chapter 4

At night, she dreams. Cliffs sheer into the sky on either side of her, and she walks alone through the basin among dry mud, pebbles and sticks. There is only forwards to walk. And there is something in the cliff walls to either side, all about her. Melissa knows she is dreaming, but still, she feels cold. An an awful presence clings to her skin like mud. It shakes by its own free will, and she can feel every shift in its weight, clinging to her muscles and bones. The extra weight is a second skin that isn't hers. She shambles alone through the basin, struggling further with every step forward. The weight builds.

When she wakes, and goes about the morning doubting herself. It might be time to turn back. By midday, she has lunch without thinking about it, then catches up with the reality of her gross actions, mid-chew. Oven heated chicken nuggets lay in a bowl before her. She swallows the mush. It is making her fat. She has never been glad like this that her parents aren't home. By afternoon, she has become an arson to herself, accidentally setting her loins alight, fueling the fire with greasy foods and provoking the flames with perverse disgrace. Every time she asks herself what she is doing, or imagines reactions of sincere disgust on people's faces, she bites into the food again, harder, and swallows without chewing. Doing that gives her a stomach ache. Soon she stands up to relieve the pressure, but all it does is show how truly stuffed she is. Which compromise? Sitting but aching, or standing but round?

The light outside has changed just now. The clock reads half past four. Her parents will be home soon. Melissa scuffles around the kitchen cleaning up her mess, then goes to her room and puts on concealing layers despite the warmth, and despite her parent's questions when they arrive home.

And this is how she does it from now on. At uni she lets her thoughts wander unchecked upon smells and tastes, and fulfills them as if she is bound to them. At home, she does the same, making sure to disguise her habits and conceal herself if she needs. Her parents do not seem to comment. Not yet. Although she is one and the same with her family, there are some things that cannot be mutual, some things which are hidden so well you wouldn't understand unless you feel as they feel. They seem to hide something from her; perhaps a recognition of her slow changing. It might be too slow for them to say a word. Or they might care for her *too* much. A parental sort of guilt in vocalizing the ever impending shock. Melissa knows she would probably feel it, too, that guilt, if she had a child. Well, most days now she looks like she has one on the way.

As time goes on, she develops two skills. Empathy with Charlene, and a resolve of mind. Or a mind-boggling ability to deny the facts. It depends which way you wish to see it. After wondering what ten more pounds would feel like, she really lets herself go. Her dial was at eight. Now it's at eleven.

'Here goes my waistline,' she mutters every time she inserts pieces of chocolate, or lollies, or calorie-excessive meals into her mouth. *Or what I had left of it,* she adds as an afterthought. Each time she says it, her sense of being a failure weakens further and further.

Over weeks and months, she eats the worst of foods - foods she'd never even had before. For breakfast, so long as she won't get busted, she eats something awful, exactly the opposite of what any health professional would advise. The unrelenting sustained over-consumption does things to her. Her intestinal tract is rarely idle, never given a break to breathe. Overworked, it tires and breaks down, off-loading anything it can't handle straight into her fat cells. And she blows up in no time. None of her clothes conceal her anymore. The only thing stopping her from getting new ones is her duty to the embarrassment that will come when she is truly overweight. Melissa knows she has doomed herself to continue until she feels as Charlene feels: gross. All her friends notice what's happening to her. Most say nothing. But a few vocalize their concerns.

The biggest kick in the gut yet comes when she sees Mitchell for the first time since he's finished his time in the navy reserves. He and Ally are together, now, since the years of high school had ended. They'd always had eyes on each other. Maybe the release from bonds to teenage culture and school related stress had opened them up to each other.

Melissa remains single since her last breakup. It was more recent than she'd like it to be. The trauma still seems like yesterday, and she rarely dwells on it.

It was Ally who'd persuaded Mitchell to enroll in university mid-year and take up marketing, like he'd always wanted to. It must have been his absurd parents who'd forced his hand into the navy reserves. In quiet moments, he admits that he never wanted to be in the reserves to begin with.

Melissa and Ally don't see each other much lately, but they like to pretend with each other that their friendship is still as strong as they think it is, or was, back in the day. After a geography class, Ally must have met up with Mitchell somewhere on campus and paired around with him, giving him a feel for the place. Waiting by the sliding doors into the courtyard, Melissa spies them walking her way, giggling with each other. Ally catches sight of Melissa, and points to her out to Mitchell. The two make their way towards her.

'Hey!' Melissa and Ally cry in unison. They embrace. Not wanting Ally to feel Melissa's body against hers, Melissa sucks in as hard as she can. It is almost as if she can hear herself inhaling.

Melissa moves over to share a brief embrace with Mitchell. Stepping back, he sees her in full, and flinches. 'Holy fuck, you got f... um, you changed,' he corrects himself. She nearly misses it. If he had been a little bit more sly with his words, she wouldn't have picked it up, but it is too late now. She has heard his disgust in full. Ally spears Mitchell with a pointed glance. All Melissa can do is cast her eyes askew, and grimace. Hiding herself from view, she crosses her arms over her torso - a useless gesture that conceals nothing.
Ally drives her glare further into Mitchell. He resigns, seeking to change the subject, away from the elephant in the room. A few flitting heart beats of directionless silence passes, killed by Ally suggesting they should all have a coffee at a nearby barista. The coffee is intense, and strikes their nasal passages on their first sips. Melissa can feel the breeze on the skin of her belly. When she is sure no one is looking, she pulls her shirt down, her cold fingertips gliding briefly against her buttery flesh, and inclines her head a little so her chin won't fold. The constant adjusting only makes her more self conscious. She is only half in the conversation, and the hour grinds slowly by.

In the evening, she slips into the world of her novella, escaping for a good long time until she looks at the digital clock. It reads 2:13. Her eyes feel cold, and dry. Nights like this are usual now. She turns the laptop off and goes to sleep, and she can feel the flesh of her stomach resting against her hand where there shouldn't be any flesh. She moves her hand. Sleep saves her before she falls into self-loathing.

That stray ember of regret from the night previous kindles itself in the morning. It infects others. As the week goes by, she begins to constantly fret over what she is becoming. Is she still growing? Or has she stopped? Can she tell? Surely others can tell.