The thought of eating makes my stomach turn, but I can’t let myself be this fragile. I haven’t eaten in almost a week. I’ll just have a drink and a few bites of something bland, and then I’ll find someone to help me with . . . I pause a moment before I’m able to say it, even silently to myself. The bodies. I need help with the bodies.

I pour myself a glass of water and drink. It goes down easier this time. I rummage through the pantry and find some saltine crackers. I choke on the first one, but the second is better, and by the third I’m so ravenous that I crush it into my mouth and hardly chew before swallowing. Careful. Just like with the water. I force myself to slow down.

The saltines won’t be enough. I glance around until my gaze settles on the fruit bowl. It holds a few apples and two splotchy bananas. I grab a banana and peel it, then push it into my mouth. I stare at the bowl as I chew. I made it three years ago in ceramics class. Ryan called it “The Monstrosity” because of its odd bulges and splashes of mismatched paint. I thought I was being artsy. Abstract. Really, I was being ridiculous. But when I brought it home, Mom beamed proudly and immediately retired the old fruit bowl to the attic. The Monstrosity became a family fixture.

I force myself to swallow the rest of the banana, then I wash it down with another half glass of water. That taken care of, I think about my next move.

All those birds—maybe thousands of them—perched right outside are giving me the creeps. I shouldn’t leave the house without a weapon. An umbrella, at least, or something that will make a loud noise. And I should change out of my robe.

Getting food into my bloodstream is helping me think. I loose a ragged sigh, grateful for the clarity.

I race up the stairs, and I’m light-headed by the time I reach the top, but I don’t care. I throw on a pair of jeans—which never sagged on my hips this way before—a long-sleeved tee, and a zip-up hoodie. The scent of stale urine is overpowering now, and I make a mental note to change my sheets as soon as possible. I rummage around the bathroom cupboard until I find the box of disposable blue-and-white face masks Mom brought home from the hospital after the flu hit. I slip the elastic over my ears, which proves to be a good decision because I don’t smell my own pee anymore.

I should put antibacterial cream on my hand, too. Later. I grab my key ring and its resident canister of pepper spray.