I don’t have a problem.
Just to prove to them that they didn’t have to call the hospital, I ate an entire turkey submarine sandwich. Mayonnaise included.
See, I’m fine.
I spent the next forty-five minutes locked in a bathroom stall, stifling powerful sobs and willing myself to be sick so I wouldn’t have to feel nausea and guilt dig their little talons all over my insides.
I didn’t have the guts to make myself throw up. I hated throwing up, anyway.
I am a spineless son of a bitch.
I consumed nothing but water for the next 36 hours. My penance.