We fade up on the screaming kettle, and pan across the silent apartment to the cordless phone. Finally, we reach Abby, who awakens with a start. Blood sullies her upper lip, trickling from her nose, and a nasty cheek-and-eye bruise actively swells shut her left eye. She instinctively grabs her face and rolls up onto her knees, then stands slowly, as if her aching limbs won't work on command. Here, she first glimpses blood on her hand, and realizes it's coming from her face. The music booms so that we know she's experiencing something traumatic. Suddenly afraid, Abby instinctively shuffles over to close the door, trying to chain-lock it clumsily until she clicks that it's broken. Whirling, she sees the bag of food, chokes back emotion as she touches her throbbing face, and silently wonders if she's alone in the apartment. The music implies Brian is still around, but he isn't; still, Abby grabs the phone and flees to the sanctuary of the bathroom, another door she can lock. Smart of her to make sure she had at least one secure room in the place. The harsh bathroom light reveals the bloodstains on her mint satin robe. Suddenly, Abby catches sight of herself in the mirror, and trembles in horror. She sniffles through her battered nose, and gingerly touches her badly swollen eye and purpling cheekbone. "Oh my God," she whispers, yanking open the medicine cabinet and grabbing whatever bandages she can find. She sheds inadvertent tears as she tries to blot the blood, while ambulance sirens howl ever closer to her apartment building. Maura Tierney is brilliant.
Susan sits down at Gluttony's bedside. "Did you talk to your parents?" she asks gently. "My mom," Gluttony corrects her, lightning-quick. Susan explains that if she eats better, she'll feel better; Gluttony swears she's completely happy being fat. "I'm glad you're comfortable with your body," Susan insists, but warns her that extreme weight gain in such a short time can be a health hazard. "And you know, you'll be in high school soon, and you'll be interested in boys...." Susan adds. Idiot! As Susan explains that someday, Gluttony might want a boyfriend, it's becoming increasingly annoying that she's tying it to a conversation about the girl's weight. ["I could not agree more, dude." -- Wing Chun] I think it's insensitivity. Although it cracks me up that Sherry Stringfield, she of the vilified weight gain, got saddled with a story about a girl who suddenly chubbed up. I hope she gave the writers paper cuts with their own script. Susan's alarm bells toll when Gluttony swears she never wants a boy to touch her, ever. "When did your mom marry your stepfather?" Susan asks carefully. A nurse enters. "Three months ago," Gluttony confesses. Susan silently realizes that this coincides with the gorging, but she's called away by the nurse, who informs her of Abby's assault. Little Gluttony is forced to take a back seat to Wrath and Pride.