made money. She wouldn't have done that.

Donna looked at the file and selected 'last modified', and cold air filled her lungs. The air freshener they were using itched her nose. She sat in bed frozen with horror. That detective wouldn't believe her. She might even think she was 'manipulative'. Who would believe her? Tears began to well in her eyes again.

The document had been modified using Erica's account, hours after Donna had found her.