"No."

The plate of food is there.
Filling the tiny room with it's sickenly warm and pleasent aroma.
She speaks aloud to herself, "No," with such venom that it would poison a person standing next to her.
Luckily she was alone.
She reaches out to the fork lying by her side.
"NO!"
She yanks her hand back and sits on it.
She looks at it, thinking to herself how this plate of food must be coming from her cell in Hell.
How else would it know how to undermine her self-control?
She peels her eyes off it, wondering how good it must be.
She sneaks another glance over at the food, trying to will it to sprout legs and walk away.
She knows how little convincing it would take to make her pick of the fork and eat some.
"NO!"
She can't let it win.
She's worked too hard.
She's tried too much.
One slip-up now and everything she'd been working for would be over.
Done.
One bite would lead to two.
Two bites would lead to three.
Then suddenly she would realize that all the food was gone.
She wouldn't allow it to be so.
"No."