chapter 4: later that night...

Makes you hungry...

Work that fat...

I'm stuffed; almost painfully full, takeout boxes surrounding me that I don't remember ordering. I don't know how long I've been eating, it feels like I've always been eating, always been stuffed, my belly sagging in front of me, resting on my naked thighs. Was it always this big? Were my thighs always this thick? My mind can't focus on the question, the feast in front of me demands my attention and I can't help but obey. Burgers, and cakes, and pizza, and pie. Oh my! Doughnuts now, one after another, it's not my first box but I don't' know how many boxes there've been. I want to stop, I know I should, but I can't, I'm compelled, I can't control myself. I've always been here, I've always been eating, this is my reality...

And through it all, the voice behind me, overpowering me, drowning out whatever thoughts I might once have had, replacing them with its own imperative...

Work that fat...

Makes you hungry....

Work that fat...

-

I'm awake, again, in my darkened bedroom. What the hell was that? I've got to do something about these nightmares; they're wiping me out. I'm sluggish during the day, wake up in the middle of the night, and by the time I'm all the way awake I can't even remember why...

I wrestle myself from my bed, naked again, I don't know why I even bother putting pajamas on anymore given how many nights I wind up squirming out of them as I sleep, and head into the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water, not even consciously registering the jar of peanut butter I pull from the cupboard or the spoon from the drawer.

Makes you hungry.

I drink my water; breathing deeply by the sink until I'm a little calmer, then wander out onto the balcony again, scooping peanut butter from the jar to my mouth, staring out at the city. The night is cold against my skin, the metal railing of the balcony colder against my belly, and suddenly I have goose bumps covering the whole of my body. I shiver, and in spite of myself let out a whimper.

The cold feels good against my belly, against my fat...

Work that fat.

Makes you hungry.

I'm out here a while, I really ought to get a chair for the balcony if I'm going to spend this much time here at night, and once I've finally calmed down enough that I think that I can sleep again, I head back, leaving the balcony door open behind me, tossing the now empty peanut butter jar into the trash as I pass back through the kitchen, the spoon into the dishwasher, another glass of water, and head back to bed.

Hopefully I'll sleep through the rest of the night.

Hopefully there won't be another nightmare to immediately forget.

Hopefully I won't be too wiped out at work tomorrow.

I collapse back into bed, hands absentmindedly moving to my stomach as my eyes close, rubbing it, squeezing it, and fall back into fitful sleep, muttering to myself as consciousness finally leaves me...

"Makes you hungry..." I mutter.

And, "Work that fat..."