Elle poured milk directly into her stomach. Via her oesophagus. Gulp gulp gulp said her oesophagus, as it pumped cold semi skimmed milk from Elle’s mouth over her tongue and under her teeth into her hot, sloshy bag of sick.

The fridge door hung open pathetically. Yearning. Have you no self respect Elle said. With her mind. She said it with her mind. But the fridge door didn’t respond. Maybe it couldn’t hear her? so she said it out loud. “Have you no self respect?” she said, quietly, firmly, bitterly. And the fridge door just stayed there, open, as if to say, take it, take it all. It’s all for you. So no. The answer was no. No self respect. So she took out all the ham and all the cheese, and all the jars of jam and mayonnaise and pickles, and she shoved those down too. And the fridge shivered with delight at its own servitude.