Author's Note: I am going to have to put a big trigger warning on this chapter and maybe for the rest of the story. Eating disorders are a real mental illness that a lot of people (including men) go through, but I know that it might trigger some readers. I am going to try from now on to make this story more realistic, at least Winry's eating disorders, because they are more than not being able to eat it is crippling low self esteem, anxiety issues, and more.

Her knees bruised against hard, tile floor of the apartment restroom. She gripped the toilet bowl with one hand, and with the other hand, jammed two fingers down her throat desperately hoping that there was at least some soup left in her stomach to get rid of other than stomach bile. Tears streamed down her face, she hated doing this, she hated the feeling of shoving fingers down her throat, of throwing up needlessly, of cleaning the toilet every time she did this. She hated the vulnerable position that she was in. In her past life, she fought a homunculus. In this new life, she fought herself. However, no matter how far she shoved her fingers down her throat all it caused her to do is gag, there was nothing coming up.

Admitting defeat, she stood up, wincing a bit as pain shot up from her knees. There was definitely going to be bruises. She bruised so easily now, it was almost a joke. She washed her hands, as her mind went racing a mile a minute. She didn't know what she could do to punish herself other than the usual, common punishment of not eating. Winry shook her head in frustration, and left the restroom, and walked slowly back to the bedroom, completely determined to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed. She didn't have enough energy as she used to and staying up all night talking to Claude (what a stupid decision), it had left her exhausted well into the next day and possibly for the rest of the day as well.

She managed to make it back into her bedroom and collapsed on her bed, curling up against the mass of blankets, because even though it was sunny and hot outside she felt a cold settle in her bones that just wouldn't go away. She was always cold.

Her mind began to race from one topic to five different subjects and then back to single one again. There was nothing for her to do, other than suffer in her own mind, and the damning silence of her apartment. She thought of everything, and she thought of nothing. She thought about the weight of her bones, about all the irreversible damage she must be doing to her body. It hadn't been that long since she got caught up in all this, maybe there was still hope. She could recover, she could go back. Then she began to think of the grease piling on her lips, on her hips, if she were to eat like everyone else. Of the dirtiness and filth her stomach would have to endure, and how hard she's had to fight to make herself feel pure in the inside even though she knew she was wasting away on the outside.

She physically shook her head. She didn't want to think about that anymore. She knew people worried, but this was her body and she was going to do whatever was necessary to be happy again. She thought of Granny, of Den, and of her hometown. She even briefly thought of Edward and Alphonse, but her throat constricted and she thought she was going to choke, so she immediately forced herself to think of other things.

Winry had began to think of what she could do to stop herself from thinking all the time, since there is only so much she could sleep in one day, when she heard a loud, strong knock at her door. Instinctively, she began to panic. If someone were to check the kitchen they will notice that it is almost empty, the apartment is a mess, and she was only wearing a blouse and underwear. Another knock snapped her out of her thoughts and she rose from the bed.

"Coming!" She yelled out the door as she searched for something appropriate to wear. Frantically, she searched through her closet for something usable and found an old large sweatshirt (probably from her automail days), she pulled that on, and then pulled on a dirty pair of shorts. She didn't have time to find something clean. She walked as fast as she could, unlocked the door, and opened it.

It was Riza Hawkeye. Looking serious as ever, her hair clipped back, her eyebrows furrowed. She was worried? She was upset? Winry could never read the Lieutenant. She noticed that she was holding a clipboard.

"Hello, Winry," the Lieutenant said.

"Oh! Hello, come on in," Winry said, nervously.

Winry stepped aside to let Hawkeye in, and then closed and locked the door after she had entered the apartment. Riza looked around for only a moment before turning around and confronting Winry.

"Winry, I'm here on the behalf of the Colonel and his orders. I'm to do an inspection once a month, on the first of every month. Based on the agreement that you too had, if you were to show that you're both mentally and physically healthy after a series of months he would let you join the military under the Engineering department. The earliest you could join is after six successful months."

Winry reeled backwards. She had forgotten all about that. She had already resigned to live her life as a secretary, destined only to pick up phones and file papers. Was there hope? But as Winry watched Hawkeye step toward the kitchen to start her inspection, she shook her head. She would fail this inspection, and all the others following it.

She reluctantly trudged behind Hawkeye who had already begun the inspection. Silently, Hawkeye opened (mostly empty) kitchen cabinets as well as the fridge. She went through the restroom, and poked her head in the bedroom, and finally finished as she did a quick once over. It was a very quick inspection, since it was a very small apartment. Winry had opted to just stay in the kitchen, while Hawkeye did her job.

Hawkeye walked up to her and ripped a copy of the inspection sheet off of the clipboard and handed it to her.

"You need to do better than this, Winry. You're not alone, you need to remember that." Hawkeye gave her a slight smile and a pat on the shoulder. "I'll let myself out, while you read the results." Hawkeye opened the front door and with a final nod to Winry, closed the door and left.

