chapter 5

Valeria covered herself back up.

With the rite of initiation over, they looked to Linda, whose heart turned to cement.

‘Your turn,’ Jaimie said.

Her heart tried to break its freeze. ‘Oh, but I–’

Jaimie rolled her eyes so far into the back of her head she had to bend over backwards to follow their path. ‘God. Again with these ideas about limits. Don’t make me do this for you. I will intervene.’

Linda knew Jaimie’s surprise authoritarian attitudes only appeared under liquor… if she could fly under the radar this time, she could get away with it until the next. She felt her arms cross over her firm stomach by instinct and she doubled up, looking like some cowering orphan.

Jaimie adjusted her shirt and leaned a little towards Linda. ‘Don’t make me.’

‘No, don’t,’ Linda asked. Hearing herself sounding so much like a little child, she had to hold back a sudden spray of laughter that she had no idea where it came from. She didn’t want it to be seen. They’d think the wrong things about her.

Jaimie lunged forward anyway. Between a set of sudden hiccups, ticklish laughter and small cries of shock as laughing made her stomach muscles contract, Jaimie finally pried Linda’s arms away and lifted her clothes. Linda tugged it back down, but a sharp “No!” from Jaimie stopped her in her tracks. Frozen, just like that, vulnerable and confused like she hadn’t been since she heard her parents f*cking each other in their room as a child, Linda waited like a stunned puppy.

‘Now lean back, and be kind enough as to show everyone. We’ve shown ours. Don’t be so rude.’

Giving Jaimie a sardonic, I’ll-get-you-later-for-this kind of stare, which came out more as a pathetic look of submission, Linda slowly leaned back and pulled her shirt up past her ribcage. She was hatefully aware of the night air breezing across her bare skin that should never have been exposed. It belonged under clothes. ‘Fine then,’ she said flatly, hoping she sounded angry. ‘Here it is then. Are you happy?’ Not looking down at herself, she stared at them as they stared at her belly, in whatever shape it might’ve been, however big, round, or pale. Who knew. Who cared.

What Jaimie and Valeria saw was a ballooned-shaped stomach, skin tight, navel pressed flat. They nodded with appreciative smirks. ‘Thank you for showing us,’ Jaimie said, then laughed.

Linda withdrew. She tossed a half-assed sneer of contempt at Jaimie, then turned aside to brood.

The night went on.

*

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Week Two
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For Linda to be a shy grump about things wasn’t so normal. Outside of study, work and Tjockningfest, all those things which tugged at her mind, Linda was a free bird spending her time collecting so many paints she could consume hours of your day just explaining the subtle differences between paints; their types, their colours, how two might look the same but are actually very different just because of the way they dry. You see a bright energy come into a eyes normally dark with concentration. Her room was so packed with the materials of her passion that a stack of canvases blocked half of the only window in her little room, letting in a soft, contemplative light. Sometimes she had to shift piles of paper and utensils off her bed just to lay down at night. She owned ten different grades of canvas, in whatever size she needed, knew which was best for what, and this included brushes too. Don’t get her started on bristle length and thickness... Not including those she left behind at her parents’ house, her collection of brushes came in at eighty-seven, and many a spent dollar.

But her interests had found themselves on a detour, lately. She’d wandered into the digital art realm. Half of her time now saw itself spent on the laptop. Her little desk was home to two tablets, spare computer mice and scraps of paper on which were scribbled rough sketches, only a portion of them making their way to the digital phase.

Tuesday found her in this habitat. Being the middle of the semester, the uni heat had died down somewhat, leaving her obliged only to work a shift here or there. Today she wasn’t painting on canvas. Instead she was mastering the Digital Brush. You’d be surprised how long it takes to learn something so new. Things got repetitive at times– learning exactly what angles and pressure to apply with the stylus for which effect, practicing strokes over and over, downloading and installing different brush sets just to try them out, then tweaking their settings if they weren’t up to her standard. But as time went on, Linda found things were less of a grind. Especially once she began to bring snacks to fill the blanks. A cup of tea here, some coffee there, an apple, a few biscuits, some of those cherry muffins Prairie left out for pickings. A bowl of ice cream nobody saw her grab.

Wednesday came and went more or less the same, practicing, practicing.

By Thursday she’d grown confident enough to start a new project.

Having sketched up a bunch of interesting things already, but there was only one idea she wanted to chase. Sipping a mug of hot chocolate with cream, maybe too much cream, she sat back, rubbed her full tummy and looked at the half-completed drawing on the screen. The kernel of an idea was ripe with potential. But she couldn’t make it a reality just yet. She had to test something, first.

After scouting the web while sipping the last dregs of her hot chocolate, she came across a good custom-clothing store where you put your own image on the item. Her plan was to to upload a mockup picture on a piece of clothing, have it delivered and see if it worked out in plain sight. If things went well, she could build up a whole wardrobe of unique clothing that only she could wear. It would be her, all her. Pure expression. She was going to give birth to her own aesthetic.

Most of her current wardrobe consisted of contrast-coloured outfits. She liked the look they gave her. They were all slim-fit, hugging in just the right places to imitate her slender proportions. Taking a white open-shoulder shirt off the hook, she put it on, went to the mirror and forced herself to imagine what the shirt would look like if it had her artwork on it.

Tilting her head subconsciously, she ran her hands down her sides to flatten the shirt out, then turned left and right. Aside from the shirt, she was only in her underwear. Half the window’s midday light painted her thighs aglow with their own shine– smooth, vaguely olive in tone. In her more honest moments, she knew that her legs were only average as far as sex appeal goes. But perhaps that was for the best. She had no real backside to speak of, but nobody had ever called her a stick, either. She thought of all the times that she’d walked through crowded places such as the city, wondering, as you do, if anyone is looking and evaluating your figure. All the beautiful boys she passed now and again never seemed to look twice at her. But then again, if they do notice her, they take their sweet time breaking away. She never knew how to feel about it all, really. Below the neck she was quintessentially a young woman– though perhaps only that. Her body ticked all the boxes, but excelled in none. Staring into her eyes in the mirror, she wondered if they gave off a sad, slightly downturned impression. What she desired was to look peaceful. At ease. Sexily comfortable and aloof. Seeing her curved brows drawing slightly together, she blinked and forced her her forehead to relax, to smoothen. When she opened her eyes again she decided she looked a little numb, like she’d been slightly anesthetised. Handsome, but anesthetised.

Ah f*ck it. Whatever. Shaking her head, she returned to imagining colours on her shirt. Only with much consideration, she eventually decided she did like her idea enough to go ahead.

After a trip to the kitchen, she sat down at her laptop with a custard tart and browsed the website for a plain open-shoulder top. Making sure to select the small size, she proceeded to upload her image. The first bit of art, the guinea-pig of the experiment, was an abstract, fanning pattern of magenta, moss green, indigo, baby blue and staggered streaks of ochre– the vibe of a sprawlingly free spirit. It looked funky. Different, that’s for sure. Only once she was happy with the positioning of the image, the entire shirt filled in colour, did she click to confirm.

It said delivery was expected within a week.

Drumming the desk in satisfaction, she got up to fetch another hot chocolate.

*