My Angel

Chapter 1

Tonight’s pork chops rest beautifully in their pan, juices still hissing and spitting against the hot metal. The carrots are jewel-bright, glistening with olive oil and herbs, and the mashed potatoes are perfect, soft clouds topped with rich, melted butter, wafts of steam rising from their surface.

I dig in eagerly. Even after moving out, I’ve never found any food that matches Ma’s cooking, and it’s almost worth the looks she’s shooting me over the table as I reach for seconds.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much?” she says, tapping her long fingers on the tabletop. “Your first helping wasn’t exactly small.”

My face heats up. I know I’m on the bigger side, but it hurts to hear her point it out. “Ma…”

Ma puts up her hands as if I’m attacking her. “I’m just saying! If you’re not careful, you’ll end up looking like your father’s old pictures.”

Dad’s bald spot reddens, his bushy eyebrows creasing together as he stirs his miniscule portion of food. Dad is Ma’s greatest success story. She loves to tell anyone who will listen about how heavy he was when she first met him at almost 500 lbs. But with hard work and determination (all on her part, of course), he gradually dwindled down to the gaunt man that sits between us at the dinner table.

I sigh and release the serving fork, pulling my jacket tighter to cover up the bulge that can’t help but bloom over the top of my jeans.

As Ma stacks up the dishes and takes them back to the kitchen, Dad pats my hand. “Your mother doesn’t mean anything by it,” he says softly. “She just wants what’s best.”

I nod, my tummy still growling. I gulp down the rest of my iced tea, desperate to stop the endless rumbling.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

At home in my lonely apartment, I lay on the couch, feet curled up under me. I play with my stubby toes as I scroll through social media, desperate to get my mind off my growling stomach. But everywhere I look, I see only perfect meals, perfect bodies, perfect lives.

My belly lets out another rumble. How am I still so hungry after a full meal? Is Ma right? Am I doomed to end up like Dad? Always eating less than I craved, cursed with a body that seems determined to expand?

I shut off my phone, tossing it aside.
Thunder rumbles in the distance. My stomach rumbles with it, a tiny echo. Lightning flashes. A flash of gold flutters in the mirror. A faceless face watching me. But before I can look again, it’s gone. Probably just a trick of the light, I tell myself.

I pull on my too-snug pjs and head to bed.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

I awake, or seem to, in an endless maze of tables, groaning with mountains of delicious food. Chicken roasted to a perfect crisp and smelling of garlic, buttery croissants dripping with cheese and homemade jam, fish and chips, golden brown and sizzling hot… The smell of it all overwhelms my senses like a syrupy cloud.

I back away, licking my watering lips, frightened of so much dangerously caloric food. But it calls to me, sings to me, and my soft belly rumbles in response.

Buttery light fills the room, reflecting off every crumb and speck of sauce. An angel descends on golden wings. Its skin shimmers and fractures like a prism of light, its form ever shifting as if seen from underwater. Its faceless face looks down on me, beaming with gentle warmth as its soft wings caress my flabby sides. “Fear not,” it says with a voice like a crackling fireplace.
“For I have made this bounty all for you.”

I fold my arms over my middle, highly aware of my bulges and rolls. I tear my eyes away from the glorious feast and shake my head stubbornly. “I-it’s too much,” I stammer. “I can’t eat all this.”

The angel runs its hands through my hair, turning its palm to cup my cheek. “But you want to,” it says.

I open my mouth to argue, but my stomach answers first, rumbling loudly. My face reddens.

A smile flickers across the angel’s prism light face. “You humans were given a gift granted to no other creature under the stars.” The angel picks up a plate of pork chops, bringing it close. The familiar, greasy scent wafts over me, and the hunger awakens. The angel smiles as I reach for a bite. “The gift of indulgence.”

As I wrap my lips around the fork, the meat’s juices erupt in my mouth, oil and salt and spices mingling together perfectly. I groan, lost in bliss. I take another bite, and another, and another, filling my cheeks until they bulge. Then I reach for the chicken, the croissants, the fish, anything, everything. For the first time, I’m not thinking about my waistline or how many calories I’m taking in, or what Ma would say if she saw. I just eat. And eat. And eat.

My belly grows as I cram down more and more food, expanding outward, straining the buttons on my pjs. It pushes into my lungs, making me gasp for air. But still I reach for more. I no longer hunger, but I want, I want, I want…

I teeter on the edge of my seat, eyelids drooping, belly bulging. But I’m not ready to stop eating. I reach for another bite, huffing and puffing as I stretch over my bloated belly—

“Here, little one,” the angel laughs. “Let me.”

