Nana Vetty’s house smells like hairspray and cheap perfume.

It used to smell like cats but Brodey escaped died when I was 13. We held a funeral in the back garden; I decorated a shoe box and dead dead dead kitty was buried beneath an apple tree with the sun overhead. She apologised later that night; when she thought about Mom and how it would have had to have upset me.

It hadn’t, things people die. That’s just what they do.

They’ll say that about me when I’m finally welcomed into the arms of the earth.

“You’ll stay here tonight and then we’ll go back to your Dad tomorrow and I’ll take you to your appointment on Friday.” That’s not a day, that’s more more more, today is Monday. Wait… group is on Wednesday, it’s always been on Wednesday, so that means it’s Wednesday. Tick tick tick, I said time disappears too fast.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Kurt?” She says

I don’t want to “Okay.”

There are cookies on the table.

She follows my gaze.

“Have one if you like.” She’s testing me, it’s a challenge. Her vs my grey matter. Eat one and she will move on, Eat one and I can avoid a lecture and a visit to her office with her fake PhD on the wall. No, my brain spits back, that’s danger food, that’s take one bite and you’ll never ever stop food. That’s emergency laxatives food. Your magic pills are at home, Kurt, hidden beneath your mattress, one cookie and it all falls apart.

“Can I have tea?” that’s good, better than saying no. Suggest something else, distract distract distract.

“Sugar?”

“One.” Shh shh shh, Brain, rest yourself it’s just one sugar. Run up the stairs, run back down I forgot something, then back up and that’s done. Lift your knees high and swing your arms and it’ll vaporise into the air.

There’s a picture of me on the wall, dead mom’s arms around me, Dad’s hand on her shoulder. I’m 5 years old. I do not know of calories or BMI’s or the tricks of the trade. I am happy.

I don’t remember what it felt like.

The coffee table has a glass plate on top of the wood with a layer of photos under it. Old souls trapped forever. If you look carefully enough you can see me shrink in the progression of pictures. This is how Dad figured it out. He said that there’s something wrong when a child gets smaller with age.

Nana Vetty said no.

He just doesn’t go outside enough.

He misses his mother.

He just needs some friends.

No no no Vetty, your grandson is dead dying.

The kettle whistles and steam floats through the arch from the kitchen. Clink clink clink of china and she’s back again forcing a dainty china cup in my stiff grip.

The cup is warm in my hands, I know it’s scalding and I should let go before it burns I’m so cold I barely feel it. I’d have to take a bath in boiling water and blister my whole body until my skin peels off and my blood and the water touched and my bones absorbed every wave before I could be comfortably warm.

Nana Vetty pushes the plate of cookies towards me again.

“Have a cookie.” She says again. Challenge back on.

“They go great with the tea.”

“When am I going back to Dads?” I say instead of answering.

“I told you that already.”

Did you? I forgot. The smell of the cookies is frying my brain, it’s like inhaling smoke.

Once in 6th grade a boy called Noah stole his Moms lighter and set fire to his geography textbook while the teacher took nameless boy to the principal’s office. When it got too hot he dropped it to the ground and the carpet singed and melted until it ran out of space then it spread and the floor was alight and children were screaming and running running running. I remember the feeling of the black smoke charring my throat and burning my eyes and blackening my nose. I coughed and spluttered all the way to the end of the hall and had to get oxygen from the men in the florescent van to put my breathing right.

The cookies are making my brain jump around in my skull, pounding against the edges because it doesn’t know what to do. Eat one, Kurt. Eat two or three or the whole plate and then ask for more more more.

I am so hungry

Nana hasn’t said a word, I haven’t looked up. But I can feel her watching me, I can feel the laser beam stare, the calculating brain running diagnostics on my every move.

One cookie (78) I take it in my hands. I snap it in half with my bony chubby fingers (39) and one half into half again (19.5) and put two pieces down on the plate. My fingers shake as I nibble on the edge; my stomach and my brain wage war on each other, a brutal battle of savage proportions. Eat the rest my stomach screams, Eat that and then those other pieces and drink milk with it like you used to when you came here. I take another bite. fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fat the crunching and chewing blocks out my brain.

I don’t know what it is but something clicks, something deep deep deep inside my brain that has laid dormant and trapped for so long. The animal in the cage ready to pounce is set free and I’m dizzy and everything is loud and then I don’t know how to stop.

Nana Vetty leaves the room but I barely register it as another piece of cookie finds itself in my mouth, chew chew chew, another piece chew chew chew, another cookie, and chew and chew and chew. 2,3,4,5,6,7,8 cookies are inhaled down my throat like my mouth is a black hole; feed it feed it feed it.

There are more on a tray in the kitchen and I stagger and stumble and fall onto the counter as my hands grab grab grab at them and shove them into my mouth. The tray clangs and shakes at I pull the food from its surface. Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat. My head is pounding, my brain screaming and throwing itself at the walls if my skull, stop stop stop it begs and pleads but I can’t. I can’t stop. I can’t even pause, crumbs on the counter, floor, sticking to my clothes. I can barely breathe; my lungs are stuffed full with chocolate, my heart pumping pure sugar through my bloodstream.

“Kurt?”

The tray falls the ground and the chunks of cookie in my hand fall to the floor. I am like a vampire caught holding the body of my victim with blood running down my chin and dripping to the floor.

Nana Vetty looks scared.

Everyone looks scared around me.

I’m running.

Running, running, running out of the door, onto the street, bare feet on pavement. Run run run run run run run run rocks and glass and concrete want to slow me down, run run run run run run run blood follows me like a trail of bread crumbs. Follow me Stay away Help me leave me alone.

Run run run until there are too many black spots in my eyes to see, a horn honks and I can feel a weight hit my side. Someone is shouting, I don’t know who and I don’t know why but I know I’m on the floor. I can feel gravel digging into my face and my knee caps sink into the road and the ground comes to take me as I lie there and choke and splutter.

“ARE YOU STUPID?” There’s a man in front of me.

“Yes.” I gasp out and then I’m back on my feet and he disappears as I run run run again, away from the car and away from the yelling and away from my cold cold heart which still lies on the ground.

I turn down a side street and then I’m leaning over a trashcan and I have no trouble this time as cookie after cookie after cookie forces its way back up and up and up until I’m chocking and wheezing, breathless and crying as the metal edges tear through my paper skin and slice my arms when I sway with exhaustion. Blood joins vomit and I can’t tell if it’s coming from my arms or my burning insides.

My bones hit the floor. 109 pounds of fat on the concrete the world shakes and buildings crumble I pull my legs up to my chest and heave and heave and heave. There is water soaking through my jeans and I realise it’s raining. Dark stormy clouds sob overhead, they cry for me. They cry for poor poor Kurt who can’t get anything right.

I let my tears disappear into the downpour and curl into a tiny tiny tiny ball.

I hope no one ever finds me.