Crash.

It started with noodles. Just a cup, surely that was fine. Then my mom made cookies and offered me one. Ana screamed.

Absolutely not, you've already fucked up the plan with noodles.


But it was just one cookie. Just one. They smell so good. I take one and scarf it down. This is when I know I'm out of control. When I'm in control I take small bites, I ration, I savour each bite because it's one bite closer to my last. This time I just inhaled. And it was good. It was so damn good.

I hope it was worth it because you are never having another one. 


I was mad at Ana. Angry that she had forced me to lie to my grandmother, who had run to the store to buy ginger ale for a stomach ache I didn't have. I was angry that I hadn't gotten as far in my reading as I needed to me. I was angry that I had so much work to do and only three weeks left of class. I was stressed out and angry and I took it out on Ana.

She is the only one I can be horrible to and she will never turn her back on me.

Oh but she will kick up a fuss. She will yell and scream. She will pick at the fat on my arms and add sound effects to my thunderous steps brought on by thunderous thighs. She will force me to fast longer to make up for hurting her. You do not cross Ana for she is vengeful as she is faithful.

I sat in my room dreaming of these cookies, Ana doing all she can to tie me to my bed. But she couldn't hold me, and I stuffed my face with four more. And it wasn't enough, either. Soon I had made a sandwich piled high with cheese and chicken and hot peppers. And I cut a grapefruit. And I ate it all. Every last bite. My stomach hurt for real this time.

I hope you're happy you horrendous cow. I hope your stomach hurts all night. I hope you can't sleep over it. You deserve it.


I'm sorry, I tell her. I didn't mean to. I couldn't help myself. My dog ate it. Every excuse imaginable.  And then she does something unexpected and incredible. She takes me by the hand, soothes me, tells me everything will be alright. I am grateful for her kindness and willing to follow her wherever she wants to go, I owe her that much. Where she wants to go is the basement bathroom. She turns on the tap and shuts the door.

This is my friend Mia. You'll like her, but not as much as you like me. She'll help us, but first she'll have to hurt you a little.

Hello Mia, my name is Charlie. I don't believe we've met.

Forgive me Angels,
Charlie