It lifts me out of my chair, settling me in its lap like a small child. Though its prism light form seems more insubstantial than a candle flame, its body presses against mine with comforting solidity. Its hands caress my bulging belly, gently working my soft flab, delicate fingers massaging more room into the overpacked space. Every inch of me throbs, torn between shame and pleasure.

The angel holds a fork up to my lips. I obediently open my bleary mouth for another divine bite. I swallow forkful after forkful, my belly stretching tighter and tighter under the angel’s touch.

“You have such greatness in you, little human,” the angel whispers, stroking my plump, sticky cheek. “If only you’d open your soul to it…”

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

When I awake the next morning, my buttons are strained over a bloated stomach. That’s… odd. It was just a dream, right? I mean, it had to be. There are no such things as golden angels giving out magic feasts. I think back to Ma and her remarks about my weight and cringe. No wonder I’m having weird dreams about food.

I hoist myself upright, running a hand over my tight belly. This bloat must be some… psychosomatic thing. My subconscious mind manifesting my insecurities. Yeah. That must be it.

I roll out of bed and grab a work shirt from the closet, frowning as the seams strain more than usual. I must have outgrown this one since I last wore it. But there’s no time to hunt for another, so I snatch a cardigan off the floor to cover up. No one needs to see my spare tire peeking out between the buttons of my shirt.

As I leave for work, I see a flash of golden light in my mirror. I do a trouble-take, but it’s already gone.

My palms sweat. Could it be—?

Doot—doot—doot—doot!

My phone alarm goes off, breaking me out of my ridiculous thoughts and reminding me that I’m about to be late. I grab a protein bar to choke down for breakfast and hurry out the door.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

I feel heavy as I sink into one of the flimsy plastic chairs in the office break room. I pick at my wilted salad, barely tasting the dry greens. I don’t dare indulge in salad dressing. I can’t afford to.

It’s been a week, and the dreams are getting more frequent, more intense, and this “psychosomatic weight” is only getting worse.

“Heeey!” A stick-thin intern with curly hair waltzes in with a box of pizza. The smell alone instantly makes my mouth water.

“Sarah and I just found a neato pizza joint,” she chirps, pulling out a gooey slice loaded with cheese and pepperoni. “Want some?”

My stomach grumbles, but I force out a smile. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

The intern takes a bite and shrugs. “It’s there if you want it.”

She has no idea how badly I want it, how hard I’m working not to snatch that slice right out of her perfectly manicured hands. But I have to be good.

Something in the back of my head whispers, “But you could be great…”

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

My dreams are filled with visions of the angel, the comforting warmth of its embrace, the way its hands move over my body, coaxing me to eat more and more until I’m so full I can hardly move.

I wake up each morning feeling bloated and heavy, my skin stretched taut over my growing belly.

✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Are you getting bigger?” Ma asks, squinting at me as I dry the dishes.

My neck heats up. I’d thought this sweater was so slimming when I’d left the house. I turn away to slide a bowl in the cabinet, but also to hide the soft bulge all around my middle. “I haven’t broken my diet for weeks,” I say. Which is true. Dreams don’t count. I can’t help but lick the corner of my lip at the memory of the imaginary pancakes and bacon I was stuffing myself with before I woke up this morning.

Ma shakes her head and jabs me with a wooden spoon. “Obviously it’s not good enough,” she says. “I think you’ve gone up another size since I last saw you. What do you think, Sean?”

My father waves his hand from the living room, a silent plea not to be involved.

“Ma, please, can we drop it—”

“Sean, look.”

Before I know what is happening, Ma grabs the hem of my sweater and lifts it up to my chest. My gut falls jiggling out into the open, a pale ball of soft dough.

“Ma!” I squeal, pulling away from her. But she hangs on, pointing.

“See! You are getting bigger!”

I jerk the sweater out of her hands and hurriedly tuck my stomach out of sight again. “I’ll just go see if… Dad needs a drink or something.”

A lump forms in my throat as I scurry to the living room. I know she’s right. But the dreams keep coming. The weight keeps piling on. I feel like I’m losing control. No matter how little I eat, I keep getting bigger and bigger, expanding in all the wrong places.

The whisper comes again. “Open up your soul…”

________________________________ __


Don't want to wait through weekly updates? Get the ebook at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CPTBRSX6

Every purchase supports me as a writer, so you get more stories faster!