Three cookies.

I kissed him like Angelina Jolie. My lips spread across his, biting his lower lip with my front
teeth – dominant.
He pulled his hands across my hips, cupping the ridge where skin pulled across bone.
He traced his fingers down my rib cage like noone else ever had, gentle, and without counting
how many ribs bled through.
"I love your bones."
I didn’t know if his words encouraged my self inflicted holocaust of a diet, and at that
moment, I didn’t care.
But I didn’t love him.

She left cookies on her last night, and I ate three before any emotions could surface.
She stood infront of us, promising that she would come back and see us again.
I stared at her blankly, fiending for more high calorie food and thinking of nothing
but the dull patch waiting in my stomach.
There was a moment of silence, and I pulled forward to hug her.
She leaned in quickly.
"My baby."
She left with a smell of Matineé cigarrettes and old memories.
The door slammed and I ate two more cookies.
I let my stomach cry in the washroom, returning
with a glossy-eyed grin on my face and a stomach empty of emotions.