She worked her way methodically through the whole box of ice pops, in precise rainbow order. Sucking all the sickly sweet juice until just a streak of white ice remained, swirling it around in her mouth, never chewing, tossing aside the plastic sleeve to rip the next one open with her teeth.

Everything was surreal at 3am. Only now and then did a car speed past, the onslaught of light and sound bursting through the darkness, spilling through the crack in the curtains, then retreating. Every time, she flinched, froze, relaxed.

She wanted to shove herself full of food until every crack and crevice was filled, choke and gag as it came rushing back up, a waterfall of everything she was not. But the ice pops were all she had left.

They were so cold that she had to wrap a t-shirt around her hand to hold them; she was so hot that her hoodie was suffocating her.

Her roommate stirred on the top bunk, mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

As the toilet flushed, she closed her eyes and imagined a tie-dye rainbow.