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Proof that I have swallowed my heart: my stomach is ticking. I lay in the bath, a ticking time bomb hiding in the groundwater. Lather is my armour and I slip out of the bath without rinsing. The door is open and my body parts rise to meet the cold - goose pimples, hardened nipples. Fog dissipates and the mirror summons me to nitpick my soapy flesh, but the raccoon eyes in the mirror make me jump.