Chapter 3 - section 3

[17 October, Tuesday]

This morning, Georgia is alone in the electronics aisle tasked with restocking boxes high up. It's not easy going. She has to stand on the upper rungs of a ladder and shift the boxes from an elevated trolley beside her. Reaching up to slide the box onto the topmost shelf, she feels her shirt lift exactly where she doesn't want it to. She can't hold it down, since she needs two hands to move the boxes. Here she stands, high up on the ladder, stuck in a catch 22. Lift the boxes up only to have her shirt uncover her stomach; don't do the task and piss off the acting manager. She choses the less money-threatening option.

With a quick glance up and down the thankfully empty aisle, she goes for it in haste, hoping to get this over and done before anyone rounds the corner. She uses both arms to push the box up and over the shelf, and sure enough, there it is; she feels her shirt slip out from under her belt to let cool, air-conditioned breeze touch the puffy shape of her underbelly. Quickly she drops her arms, tucks her shirt back in. Moves the next box up, feels her shirt slip up again, air on her bare paunch. And again, ten times over, until only a few boxes are left. Still nobody has come through, which is a miracle, since Tuesdays are one of the more customer-heavy days... But something is making her slow down, to prolong the task, the idea of someone rounding the corner giving her this heavy feeling between her legs, and a deep-heated fuzz... Slowly, as if undressing for a sexual act, she wraps her hands around the next box and, using her whole body in a snaking motion to elevate the box, raises her bust so that her shirt pops out as she arches her back, pushing her stomach out into a full gut - she can feel it there, ballooning out in full view, begging to be handled - before pushing the box back over the ledge and dropping her arms with a ballerina's grace, which she is certainly not. She doesn't even bother tucking her shirt back in this time, fine with letting it cover her belly like stage curtain, ready for the next act, upon which she will lift the last box, the stage lights will converge on the main attraction and the curtain will elevate, revealing the soft, navel-dented, ever more bulbous curve of Georgia's-

Out the corner of her eye she senses movement. Box held halfway up, muffintop just beginning to show, she casts a side-glance, only to see who else but William. Along he comes, trying not to look, though both know exactly what they've run into, and instead of actually completing his task, gives into the awkwardness and continues straight on through without completing his task. Mind jittering with panic, he looks for the nearest piece of rubbish, sees a piece of scrunched paper, ducks over to it, picks it up and vanishes across the store just to get outta there.

Who would have thought that, since being seen exposed in real life on not just in her fantasies, she doesn't feel aroused anymore? Just sloppy and sh1t, like she's carrying a bag of mud in her insides, and it might come up out her mouth at any time now.


[21 October, Saturday]

As last week had ended, Georgia had woken up one morning to find her work clothes that winch-fraction more restrictive and her figure more jellied than ever. Apparently not eating so much never seemed like something she really could do - instead, she'd ordered a new uniform one size up and had it delivered to work so she wouldn't have to explain anything to her flatmates when the package rocked up squashed into the apartment's mailbox.

Ruby, who has been making no effort to lose weight nor gain it in these past weeks she's been inseparable from her new man friend, knows Georgia is going out. Perceiving Georgia's figure, she gets this great idea for a prank.

Awake before anyone really needs to be, she waits around until Georgia gets out of bed, wraps herelf in a towel, leaves her pyjamas at her door and hops into the shower. It is only once Ruby hears the bathroom door lock and the plumbing turn on, shuddering once or twice through the walls, that she does the rounds, offering to do the washing. Jane and Tamara chuck her some clothes as they make themselves breakfast. Then, under the excuse that Georgia is in the shower, she ninjas her way into a room she has no right to be in and takes up most, if not all of Georgia's good clothes. Before anyone knows it, she's down in the washing salon, taking up two entire machines to just fit in each item.

The moment she returns upstairs, Georgia is out of the shower, her only item of clothing a towel around her body, stomping around her room only to find that all her clothes that fit have mysteriously gone missing. After wasting too much time looking for the right clothes, she flies into the common area, fist clutching her towel to herself, and yells, 'Where are my clothes!'

Ruby is nowhere to be seen, probably silently laughing her ass off. Tamara comes out from the kitchen, concern in her eyes. 'What's wrong?'

'My clothes! Where the f@ck?'

'Uh... Ruby did the washing rounds earlier, ask her?'

Here comes Ruby, emerging from around the corner, trying to keep a straight face. With a pretend-oblivious shrug, she says, 'Yeah so?'

Georgia leans forwards with her anger. 'Well what the f@ck you don't need to take every single piece of clothing I own, what were you thinking!'

Ruby shrugs, acting all bewildered by the anger flying out of Georgia's mouth.

Fists clenched so hard she could snap nails, Georgia stands there swaying each anger-fueled thought to the next. What's she got left to do? She can't walk around the apartment just in a towel. It's not as if she can wait for the washing to be done, either; she needs to be at work to pick up the uniform...

After a wasteful ten minutes prying around her wardrobe in private, she realises she'll have to make do with what she can find. And all that consists of is a two years old pair of summery cotton shorts and a crop top that will never cover her up again. She comes into the kitchen like this, sits down avoiding all eye contact, completely aware that her belly is spilling over her lap, unable to cover it entirely. For every tug she gives to the front, the back rises to show her hips - and for every tug she gives the back, the front rises to show a paunch sitting at least two inches out over her fabric-strangled thighs.

Finishing up the dishes, Jane turns around to say goodmorning-and-help-yourself-to-the-toast, but stops short, eyes dropping to Georgia's waist. Jane looks up again before saying something snarky that Georgia misses, too preoccupied with embarrassment to hear. Whatever it was, it was not necessarily kind. Head down, eyes averted, Georgia mumbles, 'Yes. I know. Don't say a goddman thing.'

Jane looks away, amused, and wipes the kitchen clean. Picking up a slice of toast, feeling so naked just by sitting, it occurs to her that she should just take some toast and leave. Which is exactly what she does. Swiping the entire plate, she stands and leaves the kitchen, belly bouncing half exposed and runs into none other than Ruby. 'You stupid bitch,' she says without delay, palte on toast in hand.

Ruby flinches back, settling into the act of ignorance. 'What do you mean?'

'You just went through my sh!t and decided to take everything?'

'I only wanted to put it in the wash,' Ruby complains.

Getting red in the face, Georgia can do nothing else but gesture to the crop top sticking paint-tight to the shape of her gut and snap, 'Why would you make me wear this!'

'I didn't know!'

'Oh, MY god!... Do you even-'

'Hey,' Tamara pops her head up from the lounge, 'what are you being so mean for? She was only doing the washing.'

Georgia bails on the argument. She says nothing and sulks out the door, down the elevator, into the parking space and into her car where, thankfully, nobody has seen her. Putting the plate of toast on the passenger seat, she slides the seatbelt around her waist. As her knuckles brush against her own soft fat, she cringes and lifts her hands away as if she'd just touches mud. Without looking at herself any longer, she starts the car and drives off in an angry fluster, munching on the toast as if to kill it.

*