12
I woke up, curled around the base of the toilet. The lines of the tiles were imprinted on my cheek. My stomach made its presence known by forcing me to empty out whatever liquid was left inside me. My life was turning into one big purge fest. A pattern was starting to emerge. Nightmare. Purge. Nightmare. Purge. Nightmare. Purge. It was a little monotonous.
All I could hear was insistent, demanding knocking. It took a few moments to realise the knocking, echoing around in my head, was actually coming from my front door again. The knocking irritated me.
I struggled to my feet, managed to stand and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It was not a pretty sight. I looked as though I’d been on a hectic drinking binge followed by a few rounds with Mike Tyson. I forced the nausea back
