craving.

She calls it a craving, but it's more of a need. A necessity she feels almost every day. She knows it's twisted. Knows it's unhealthy, but she can't control it. Has no real energy to fight against this particular demon.

Or... sometimes she feels as though she'd prefer to let it win. Life would be simpler if she'd learn to give in.

She stares back into the mirror and counts her ribs. She's transfixed by her tiny waist and her tiny arms and her tiny legs and her tiny neck and her much smaller breasts. She hardly sees the bags under her eyes or the sallow colour of her skin. It's easiest to ignore the bad on top of the bad. 

She's gone down three dress sizes. She's dropped at least fifteen pounds in three weeks. Why would she, then, give in to that despicable craving? No, she's better off the way she is now. Starving. Shrinking. Smiling, despite the gnawing pain in her stomach and heart. She'd rather turn a dozen heads than go back.