Vomit rose in Chase's throat, covering this fingers. He quickly yanked them up, gagging into the toilet.
Chunks and glops of food fell into the toilet, hitting the water, which nearly splashed back at Chase.
He coughed, the stomach acid and digested cookies scratching his throat. Chase pushed harshly against his stomach, more guts rising.
He shouldn't have accepted the cookies at work. He should even still be working at the damn bakery!
Chase couldn't bring himself to quit. He came up with excuses, he was going to include sports and school. But he couldn't.
And he sure as hell regretted it.
Sugar cookies are so good though. Frosted, sweet sugar cookies. They were still warm! Or maybe Chase thought they were...
Chase still felt that his stomach was full. Cookies and milk were still clogged and swishing in his stomach.
He shoved his fingers down his throat, gagging loudly. Nothing came up. He pushed them back farther. Nothing.
Tears left Chase's eyes. The smell of stomach acid and a bakery filled his nose.
He thrusted his fingers farther down his throat, gagged, and felt the containments in his stomach move up. It wasn't enough though.
With a cough and another loud, echoing gag, a large amount of the mush rose and fell into the toilet.
Chase felt incredibly nauesous now. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily to recover from forcing food out.
He was doing so well. All week he ate okay. Yes, it was a struggle. Yes, he wanted to throw up and starve. Yes, he wanted to binge on every sweet thing he saw or ate one of.
But he didn't.
And he almost went the entire week without doing it, but relapsed. He also was so upset he couldn't binge that he relapsed in cutting yesterday.
He couldn't stop himself. He said only a cookie or two with a glass of milk. He put the box away after eating two and went bed.
The taste was still in his mouth. His wrist tinged. He wasn't tired, he was upset, he was numb. The only thing he felt was a craving to eat everything in sight.
One more cookie turned into two, two turned into four, and four turned into the rest of the container.
The guilt set in the second he ate the last cookie.
Chase gazed in the toilet. Puke overlapped puked. It was disgusting.
He reached over and flushed the toilet, sighing loudly. Just starve tomorrow until dinner.
No. You can't.
Watch me.
Chase hated arguing with himself. His brain always won.
He threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Tears ran steadily down his warm cheeks.
Chase was disappointed in himself. He hated himself. He felt guiltier relapsing then for binging.
It took him a solid 5 minutes to pull himself off the bathroom floor. To rinse his mouth out. To go back to his room.
He couldn't sleep though. His mind was filled with the worse, conflicting thoughts.
Starve yourself tomorrow.
I'm trying to get better.
It's just a day.
