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“I didn’t know.”
    The nurse glares at me as she hooks my lines back up. Seriously, what is her problem? She gives a quick glance around to make sure Mom isn’t nearby. Then she leans in close to my ear.
    She whispers, “
We
don’t think you deserve to be here!”
    Shock tingles through me. I smooth my face into an expressionless mask, but the shock lingers even after she’s gone.
We
? Who’s
we
? Eventhe blond nurse? Even the tech with the rose-colored eye shadow? They’re whispering about me behind my back! What are they saying?
    They think you’re fat
, says the voice in my head.
They know you’re not an anorexic. They all think you’re a big fat fake.
    Anxiously, I wrap my fingers around my wrist. Is that true? Am I fat? What’s my number?
    You’re swelling up
, says the voice in my head.
The feeding pump is swelling you up. You’re not anorexic! Who do you think you’re fooling? You’re obese! You’re a stupid, fat bitch!
    The angry nurse comes back with a tech, and together they hook up the feeding pump. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them load it with strawberry Ensure, but I lie still and pretend they don’t exist.
    The tech stays behind on a chair by the door. “Anorexia protocol,” she tells Mom. “I’ll be here all night. They want your daughter to have twenty-four hour supervision.”
    She looks sweet and concerned while she tells this to Mom, but I bet she’s been whispering about me, too.
    Mom turns out the light and settles down on her foldout bed. The tech reads a nursing textbook by the light from the hall. I lie in my bed in torment as the feeding pump fattens me up. The pump grinds, grinds, grinds, like someone chewing. My stomach is going to burst!
    They’ve got you right where they want you, flat on your back
, sneers the voice in my head.
You deserve it, too, you fat, stupid bitch!
    Hour after hour, I lie awake, rigid, while calories force their way into my body. The grind of the pump is like a taunt, like a boast:
We’ve got you! You can’t get away. We hate you! You can’t fight us. We win!
    The ward grows still. The tech by the door stops turning pages. I peek at her. She’s slumped over her book.
    She doesn’t think you deserve to be here
, says the voice in my head.
    Well, I don’t think I should be here, either, and you can stick your damn strawberry Ensure up your ass!
    Holding my breath, I hit the pause button on the feeding tube. The room drops into stark, sudden silence. I don’t dare unhook my heart leads because that will ring an alarm, but the wires will stretch far enough to let me get to the sink and to the cabinets by the door.
    I kneel down next to the cabinet and pull out the empty chip bag. I smooth its crinkles out one by one. Then I dump Ensure from the feeding pump into the chip bag and empty it out into the sink.
    I’m tiptoeing right past the sleeping tech. She could get fired for sleeping on the job. But I’m willing to swear that she was wide awake all night and that she watched every single drop of Ensure go through the line.
    A second trip, and then a third. My heart’s pounding, and my breath hurts. I feel like a cat burglar, or a spy.
    But by the third trip, the feeding pump is empty.
    A syringe lies on the platform under my heart monitor. I saw the nurse use it earlier to clear the line on my nose tube. I disconnect the tube from the pump and, with infinite care, pull a vacuum on the tube with the syringe. The Ensure that has already been pumped into my stomach flows out through the nose tube again.
    I hold the end of my nose tube so it can drain into the sink. Its contents join the pale puddle already there.
    Hey, you big bad psychiatrists and bitchy nurses, I’m not your victim. I’m not some cute little girl who’s going to get yelled at and cry. You want to lock me up? Go right ahead! But you better want what