“I went to the drive through and got the biggest thing of popcorn chicken they sold and I ate every last bit of it in the car.” She had that numb, dead look in her eye that I had seen before. “Then I pulled over on the side of the road, stuck a finger down my throat, and made myself throw it all up.”
“You’ve done this before?” I asked in disbelief. “You are bulemic?”
She nodded. “Since I was a teenager. I hadn’t done it in a year or two, though.” I had been seeing her for over ten years and not an inkling of this was ever spoken of before.
“Why did you do it this time? What the hell happened?”
“That new pulmonologist you sent me to? She’s as skinny as my pinkie. She says to me as soon as she walks through the door…
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