#Chapter 45: Nonsense

Hannah The next morning, I woke up feeling more nauseous than I could ever remember. My stomach roiled and churned, protesting even the mere idea of breakfast. I barely had time to throw myself out of bed and stagger to the bathroom before violently emptying the contents of my belly into the toilet. Wave after wave of intense nausea rippled through my body, doubling me over the porcelain bowl as I heaved and retched. Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes, my throat burning from the harsh, acidic sting of bile. When it finally seemed to pass, I collapsed in a trembling heap on the cool tile floor, my head spinning. Goddess, I felt so weak—weaker than I had in months. In fact, the last time I remembered feeling like this was… well, when I had died. What was even worse, though, was that when I finally mustered the strength to push myself upright and glance at my reflection in the mirror above the sink, I looked thinner than ever. All the careful progress I had painstakingly