She fed herself through four bags of saline solutions. She took the four bags twice a day. 

Four years ago her torturer ripped out her small intestines. The torturer must've been a trained surgeon, otherwise there was no way they could've pulled off such a clean job.

Besides the height and build of the torturer the police never discovered anything else. After two and a half years they quit bugging her and life in terms of legal proceedings and investigations returned to normal for her.

But her life was of course no longer normal. Without the act of eating, she slowly felt less and less human. She didn't know what she was becoming but there was nobody else to talk to about it. Everybody else who received their sustenance through saline drips were in comas and weren't driving here and there, running errands and working jobs. They were knocked out cold.

Still, she was floored by just how different her lived reality could become, just from the fact that she was no longer putting food in her belly. Back before the incident she had been a careerist who saw eating as but a mere obstacle getting in the way of life really was about: work. Back then she could never have guessed how much of life was about food.

But now that she did realize how did she feel about it?