Constant Consumption 3

Chapter 1

“How’s my plump little butterball today?”

The sound of Melvern’s voice pulled me out of my trance-like state. He spoke with that playful lilt he always had, the one that used to make me giggle. At the moment however, it grated against the tension coiled in my chest.

As I sat hunched over the kitchen island, spoon in hand, I could feel the cool, sticky trail of melted ice cream slipping past my fingers. It was supposed to be a comfort, the rich caramel and chocolate chunks melting on my tongue, but at the moment it just felt heavy in my stomach. The guest list in front of me seemed to taunt me, Loretta’s name circled with “Plus one???” scrawled next to it in my own desperate handwriting.

“Melvern, please,” I muttered, shifting in my seat. “I’m trying to focus here.” The words felt harsh as they came tripping out over my lips. Guilt twisted in my gut, but it was swallowed up by the relentless thrum of stress in my head. I didn’t turn to face him–I just couldn’t look at him. The stool I was sitting on creaked beneath my overwhelmingly fat ass as he came up from behind and wrapped his arms around my middle, his hands pressing against the soft expanse of my belly. I felt the warmth of his touch seep through the fabric of my shirt, but instead of grounding me, it made my skin itch with restlessness.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice calm and gentle, almost too understanding. He began to softly kiss the back of my neck as he whispered in my ear. “I just can’t keep my hands off of you sometimes. You are so big and sexy!” “Well, I could use a little space right now,” I said coldly, my voice sounding uncharacteristically rough and gravelly. I reached for another spoonful of ice cream, as if I were hoping that the coolness of it would soothe my aching head and my troubled heart. Melvern then released his grip on my flab and pulled away; I worried that I had hurt his feelings.

“I’m sorry,” I said then with my mouth full, my voice softer, tinged with the remorse I felt deep in my bones. I turned to face him, taking in the way he watched me, concern etched into his expression. “I don’t mean to snap. It’s just–everything is piling up.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes dark and deep with understanding. “I get it,” he said. Wedding planning is a lot, especially with Loretta not being able to be here to help you.” 

“It’s not just that,” I said, my eyes drifting back to the guest list. Loretta’s name seemed to pulse, daring me to speak the truth I was barely willing to acknowledge. “It’s this feeling I can’t shake, like I’m rushing into everything, or I’m missing something huge.”

Melvern shifted, his smile fading as his expression turned serious. “Is that how you really feel?” His voice was steady, not defensive or accusatory. Just patient, open, and that only made the ache inside me worse.

I couldn’t hold his gaze. I stared at the countertop, the smudge of chocolate, the crumpled napkin, anything but him. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

He stepped closer to me, gently placing his hand on top of my round and flabby tummy, the simple touch feeling soft and familiar. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling.” He paused, and I felt the sincerity radiate from him. “We can work through anything, as long as you’re honest with me.”I glanced at Melvern, who had moved to the other side of the kitchen, giving me space without a word. He busied himself with wiping down the already spotless counter, his movements careful and deliberate. My chest softened with an ache that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Despite the creeping doubts gnawing at the edges of my mind, I couldn’t deny how good the past year had been.

Things with Melvern had been like something out of a dream. I never thought I’d find someone who not only accepted my quirks and complexities but reveled in them. I reached for the spoon and once again began mindlessly shoveling ice cream down my gullet, all the while letting my mind drift back to those quiet evenings when it was just the two of us. The way he’d bring home rich desserts and watch with a mix of admiration and hunger as I indulged, eyes full of pride as I let myself give in completely.

Being Melvern’s feedee wasn’t just a novelty; it was a part of who I was now. There was something deeply comforting, even exhilarating, in surrendering to that shared indulgence. It wasn’t just about the food, or the physical changes that came with it—it was the bond we forged. The way he looked at me as if I were the most precious, irresistible thing in the world, filling me with a confidence I hadn’t known I was capable of feeling.

I traced a finger over the kitchen island’s edge, memories flowing over me like a warm wave. The late-night feasts when he’d encourage me to have just one more bite, his voice teasing and tender. The mornings when he’d make me breakfast in bed, the plates growing more generous as time went on, his laughter rich and easy as I feigned exasperation at his insistence. And the way he’d hold me afterward, my body soft and heavy against his, with a look that said he’d never been happier.

I was a little surprised when he proposed. There had been no grand buildup, no elaborate speeches. It was in the middle of a quiet Saturday afternoon; I was lounging on the couch in our usual spot, halfway through a second helping of pasta he’d made. Melvern turned to me, eyes sparkling with a mischievous light, and said, “Marry me, Lorena.” Just like that. The words were simple, but his tone was laced with the kind of certainty that left no room for hesitation.

I’d blinked at him, mouth half-open, fork suspended mid-air. But then, I laughed—a deep, honest sound—and said, “Are you serious?” He’d grinned, not taking his eyes off me. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

Looking back, I knew I could have questioned it, searched for some hidden reason or wondered why now, why us, but there hadn’t been a good reason to say no. Things had been good—so good, in fact, that I couldn’t imagine anything better. And if there was one thing I’d learned about life, it was that moments of uncomplicated joy were worth grabbing hold of. 

So, I said yes. 

