The Runaway Model

Chapter 7: Indulge

Characters:
Alia - our TOP model at a life's crisis
Janek - her auteur boyfriend, an asshole
Clark - our mysterious cab driver

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“Welcome to Lonnie’s, can I take your order?” came a voice through the tiny little speaker. Clark had rolled the cab forward and I had further lowered my window to speak rather than shout my order.

“Uh, hey. I’ll have the number 3 without onions, hold the lettuce. Oh, and a milkshake, small vanilla.” I said. Clark had pulled up short just before the speaker box to give me time to make a selection from the menu board. The place was empty, save for one or two cars that probably belonged to the employees who worked there. We were not in any hurry.

“That’s one chicken sandwich with mayo, no onion, no lettuce. Small vanilla milkshake. Did you want fries with that order?” the voice said.

I looked up into the rearview and saw Clark’s eyes. He nodded and whispered, “They’re better than you think.”

“—and yes, I’ll get the fries, too.” I said.

The voice repeated the order, and we began to pull up.

“Stop please.” I said suddenly. And Clark eased onto the brakes.

“Something the matter?” he said, turning to face me through the glass.

I had my head bent low and was rummaging through my little purse. I had been enjoying falling into character with Clark throughout the ride, that I temporarily forgot myself. I was a world-recognized model in the back of a taxicab, alone, in the early hours of the morning at a fast-food restaurant. If someone saw me, or, God forbid, took a photo of me, how would that look on social media or one of those rag online publications.

Hurriedly, I rooted around, my fingers touching tubes of lipstick and eyeliner. My hand brushed against my phone, and I pushed it aside, reaching into the corners of the small bag, searching for what felt like a banknote, crumpled or otherwise. Then I remembered that I had folded a few large notes and tucked them into the back of my phone case.

Reaching for it, I extracted it from my purse and peeled back one of the rubberized corners and hastily peeled a few bills and stuffed them through the window. “Clark, would you mind handling that up front and taking the order through your window, please?”

“Sure thing.” he said. I slid him the money and was thankful he did not push me for any explanation. Though, I am sure he could put two and two together.

He eased his foot off the brake and the car rolled forward to the payment window. I did my best to hide in shadow and incline my head in the opposite direction and pretended to busy myself with my phone. And I was glad I did, for the kid taking the money from Clark took extra-long in counting the money and making change. All the while, I could see him staring into the back seat of the cab, trying to discover who might be sitting there.

“Just the change, kid.” Said Clark, who, too, seemed to notice the pregnant pause the kid seemed to be taking.

“Sorry, mister. Here you go. Just pull ahead.” Clark thanked him and we rolled forward. He made to push the change back to me, but I held up a hand.

“No, you keep it.” I said.

“You gave me 80 Euro. You know that right? This meal costs $15.” He said, still pushing the money through the window. I held up a hand, pushing his back and as I did so, he paused and so did I. His hand was warm and dry as I curled my fingers over his, closing them on the money.

“Yours.” I said.

“An early tip, I like that.” He said, which eased the tension and made me laugh.

We pulled up to the second window and Clark received the items without incident, and we pulled up and away from the building. He slowed the car a short distance away, then stopped under a shadowed area between two overhead lights.

“The window is too small to pass your food through. Mind if I come around?” he said.

I nodded and rolled down the window. He put the car into park and eased himself out. As he did so, I got a glimpse of his physique, which was on the fit and trim side. He wore casual jeans in black with a crease where his wallet sat in his front hip pocket and a button-down blue shirt with a pocket that held his cigarettes.

“Thank you for ordering from Lonnie’s. Enjoy your meal.” He said in the mock-voice of one of the attendants. I laughed and held out both hands as he passed the bag and milkshake through to me.

“This is a small?” I asked as he got back into the cab and put the car back into drive. The shake looked enormous in my hand, and I sat the bag of food down beside me. I unfolded the paper, and the aroma filled the entire back seat of his cab, instantly bringing me back to moments from my childhood of summer BBQ’s.

“Oh god…” I breathed, low enough for no one other than myself to hear.

Saliva began to fill my mouth, and I swallowed hungrily as I opened the bag further to examine the bounty inside.

Within the bag, golden French fries stood attention like little soldiers inside their upright carton with a few stragglers laying drunkenly sideways at the bottom of the bag. The bag shifted in my hands as the cab lurched along the road and the horizontal fries rolled at the bottom of the bag, leaving little grease marks on the paper. I selected several with trembling fingers and brought them to my mouth and inserted them. I closed my eyes and chewed, relishing in their warm potato goodness with their perfect exterior crunch and just the right amount of seasoning. Just these few fries were more calories than I had had over the entire evening, but my mind and stomach were like specters possessed. I reached into the bag once more.

