chapter 2

Gwen's apartment consisted of a small front room, with a couch and TV, a kitchen; then a back room with her bedroom, bathroom, and the spare room where Martin used to live, and would be living again. Their favourite area, however, was the communal basement of the apartment block, where there was an old second-hand couch and a large TV. The basement was almost always free, and Gwen and Martin had usually commandeered it on the weekends. It was here that Gwen and Martin retired with their KFC, as soon as they had deposited Martin's things upstairs.

Martin moaned with appreciation at the first bite of greasy fried chicken.
"Diet that bad, huh?" said Gwen, grinning at the sight of her friend looking so blissful.
"mhn," grunted Martin. "I can't eat like this every night though, but -so good!"

As Gwen chose something on Netflix, Martin ate his way through most of the takeout, then sat back on the couch with his wine and dragged a blanket over himself, looking full and happy. He licked the grease from his fingers, savouring the kind of food he was not supposed to have. Gwen knew that Martin was always happiest when he had a tummy full of food; he had always loved food and had been a plump child.

"It wouldn't kill you to relax the diet a little," said Gwen, sipping her wine.

Martin pursed his lips. "Yeah, but you know what I'm like Gweny. If I so much as look at a donut, I'll gain about five kilos." He laughed ruefully.

Gwen hunched her shoulders, smiling over the rim of her wine glass.
"Whatever. All I'm saying is it must be the universe trying to tell you something."

Martin pursed his lips at her in a sarcastic way, and they turned their attention to the movie.

*

But later that night, when Gwen was alone in her bed, she thought back on those causal remarks. Somehow, the idea of Martin eating whatever he liked, becoming plump again, even more than plump... made her feel... odd. In a good way.
She felt a throb between her legs. She sat bolt upright in bed, and pressed her hands over her face. She had never felt attracted to Martin; if she had been, she would have known it by now. She loved him like a brother, but what she felt now was something... different. She wanted to look after him, to keep him well fed and happy. To be indispensible the way only she, a 'big-sister-friend', could be. I must have had too much to drink, she thought. She rolled over and pulled the covers over her head, refusing to think more on the topic.

*

In the morning, Gwen was making a pot of coffee before work, when Martin emerged, blonde hair touselled from the shower; dressed in his white work suit and black tie.

"What time do you start?" Gwen asked, handing him a mug of coffee.

"Thank you so much. Eight-thirty," Martin said dismally. "I don't know how long I can go full time... I'm just not alive before midday. I'm going to be useless."

"No you're not."

Gwen flinched when there was a knock on the front door. She and Martin went to answer it.

Their neighbor, Mort, stood on the threshold, still dressed in what was undoubtedly his outfit from last night: a see-though mesh shirt and a pair of pink pants, a cigarette between his fingers.

"Oh Marty! Why, Sherry said you were coming back!" He seized Martin and kissed him upon either cheek. Martin immediately blushed. "How are you darling? My, look how thin you are--you could be a model! Oh Gwen, you've been hiding him away from me!" He slapped Gwen's shoulder in false reproach.

"Yeah that's it," said Gwen, nettled.

Mort was a very pretty, slender man with long, white-blonde hair, tattoos, and a tendency to think that any time not spent in the company of dozens of drunken acquaintances was time wasted. He was in his forties, but looked younger. His hazel eyes lingered upon Martin, with a hint of concern.

"Yeah.. um, I got in last night, Morty," Martin said; "but, you know... you were busy so--"

"Busy! Nonsense!" Mort exclaimed. "It was just a cozy little get-together for some nibbles. I insist you come over tonight; I want to hear all about your naughty adventures in the Big Smoke."

"There haven't been any," Martin said truthfully. "I've just been working. But... um, yeah, ok, sure. Would you like some coffee?" He hastily offered the mug Gwen had prepared for him.

"Oh, heavens no. I've popped a few too many pills as it is; I'm floating on a delicate cloud right now." Mort beamed. "Well, I shall see you both tonight; I'm going to steal a little shut-eye, et cetera, with my Sherry-cherry," he added, referring to one of his current girlfriends: a loud, fat women whose frequent presence in the building Gwen had quickly come to resent. He kissed his fingertips. "Ciao for now."

Gwen saw that Martin's face was still a brilliant shade of pink, and knew that, despite the months apart, he definitely was not over Mort. She wondered if it was really for Mort, and not for her, that he had decided to come back; and suddenly she felt awfully, terribly lonely. She strode angrily across the room, and snatched up her car keys.

"Don't even think about it Martin. I can confirm: he is still one-hundred per cent a whore," she said, before Martin could get a word in. "Every other night there's a new chick or dude or something in between."

"Gweny, don't be mean," Martin said, frowning. "And I wasn't thinking anything. You know I just... yeah." He trailed off, obviously not wanting to go into it all again.

Mort had caused Martin to cry in Gwen's arms plenty of times; Gwen knew that Martin loved him more than anything, and that a few months apart wasn't going to change that. Yet Mort's unwillingness to make a real commitment to Martin had meant that Martin had spent years ocsillating between hope and depression; the final straw had seen him head back to live with his family for a while.

"I mean, it can't hurt just to go over for a drink," Martin bleated. "I know he's with that Sherry or whatever now--"

"One of many," Gwen said bitterly.

"Well, it doesn't matter. I mean, Mort and I can still just be friends. But I- I got to go to work now." He peered at her with concern. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," Gwen said shortly, though she knew that Martin could always read her mood. "And we'll go tonight, it's OK. 'Just friends,' I get it."