THE MUSIC PLAYED LOUDLY, THE beat of the dance playlist Claire had chosen thumping wildly on both the floor and the walls. The alcohol and food were in full flow, drunken laughter and dancing making my new home buzz with people’s merriment. Every room was full of people, every inch of the garden lit with strings of lights, yet again courtesy of my best friend. Dave sat in a corner sulking as a pissed Frank told him about his wife’s new addiction to catalogue shopping.
And I was in the pantry. Panicking. And counting.
16 tins of beans.
23 tins of tomato soup.
14 packets of custard creams.
21 packets of bourbon creams.
8 multipack of crisps – variety.
6 boxes of cornflakes.
8 boxes of frosted wheat biscuits.
11 tins of ham.
5 tins of corned beef.
26 tins of macaroni cheese.
11 multipack of Mars.
16 multipack of Twix.
7 bags of sweet popcorn.
18 bags of salted popcorn.
45 sachets of hot chocolate.
….and on it went, my mind whirling as my breathing came in short, sharp pants.
18 large jars of strawberry jam.
4 jars of peanut butter – I hated peanut butter.
36 packets of part-baked bread.
9 bottles of orange squash.
28 cartons of apple juice.
19 cartons of orange juice.
16 cartons of long-life milk.
36 eggs.
I stuffed another digestive into my mouth, cramming it in beside the last one I hadn’t yet had chance to swallow.
8 15kg bags of dog meal.
19 packets of jelly.
8 cartons of custard.
19 apples.
23 bananas.
6 5kg bags of potatoes.
Another digestive. Alongside a mouthful of salted crisps.
The nothing had started to creep in that morning, tiny slivers of darkness seeping through my pores and under my skin until it had grown into the pit of despair I hadn’t seen coming.
That was the trouble with the nothing. It was invisible, void of substance and quality. You didn’t see it coming, and you were unaware of its hunger for you. Right until, wham, it had submerged itself into your lungs and tugged on every breath that you tried to pull in and blow out. It infused itself into your mind, dowsing every thought, every aspiration and every effort to keep breathing in a thick, sticky darkness that no amount of hope could scrape away.
It had been a while since my last episode. Sometimes life didn’t taunt me, and so long as my cupboard was full, I was okay. But stress brought panic, and panic brought vulnerability.
A bite of an apple and a handful of salted popcorn.
Panicking when four kernels of popcorn fell from my hand to the floor, I dipped down and scrambled under the shelf for them, only taking another breath when I felt them in my palm once again.
The four dirty popcorn and two digestives. Washed down with a pint carton of apple juice.
A Mars bar stuffed in whole until my cheeks bulged and my nostrils strived to feed my lungs.
A pint of long-life milk, my stomach gagging at the sour taste.
“There you are!”
I swung around, throwing everything in my hands into the corner of the floor. I tensed when I thought about the food that was now sitting, waiting for me to feed my belly.
James, my boss, was leaning on the open doorframe, the open door that I had specifically closed so I wouldn’t be disturbed. He was drunk - very drunk. His eyes were bloodshot as he tried to focus on me, his swaying body making it even more difficult for him. One hand held onto the jamb as the other held a bottle of whisky.
“I’ve been looking for you, Kloe.”
I nodded quickly, the feel of the Twix in my hand making me tremble. My mouth watered as my heart rate went into panic. Panic that James would take it from me. That he would slowly eat it in front of me. That his manic laughter would make the chocolate swirling around in his mouth spit in my direction. I knew I would collect his spit on my finger and shove it into my mouth, just for one tiny taste.
“I’ll be out in a minute, James.” My voice was shaky, nervous and high-pitched with anxiety.
He took a step inside the pantry, stumbling down the single step that brought him closer to my hoard. My head shook as my eyes bulged. He couldn’t touch it. I wouldn’t let him. A small growl reverberated around my chest and I dug my nails into the soft chocolate hidden in my hand.
I reared back when he pointed a waving finger towards me. “Don’t be so uptight, Kloe. I want to talk.”
He pulled the door closed behind him. My eyes shot to him then to the door handle he held shut.
“What’s the matter, James? I’m coming. Go find Claire. She’ll find you a refill.”
Shaking his head, he took another step. “I don’t want Claire. Or another drink.” He held up his bottle, showing me the dreg in the bottom. I want to talk to you.”
I could feel the chocolate melting in my hand, the toffee and biscuit melding together and squishing through my fingers.
I flinched when his hand reached for my face, my eyes squeezing shut instinctively. “Relax.” He laughed. “You have something on your face.” His dirty thumb wiped at some food covering my face. I wanted to slap his hand away, yet at the same time I wanted to take his thumb into my mouth and suck off the food he stole from me.
“You’ve always been the pretty one in the office, Kloe.”
I tensed, hoping to God he wasn’t going where I thought he was.
“Those little tight skirts you wear, the way your blouses strain against your large tits.”
“James…”
He took another step into me, forcing me back into the wall. My heart was going crazy, the spike in my adrenaline not coping well with the sugar riding my bloodstream.
“What are you doing?” My voice wasn’t strong, which I loathed. It was weak, as cowardly as I felt.
His large hand came up to my throat, his fingers curling around the circumference of my neck. It wasn’t tight but enough to tell me he was warning me.
“I told you to relax, Kloe. Although, the way you torment me, the way you look at me…”
“I don’t… look at you like anything, James.”
He nodded, tightening his grip very slightly. “Oh, but you do. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”
Shaking my head I stepped further back, trying to get away from him even though the cold brick wall pressed into my back and there was nowhere else to go.
“So many times I have pictured bending you over my desk…”
Beads of sweat were rolling down my brow, my mouth drying as the moisture in my body leaked out in panic through my pores, the perspiration coating my palms making the chocolate I was still holding squelch through my crushed fist.
“…Lifting that tight, tight skirt. Your perfect arse would be covered in black lace…”
Nausea curdled in my gut. His hand tightened further, his excitement pressing against my jugular and into my stomach in the form of his sickening erection.
“Please, James…”
“You’d beg me to slide down your knickers.”
‘Beg. Beg me, Kloe. Beg and I’ll let you have a bite…’
My head shook when memories assaulted my mind, tears heating my eyes as vomit rushed up my throat.
‘Beg for that one, little bite, Kloe.’