As I shoveled the few fries into my mouth, I looked up and saw Clark observing me through the rearview mirror. With cheeks pouched out with food, I hastily chewed and swallowed through a cough, “Clark, would you like some? There’s an awful lot and I don’t think I could finish them all myself.”

He smiled with his eyes and held up a hand, “No thanks. All for you. I’ve had my meal for the night. They’re good, no?” He gestured with a free hand to where the bag sat next to me, and I nodded in agreement.

“And the portions are huge.” I added. Reaching into the bag, I extracted the silver paperweight that was my chicken sandwich. It felt like a boulder in my skinny hands, with fingers that could barely wrap around them. I felt the sandwich was nearly as large as my head.

“Good value for money spent, and the flavor’s actually worth it.” He said as his eyes lingered on me for another few moments before returning to the road as he watched me begin to unwrap the sandwich like a banana.

He was right, the portions were bigger than any fast-food joint I had ever been to and I was thankful for his recommendation. I stuffed a few more fries into my mouth while I navigated the sandwich, folding the wrapper here, shifting the sandwich there. I spun it until I found the perfect jumping in point to take my first bite. A shelf of breaded and seasoned chicken hung out from between the two buns like a craggy rock outcropping. My mouth watered and my lips pulled back, and I made contact. My teeth cracked through the breading and sunk into warm, moist chicken. Biting the piece off, I began to chew, and a fresh wave of pleasure surged through me: it was the best chicken I’d ever had.

“Holy fuck.” I said, this time louder than I meant as I returned for a second, ogrish bite.

“I think that sandwich likes you back.” Said Clark with a laugh from the front seat. He had flicked his wrists and a moment later, the smell of tobacco filled the cabin of his cab once more. As the smell made its way to the back of the cab, I felt a little heady as the smells of fast food and smoke combined in my brain like a decadent wine. I breathed deeply and soldiered on with my meal.

I don’t know how many miles passed, but I steadily ate my way through the bag of fries and chicken sandwich, relishing in every single bite. I could feel the food filling my tiny stomach with calories it hadn’t seen for months. Even though I was starting to feel the beginnings of an uncomfortable pressure in my stomach, I continued to eat. I was about halfway through the sandwich when my eyes flicked down to the milkshake I had yet to try. As I picked it up, it felt immensely heavy in my hand and still cold to the touch. Rivulets of condensation cascaded down the cup and I grabbed a napkin from inside the paper bag to stifle the droplets from landing on the leather interior of the car seat as well as my dress.

The thought of my dress forced me to look down and examine myself. Apart from a few crumbs from the sandwich bun and fry seasoning, the dress looked impeccable, perfect. Perfect, other than the fact that there was a prominent bump in the vicinity of my stomach, pressing outward and distorting the fabric.

I gasped inwardly, seeing the sudden change my body had undergone while I gorged myself. I could only imagine what everyone on set would say if they could see the swelling of my body. How mad Janek would be to see his prize model looking…fat.

Fat…

“Fat.” I whispered.

The word tasted ugly in my mouth, and I ground my teeth against each other in protest. Why was that such a trigger word for so many people? It was a loaded word that in addition to carrying with it a mental picture of someone’s appearance, but one that also came with emotional baggage.

‘Fuck that.’ I told myself as my hand surreptitiously touched my bulging stomach. Through the expensive fabric, I could feel how full I had become, how firm the area of my stomach was. I felt like a boa constrictor who had taken down his prey. I was beginning to feel full, but the food was so hard to put down. And then there was that word…fat.

My mind flicked to Janek. To the evening, we had at the restaurant and to the after party at the club. For too long, I felt like he had been the one in charge in our relationship—if you could even call it that. Recently, I felt like I was beginning to lose control, to yield to his requests and now, with food, I felt like I was simply wasting away and was becoming miserable because of it. True, our profession lives and dies by the scale and the grains of sand in the hourglass that was my beauty; but to feel this way for so long was beginning to have an impact on me in ways I had not realized. Not until now. Here, with this stranger. No, no longer a stranger. With Clark.

I ran my hand down my stomach once more and this time I smiled as I brought the drink I was still holding to my lips. The first cold chill of the liquid hit my palate, and a kaleidoscope of emotions ran through me. It was so creamy smooth, packed with flavor and had an amazing mouthfeel. It felt like my whole body was receiving a hug and I found myself pulling hard against the straw, trying to draw as much of it as possible into me. It was proving slightly difficult as the milkshake was quite thick and made me wish I had a second straw.

