While waiting for a response from Penguin I hook up the PS3 and press the play button for P90X Kenpo. My fists cut through the air, punching sticky ghosts of hunger and pain and frustration.
I crawl into bed for a nap. It’s 6:30 and he hasn’t called. My mind is restless. Every rustle of sheet becomes the sound of tires on gravel. Every fat drop of rain, slapping on wood, a footstep. I tell myself he would call before coming over. He would check to see if I was home first. It doesn’t work.
At 7:30 I turn on my Wii, a perfect distraction. I’m obsessed with the new Zelda, Skyward Sword. It has replaced Ocarina of Time as my favorite in the series. Yup, I’m a nerd.
7:45, I find myself in the kitchen. I am not hungry, but my hands don’t listen. They prepare a pickle sandwich: one piece of bread slathered in mustard wrapped around a kosher dill. I know it will set off a binge, but I take a bite anyway. Chew, swallow. Chew, swallow. Chew. Swallow. Next is a black bean patty, covered in salsa -- extra spicy. My lips burn as I put forkful after forkful into my mouth. I taste nothing. My traitor hands reach for the raspberry truffle cookies. They shouldn’t be there, sitting on my counter beckoning. I should have delivered them last night, gotten them far from my kitchen. I break off a piece, place it on my tongue and stop. My stomach is already full, distended -- too many days of fasting and restricting have shrunk the organ. I spit the bite of cookie into my hand. Throw it and the rest of the greasy, sugary treat away. I do not want this.
At 9:00 I give up hearing from Penguin and swallow four Nyquil capsules. Enough to make my head swim and my body collapse. Getting a prescription for sleeping pills is not an option. My doctor would ask too many questions.
Penguin calls at 9:30. He assures me that he wanted to return my text earlier but said if he had, he’d have blown off packing to spend time with me. I don’t know if I believe him. He always has an excuse for his inconsiderate behavior. We both know he is a terrible boyfriend, but neither of us do anything to change.
He arrives at 10:20. Just in time for bed. I think I am a booty call.