Sugar

Chapter 1

Derek took Sugar’s arm as she slid swollen brittle feet off the scale and sat heavily back into the bariatric chair, belly resting in her lap. She hated doctors. Normally if she stuffed herself until she felt numb, or masturbated until she couldn’t breathe, or drank until her nose was numb she could ignore the morbid reality she lived in.

But sitting in the doctor's office, sober, horny and hungry with harsh fluorescent lighting in her face, and staring at that number, 4-5-0, reminded her of her situation. That she had simply stopped giving a shit.

Sugar was fucking huge. Her thighs were buried under layers of cellulite, although she could hardly make them out under her massive belly. She was always aware of her bloated face and sported two large chins. Her tits, while hidden under a large tank top, sagged down to the very center of her apron stomach. She could never quite catch her breath, weak lungs surrounded by fat and deprived of oxygen, leaving her with a semi-permanent wheeze.

She might’ve been a bit more mobile if she weren’t so short, but standing only at 5’3, her body had done a poor job of distributing her weight, stuffing the fat wherever it could.

Derek wrote the number down on his clipboard and took out an oversized cuff, wrapping it around Sugar's arm. He squeezed the pump and it tightened around her. He logs the first number, and then the second. He sighs through his nose.

“170/69. Lean forward.”

Sugar does this, best she can and he slides a stethoscope down her backside. Derek listens to her ragged breathing and takes another note.

“You’re wheezing.”

“I always wheeze, man.”

“You’re wheezing more.”

He listens again, and as she takes more deep breaths Sugar lets out a large burp, which pops something in her chest. She winces.

“That hurt?”

Sugar nods, massive shoulders rising up and down. Derek takes his chart and goes to leave.

“The doctor will be here in a sec.”

-

“You’re doing good, just keep going.”

Sugar couldn’t make out much when she looked down aside from the first roll of her gut and her first, barely visible large toe. There was a sharp pain in her knees and hips with every step and every molecule of fat in her was quivered by the movement. The car seemed to stretch further every time. “We’re almost there, hon.”

Derek was the only person who made Sugar feel like a person. At work, she was a cash cow in more ways than one and she didn’t talk to her parents anymore. He helped her out to the car, encouraging her gently to walk with her cane. Her face was red and she wanted to turn to look at him, but couldn’t due to her huge neck and multiple chins. Her cellulite was rubbing together and making a strange, wet sound, only blocked out by her wheezing. Derek had to let go in order to open the door for her. Sugar couldn’t remember the last time she drove a car.

She caught her breath and let her tree-trunk legs hang out of the SUV. Derek waited until she was ready to drive her home. Sugar spoke between heavy breathes.

“Can I *huff* see the *huff* pamphlet?”

Derek reached into his bag and handed a blue and white pamphlet she had been given by the doctor. In big bold letters was

HYPERTENSION: WHAT TO KNOW AND WHAT TO DO.

She flipped through it, the anxiety that had settled after they left the doctors office coming back up through her bones as she read her prognosis. She folded it back up quickly and threw it behind her, stuffing herself back into the car with a heavy grunt. Derek shut the door. When he got the driver's seat he lit a cigarette and looked back at Sugar’s massive, exhausted form. “Hey, at least you don’t have diabetes, thank fuck.”

Sugar was silent. “I have work tomorrow, so we should probably clean the place up tonight.”

Derek nodded as he pulled out of the parking lot. He knows that by “we should clean up” she meant “can you please clean up?” He learned to do what Sugar couldn’t ask him to herself. He had also learned that Sugar couldn’t do a whole lot.