It took a few minutes for Winry to be able to breathe again. She knew that she had failed quite miserably, and yet she wanted nothing more than to take the sheet of paper between her hands and shred it into tiny pieces, but she couldn't. With a tremendous effort, Winry stumbled toward a kitchen chair and collapsed in it and brought the inspection review to her eyes.

Her eyes scanned the paper and read it from top to bottom and once she had read it, she read it once more. Rereading parts that made it hard to swallow, that made it hard to breathe. She wasn't fooling anyone, and her thoughts began to race. What were they saying about her? What were they thinking about her. Phrases like insufficient food supplies and recent purging occurred ran through her mind. She had tried to hide the fact that she had tried to purge, but of course there was no hiding that from Hawkeye. You couldn't hide anything from her, that's why the Colonel had sent her rather than anyone else. Hawkeye mentioned the unused kitchen, the messy apartment, even her choice of attire. In those few minutes she had exposed her when Winry had tried so hard to hide her body, her apartment, her failures.

Winry's hands clenched into fists and she gritted her teeth. How could she do this? Now Mustang is going to read and he's going to find out exactly how bad she is. Her hands crumpled up the paper and threw it against the wall. If he goes to ask her exactly what he could do to help, she wouldn't know what to do. Against her will, tears began to flow freely down her cheeks and Winry furiously rubbed her face. How could she cry now at all times, when the only emotion she was feeling was anger?

She thought back to the vivid dream she had of Edward when she still lived with Granny. He had said something was going to take her pain away, and he was right. She had to make choices now, and even if they're not the right ones she knew that she couldn't keep on like this anymore. She couldn't keep living with the pain so raw, painful, and incapable of healing. She needed to be numb. Not forever, but just enough to get by until she was better.

Winry stood up from the kitchen chair and made her way to the bathroom where she tried to look representable. She brushed her teeth to get rid of the taste of bile, and brushed the tangles out of her hair. She decided to leave the sweatshirt on, but switched the shorts she was wearing for a simple pair of pants. When she decided that she looked "okay" enough, she went out the front door and locked it with her key.

This was the first time in a long time that she had ventured out of her apartment other than going to work. Winry made her way down the stairs and headed East where she knew was a 24 hour Liquor store at the end of the block. She smiled to herself as she walked down the sidewalk knowing that she was finally going to get rid of the ever constant pain.

After a short walk, the Liquor store came into view. It looked like every other store that selled alcohol as its main income: suspicious, torn down, and dirty. Winry's mouth tugged down at the corners. She didn't care anymore about whether she could get hurt, she just wanted to feel nothing for a bit even at the cost of her safety. Plus, if she hurried she could make it back to her apartment before the sun set.

With that last thought, she walked up the short steps leading up to the store's front door and pulled it open and walked inside. As suspected, rows of various brands of alcohol wrapped around the store with flashy labels and caps. Winry simply walked in and headed to the liquor section not wanting to even bother with beer or mixed drinks. She did not need it to taste good, she just needed something that worked fast and hard. Her eyes caught a bottle on the bottom shelf. It was plain compared to the others surrounding it on the shelves, but she recognized it as the liquor her granny would give to customers who were planning on getting automail work done (especially if they were going to reconnect the nerves to the automail).

She grabbed one bottle in each hand and set them down gently in front the cashier. The cashier sharply raised one eyebrow, but remained silent at Winry's purchase.

"That will be 3,000 cenz," they said.

Winry pulled out three crisp 1,000 cenz bills and placed them on the counter, grabbed her liquor and headed out. That was too much social interaction for one day especially for a day as shitty as this one. She walked fast and quick and managed to get home before the sun fell. As soon as the front door was closed and locked she opened one of the bottles and brought the liquor to her lips and took a swallow.

Immediately, she was overwhelmed with an urge to spit out the liquor. It tasted like rubbing alcohol and she could feel her body rejecting it. However, she needed to stop feeling, needed to not feel anything at all. Not even this revulsion to the liquor. She brought the bottle to her lips once more and did not pull away until she felt satisfied. She kneeled down on the floor and leaned against the living room wall and spent the rest of the night drinking, feeling reassured she would not have any more visitors for the rest of the evening. She had no friends other than Claude, and she knew Claude had other errands to attend to today. Claude couldn't spend her whole life babysitting Winry. Winry knew that.

Winry had just started on the second bottle when she heard a timid knock on her door. This is how she knew it was not Riza Hawkeye, whose knock felt confident and self-assured, but someone else, someone who was timid, unsure of their actions, and maybe just a bit doubtful. Winry stood up to answer the door but she immediately fell to the floor, her vision was dancing and swimming, and she could not concentrate on anything. She felt her stomach tighten and she knew then she was going to be sick.

"Winry, are you in there? I heard something fall. Are you okay? Can you let me in?"

It was Havoc.