The Obese by Nick Antosca

Author:Nick Antosca [Antosca, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Lazy Fascist Press
Published: 2012-02-22T16:00:00+00:00

They close the door, but I can still hear their voices faintly. Molly going, “We’re not safe here… she could change at any minute,” and Chris trying to calm her, saying, “I know… I know, babe, I know… whatever happens, I won’t let you get hurt…”

I want more orange juice. Even after I drain what’s in the glass, my body craves it. Buster the dog watches me crawl out of bed. I go down the long, ridiculously beautiful hallway (her parents must be billionaires, literally), looking for the kitchen. But before I find it, I hear something.

Fucking. I hear fucking.

With chills of dread, I approach the bedroom doorway from which the fucking sounds emanate. The door is slightly open. (She did that. She left it open.) I edge up to it and, in spite of myself, peer inside. It’s like a jarring photoshop joke: His chiseled perfection embedded into her great shapeless dough-pillow of a body… thrusting, thrusting, pushing into it… her gaspy mooing, his near-orgasmic groans… oh God, I can’t even—

—I tear myself away and hurry down the hall, gagging a little, thinking how I can never unsee that, thinking how humiliating it is, he probably doesn’t have to use Viagra with her.

In the kitchen, Chantal wears a nasty little smirk. She can hear them too.

“Don’t look so jealous,” Chantal says.

“I just hope she doesn’t turn into one of those things while he’s in her. I guess you’re willing to ignore that danger.”

The flawless bitch gives me a superior look. “Do you even remember me from high school?”

“Not really, no,” I say honestly.

“That figures.”

“Well, yeah, it does. Because from what little I do recall, you literally never spoke, always sat in the very back, and had no friends.”

Chantal crosses her slim, smooth arms. “I did sit in the back and never talk, but I watched,” she says. “I was very observant. For example, I remember this chubby girl who sat a few rows in front of me and didn’t have any friends. She always came into class alone, and she’d sit there and look around her at all the gossipy conversations going on that she wasn’t a part of, and she’d get this hopeful look, but no one ever included her. And I thought—she’s an outsider just like me. She’s a girl I could be friends with, if I just knew how. Sometimes I’d see her sitting alone at lunch, and I’d be sitting alone too, with my acne and my mouthful of braces, and I wanted to go sit with her, but I never had the nerve.

“Then one day, during gym class, we were out on the soccer field. And I got my period early. Before I even knew it, I had a little stain on my gym shorts. You remember those shorts we wore for gym, right? Those grey, flimsy things. It didn’t take much. So I sat down on the grass beside the field and crossed my legs, and I told Coach Hardy I had a stomachache.

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