“I don’t think you like your meal very much.” Said Clark from the front seat. My eyes looked up and I could only imagine how he saw me just then: a bird of a woman, covered in a dress that looked a little too big for her (although less so at the moment around my middle) with hollowed cheeks sucking for her life against a delicious drink that would not yield.

He must have sensed my predicament for, in his outstretched hand, he produced a second wrapped straw. He jigged it up and down, a signal for me to take it. “Thanks.” I said as I reached forward through the square window to take the offered assistance. Hastily, I unwrapped it and tossed the wrapper into the paper bag and inserted the second straw. It made a squeak of protest against the plastic lid before sliding parallel to join its brethren. Dually equipped, I resumed my ritual and found that now I could get a steady steam of the rich, creamy liquid.

As I swallowed, I envisioned what this meal was doing to my body. I had heard the horror stories of models having binge episodes where they, one evening, for whatever reason, just lost control. Whether at a party or in their own apartments. They just binge ate on whatever was available with devastating results. Bodies like ours, who were so calorie restricted reacted poorly when exposed to a buffet of food. Especially if the food was rich in chewy carbs and melting fats. Our bodies simply acted like empty sponges, greedily awaiting to be filled and stingy to release whatever they absorbed.

Even now, I could feel my face feeling a little…fuller. I reached a hand to my cheek and felt how red hot it was. My heart was hammering out a tattoo against my ribs. I shifted in the back seat and found my dress was now feeling a more uncomfortable around my waist and now chest. I squeezed my knees together and a shock of electricity surged through my core. It was…pleasure. And I liked it.

I looked to my left, through the glass of the rear window and caught my reflection in the passing of the streetlights. I saw a face that held great beauty with defined features and perfectly tamed hair. I looked past the ice-blue eyes and along the contours of my nose and down past my cheeks to my mouth. My lips looked a little shiny. Whether that was from my lip gloss or the French fries, I could not tell, but I needed to find out. A pink triangle jutted out from between my lips, and I watched through the reflected glass as my tongue snaked up, touched my upper lips, and slithered back into its cave.

Salt.

My reflection smirked back at me and my eyes flashed wickedly. Drink still in hand, I glanced down at myself, down my lithe torso, shrouded in a fabric that Janek had chosen for me to wear this evening. I felt my face scowl, but only for a moment. I brought my hand to my abdomen and pressed it into me, feeling my fullness. I glanced down at the shake and to the paper bag, which contained the remaining half of my chicken sandwich and remaining fries.

‘Was this a crossroad for me?’ I thought, as I mentally calculated the amount of food and calories I had just taken in. To the impact it would have on my already sluggish metabolism and to the weight my body would retain from the added salt and preservatives the meal contained. My body reacted poorly to dairy, yet I found myself craving the remaining contents of the milkshake inside me. How much cardio would I have to endure over the following days to burn off these extra calories and how—how much food would I be restricted from eating for days after this…binge? My mind drifted to Janek and how much tonight’s gustatory indiscretion would slow down our photoshoot when I walked on set tomorrow. There would be a meltdown. There would be yelling. Tears. Storming out.

And then…

And then?

‘What if there was no ‘and then’?’ Another voice said, unbidden, making me startle.

Inside my head, I felt like I had a voice on either shoulder, holding my fate and also helping me decide.

“He’ll call you ‘fat’, you know…” said One.

“He calls everyone ‘fat.’” said Two.

“You’ll be called onto the carpet and made an example of…”

“You can always tell him to ‘***.’ Said Two. “Or tell him you’ve got your period.”

“You might get fired.”

“I’m under contract.” said Two.

“Contracts have loopholes, Tubby.”

“Other models have gotten fat, and the company always takes care of them.” said Two.

“Yes, but they are more experienced, established. You are still relatively new, my sweet.”

“My contract is iron-clad.” Said Two. “I remember going over it in detail with my agent. I may be skin and bones, but I’ve got a photographic brain for that kind of legalese.”

“Suit yourself, then.” said One.

“That’s it? You’re conceding defeat?” said Two.

One scoffed, “Hey, I’m only a voice of reasoning. Just like you. Who knows if she’s even listening to us right now?’

“True.” said Two.

“But I’m tapping into some serious emotions from her right now, and I don’t think that either of us is going to have much sway over her tonight.” said One.

“You felt that too, huh?” said Two.

“And, gods, she’s been skin and bone for ages. Always in a fog from hunger.”

“No energy other than to pose and smile…” said Two.

“Exactly. The poor thing.” said One.

“So, what do we do now?” said Two.

“I think it’s out of her hands and back into hers.” said One with a smirk.

“I see what you did there, One.” said Two.

“Let’s go and leave her in peace. She’s in good hands tonight.”

“Yeah, her own.” said One.

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