Hunger - Kaye Doiron

There is a look in her eyes that I recognize. A wild panicked look like I see in the horses on a dark brooding day just before a thunderstorm when the sky turns all but black and they pull their ears way back. There is an energy that is crawling under her skin and seeping out that does not put me at ease. My heart beats faster when she is around and I speak just to fill her silence. Her jaw is working fast on gum, I suppose, every time she is here. It is easy to see that she was once beautiful. Remarkable, almost. But now her agonizing has left a road map on her face and her hair lacks any luster of fullness that I’m certain it once had. Her skin is merely decoration, covering her bones as she stands a full five foot seven and weighs 92 pounds. Her clear blue eyes are twinkleless...The only thing left is her smile which I see but only on rare occasion.

I remember the first time she came into the clinic. She said that occasionally she smoked pot, would that effect her participation in the study. I said, no, and jokingly added, “but if you’re shooting up heroin, that’s a different story.” She met me solidly with her panicked eyes and I knew. It was hard to get the needle in the veins, they were scarred so badly, hardened and in order to draw her blood I had to push the needle in deep, go beneath all the scar tissue.

“ Believe it or not, I hate needles.”

What do you say to that?

She leaves the clinic and I know. She fights her demons every minute of every day. There is a devil on her shoulder waiting for her to have a moment of weakness, waiting for her to give into her hunger.