Yet, as I stood there now, eyes still fixed on that list, the doubts didn’t evaporate. I wondered if saying yes was more about not finding a reason to say no rather than knowing, deep in my soul, that I was ready. The thought was unsettling. Still, I reminded myself of the way Melvern’s arms felt around me, the way he looked at me like I was his whole world. For now, that would have to be enough.Melvern’s excitement about the wedding on the other hand was infectious, almost childlike. Ever since he’d slipped that ring on my finger, his eyes would light up every time he mentioned our big day. It wasn’t just the flowers or the music or even the vows he seemed most eager about—it was the idea of me standing there in a custom-made dress, the heaviest I’d ever been, an emblem of our shared passion. He’d half-joked, half-declared, “You’re going to be the world’s fattest bride,” with a gleam in his eye that left no doubt he was serious.

To be honest, I found the idea thrilling too. There was something intoxicating about the thought of making a statement that bold, something both of us were deeply invested in. The idea of breaking records, turning heads, being unabashedly, unapologetically myself on the day we pledged forever—it made my heart pound with an odd mix of excitement and nerves. Part of me craved it, relished in the idea of being bigger than life and having that celebrated rather than hidden.

Yet, more and more lately, a different question had been whispering in the back of my mind: Was there anything more to us beyond this? Beyond the laughter and moans that filled the room as I reached for another bite, beyond the rush of indulgence and the shared, secret satisfaction of seeing my reflection grow larger with each passing week. What would our love look like if the meals were a little less lavish, if my appetite didn’t take center stage?

Melvern loved me, that much I was sure of. He loved the way I lit up when he surprised me with my favorite pastries, the way I blushed when he called me his “gorgeous butterball.” But I couldn’t help but wonder—was it me he loved, or the lifestyle we had wrapped ourselves in, snug and sweet like a warm blanket? Did the idea of a life together mean more than the thrill of fattening me up, or was that thrill all there was?

I reached out and touched the ring on my finger, twisting it absently. It felt heavier these days, like it carried a weight beyond its gold band. Melvern’s voice came from behind me, pulling me from my thoughts. He was humming to himself, glancing at me with that same eager anticipation, eyes filled with plans and dreams of what the next few months would bring.

My heart softened at the sight of him. I wanted to believe that there was more, that the foundation of what we had went deeper than plates and scales and teasing nicknames. I wanted to know that when the echoes of “the world’s fattest bride” faded, when the feast was over and life settled into a quieter routine, we would still have something real to hold on to.Later that evening, I sank into the soft armchair in my living room, the guest list crumpled in my hands. My stomach was still churning with all of the ice cream, donuts and other junk I’d been stuffing myself with all day long. I heard my phone buzz on the coffee table, the name Loretta flashing across the screen. With a sigh, I picked it up and answered, trying to inject some cheer into my voice.

“Hey, fatty!” I said, leaning back and letting my body sink deeper into the chair, addressing her by a casual term of endearment we’d adopted for one another.

“Hey, fatty!” Loretta’s voice came through loud and bright, always full of energy. “I hope you’re ready for the night of your life. I just finalized all the details for your bachelorette party, and it’s going to be epic.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Loretta had been my best friend since college, my partner-in-crime during endless nights of pizza and beer binges. She knew how to throw a party, and I trusted her taste, even if it veered toward the extravagant. “I’m almost afraid to ask what you have planned.”

She let out a playful laugh. “Oh, you should be, my dear. It’s going to be an evening you’ll never forget. First, we’re all meeting at my private club for a lavish dinner. And when I say lavish, I mean courses on courses of the most decadent food you can imagine. Then, we’ll hit the dance floor and drink until we’re too wasted to stand.”

I laughed, a genuine one this time, picturing the scene she was painting. “Loretta, that sounds incredible. You really didn’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“Nonsense! You only get one bachelorette party—well, ideally,” she added with a mischievous chuckle. “I’m pulling out all the stops for you, Lorena. All the bridesmaids are going to be there, and we’re going to celebrate in style.”

Her excitement was infectious, seeping through the phone and wrapping around me like a warm embrace. But as she rattled off the final details—the name of the club, the signature drinks she’d arranged, the late-night plans—I felt a pinch of curiosity creep in. Loretta had always had expensive taste, sure, but this party sounded like it belonged in the kind of magazine spreads I flipped through in line at the grocery store. How could she afford all this?

“Loretta,” I said when she finally paused to take a breath, “this must have cost a fortune.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” she said breezily. “I have a few connections, and let’s just say things are better than they used to be. Consider it my wedding gift to you.”

Her answer was casual, but I felt the familiar tug of questions swirling in my mind. Loretta had always been full of surprises, but I suddenly wondered how much I really knew about her life these days. Still, I chose not to press further; there would be plenty of time to puzzle over it later.

“Thank you, Loretta. Really,” I said, my voice softening. “I can’t wait.”

“I should hope not! Get ready to be spoiled rotten, Fatty. It’s going to be legendary.” Her laugh was the last thing I heard before she hung up, the sound lingering in the quiet room.

I set the phone down and stared out the window, a faint smile on my lips. Whatever questions I had could wait. For now, I let myself lean into the anticipation of what was to come. Even with doubts simmering beneath the surface, the promise of that night—a night filled with food, fun, and friends—felt like a breath of fresh air I desperately needed.