Fight

Today she decides to stay hungry. It makes things easier.
There is no weighing the portions, no scanning the ingredients, no avoiding the snacks.

There is only the sharpness of the hawk. She moves around the house like a predator, inspecting signs that could signal her path. She will not taste.

He is shrewd. He knows about her plans, picked them up from underneath her window on his way to the zoo. He feels like the eagle today, he will make her listen to him. At strategic places he drops maple cupcakes, croissants, summer salads: near yesterday's pillow, on top of the cold shower, in the silver cigarette box.

She is recalcitrant. She acts as if nothing is there, looking away when her nose detects the ambush. She bends down and puts on an armor, it gives her the readiness to fight. There is no flow, only a clear goal at the end of the day. The determination of not giving in.

He invents new tricks: seasons her friends' conversations with his name, cooking her favorite rib eye steak with bell pepper sauce- carelessly leaving it on her doorstep.

Her stubbornness grows. The kitchen smells are everywhere, she finds them in her bed, detects them in her morning coffee. They pop up in the evening breeze. The armor gets dented.

At one point she cannot take it anymore. Fed up. The smells have to go. She is ready to pay.

For a good result certain limbs will have to be cut, olfactories will have to be taken away.