Gutfuck

It only happened when on her bad days, when the anger settled and there was a new craving, a hunger dying to be fed; literally. Wandering in habit towards the open kitchen, the fixtures and tacky leaf printed countertops going unnoticed as she searched quietly through the cupboards and fridge for something to shove down into the hole. Something to fill the hole she felt, when anger had eaten right through her stomach. It didn’t matter what it was; olives, bread, fruit. Even chocolate, oh chocolate was the best. Even though she claimed to hate it, and would deny it up and down, she loved filling her mouth with the addicting taste. If it was covered in chocolate, it was not left in the kitchen long. It didn’t matter what it was, she would devour it. Soda came next, if not an energy drink to wash away the guilt that rose up now and then. It didn’t matter in that moment whether her parents would yell the next morning when they found the missing food. They told her she’d be fat if she kept doing this, but somehow it didn’t dig in deep enough.