Chapter 2 - section 2

After the next two days, Ruby drives them to the appointment in her red Toyota hatchback, blasting music and chatting away, stopping at a burger chain halfway to get herself a double cheese-'n'-beef burger dripping with too much grease. Georgia gets nothing for herself but watches as Ruby chows down on the thing with only one hand on the wheel. When they stop at a set of lights, Ruby wipes away dark drops of grease which have slopped from the burger onto her green transit parka.

Georgia looks at Ruby with suspicion. 'Have you always been eating like that?'

Ruby stares, wide eyed. 'Like what?'

'Like... that.'

Ruby avoids the topic. 'I'm just starving right now,' and even outright lies, 'I haven't eaten this morning,' adding, 'At all,' for extra effect.

As the lights go green, they take off again, and Georgia begins to wonder: If Ruby hadn't eaten all morning, then where did all the cookies, peanut butter, and chocolate milk go? They were there last night. As a matter of fact, she's found a lot of the cupboards empty since getting ba-

Before the thought can mature, Georgia's favourite song begins on the radio. She squeals, 'Oh my god I love this one,' before amping up the volume dial and beginning to move with the groove.

Ten minutes later, the GPS announces that they've arrived at their destination. Ruby finds a spot to park the car, and they step out, stretching. 'Which way?' Ruby asks, looking around. It's a big plaza, with shopfront shops everywhere you look, and any of which could be what they're after.

Having inspected a map before getting here, Georgia leads the way. 'Come this way, I know where it is.'

Soon they turn up in front of a shop within the mall itself. Its windows decorated in patterns of artistic design. A store name in bright neon sits above it all. They wander inside.

After confirming their appointment with the guy at the desk, they wait around for a few minutes browsing tattoo designs, trying to decide whether or not they'd ever get one, and if so, what kind, how big, how sentimental, quote or a picture, with colour or without colour. Then they get called in by a body artist, a woman in her early thirties with a kind, professional expression, crimson dyed hair and a tattoo sleeve of green-blue tattoos wrapping her right arm.

Georgia is up first. She sits on the edge of the white surgery bed, exchanging nervous glances with Ruby, waiting, watching, as the body artist places tools on a tall wheely tray: the navel ring itself, scissor clamps, antibacterial gel, the needle punch - all making Georgia feel almost threatened, like she's about to be scalpeled apart and have her organs stolen. She eyes off the gleaming silver tongs, notices Ruby's looking at them too, and they swap a nervous glance. But it'll be fine. The two friends giggle silently to each other. Then the body artist asks Georgia to lie down and lift up her shirt. The briefest interjection of jealousy now, on Ruby's part: Georgia has reclined, pulling the hem of her white top up, exposing what else but a lean stomach, smooth hip bones jutting forth either side of the faint impression of abs, long, shallow navel at its center. Not much skin to grab, there... so the body artist has to really work the tip of the tongs into her navel to find a fold of skin to be punctured. But once she has a good hold on a miniscule fold of skin, she applies some antiseptic, threads the head of the puncturing needle into the loop, counts down from five. Four. Three. Georgia makes a ridiculous bracing face. Two. One. Then drives the needle through.

You can see on Georgia's face the beginnings of a grimace as the needle slides in - but she hesitates. The grimace never fully forms.

That really wasn't as painful as she'd prepared for.

The body artist removes the needle and clamp from her stomach and puts them back on the tray. Georgia hesitates. '...That was it?' she asks.

The indifferent body artist just nods. 'That was it.' Then picks up the starter ring and tells Georgia to hold still as she threads it into her newly pierced navel. And then that's it. It's done.

Georgia sits up. She holds her hair back over her head to look down at herself - not a crease in her smooth stomach as she does so. Grinning, she stands and goes to the body-length mirror to examine herself - mathematically perfect sine-curves of her hips, navel slightly pink from the puncture, glinting little bead of silver at its center. She grins, happy with the result, and thanks the body artist, who is now washing the equipment and bringing fresh tools along for the next customer: Ruby. Who has, in the meantime, seen her own reflection in the mirror, sitting at the far end of the room in her transit parka and jeans, but looking a lot more... puffy... than she remembers being. There's this unexplainable swell in her waist, and her thighs seem to plume wider across the seat than they should... Doubt begins to tangle her thoughts, wrangling them against her will towards a succession of images thrown against her mind's eye: images of recently incessant eating habits, stashes of cookies, empty wrappers, robotic hand-to-mouth movements, hidden packets, pizza boxes, chocolate bars...

Then again, she is wearing a very puffy transit parka, so...

'Okay we can start now,' the body artist calls, standing beside the bed, waiting for Ruby with a black marker in hand. 'If you'll just lift your shirt.'

Ruby stands to attention, comes forth as if to the altar, but less afraid than she entered, since witnessing Georgia get through the procedure painlessly. But as she sits up on the edge of the bed, she feels the waistband of her jeans tuck itself under her stomach and dig. There are only a few things in the world that means. Stage fright hasn't kicked her in the gut just yet. Although the better part of her knows something is coming.

The body artist stands, waiting, marker in hand.

Ruby wonders what the hold up is.

Then realises it's her. She's just been sitting there, blank and dumb as a Sim. 'Oh,' she mumbles. She exchanges one last glance with Georgia.

Then, trying not to think about it too much, Ruby unzips her transit parka, pushes the sides away and lifts up her orange T-shirt.

Something catches briefly before slipping up to reveal a nasty surprise. Out pooches an overfed belly, mushrooming over her jeans and onto her lap. The flesh is smooth with growth, her navel is dark and deep. The plush muffintop rolling over her waistband is enough to grab in a handful. Ruby sees herself like this for the first time in her life and something does not compute. It's like the a computer in her mind has stopped at "input not received". Coming to her senses out of pure shame, she scrambles to conceal herself - but she can't. She has to leave it open for the procedure. So she sucks in in as hard as she can and holds her breath. She risks a glance over at Georgia.

It seems her friend hasn't noticed a thing - Georgia has turned aside to place her handbag on the seat and rummaging around for something within. Ruby's eyes return to her stomach. All she sees is an ugly swell. She sucks in once more. The effort almost hides how mound-shaped her belly has grown, collapsing the curve back in on itself. But to maintain the illusion, she has to hold on until the edge of pain, her abdominal muscles threatening to cramp the longer she keeps it up.