Usually, I would be cursing the choice to do this to my body, but not today. My mindset has changed. I try to place a positive spin on it, hoping that every purge is eliminating my body of the disease which ravages it. Surely, the more I throw up, the better it is? I use this as my reasoning as I heave up everything I ate today.
I feel like utter s**t, so when a soft knock sounds on the door, it’s expected for my response to be a garbled, “Go away.” My wishes are, of course, ignored, and when the door creaks open, I bury my head farther into the toilet bowl.
“Lola?” His concerned voice has me groaning. I feel like a fool. The visual he must have right now has me throwing up again.
“Don’t worry”—my voice echoes off the bowl—“I don’t think it’s contagious.” This is hardly the time to be m
