It's a Kindness

Chapter 1 - It's a Kindness

We're driving home. We just left a buffet. We were there for hours. You ate plenty, you feel full, but you're disappointed with yourself: you think you could've eaten more. But maybe it's okay - for now - that you didn’t fully cut lose, as you can barely fit in the car as is. Your hips are spilling over the sides of the seat, threatening to force the door open. Your breasts obscure the bottom half of your field of view. And your belly - your heavy, swollen belly - presses up against the dash, even though the seat is all the way back. Your seat belt, even with an extender, is stretched tight around your bloated midsection.

We get home. It takes a few minutes, but I manage to help free you from the passenger seat. The car's suspension creaks with relief once you're out. I help you waddle inside. You're cradling your tummy, your weak arms doing what they can to help bear the weight. As you pass through the front door, you think you feel your hips brushing against the sides of the frame. You don't remember that happening this morning.

We reach the bedroom. You had to climb a flight of stairs, and now you're exhausted. You collapse onto the bed. The whole room seems to shake. The bed groans, valiantly keeping you aloft. In an instant, you're asleep, too tired to stay awake a second longer. Your stomach gurgles and churns, working its way through the caloric contents you fed it.

I stare at you for a moment. I should just tie you down now, I think to myself. You can barely move around as is. We both know you'll soon be immobile; might as well embrace the inevitable. It'd be a kindness, really: your poor legs could use a break from carrying you around.

I reach under the bed, and pull out some bindings. No, it's not a kindness, I admit to myself. It's impatience. We've been working towards this for so long now. I just can't wait anymore.

I secure one of the bindings to your wrist, and I pull the other end towards the headboard. I've made my decision: you're not getting out of bed tomorrow... or any day after that.