The Munchies: Part 3 (finale)

Chapter 1

A continuation of The Munchies part 2. Some marijuana use involved in narrative.

Part 1: http://fantasyfeeder.com/stories/view?id=5592 (written 2011)

Part 2: http://fantasyfeeder.com/stories/view?id=6579 (written 2012)

It's now, uh... 2016.

- Disclaimer: I've just picked this story back up after four whole years. Crazy stuff. My writing style might be a little different henceforth, along with the trajectory of the story. -



THE MUNCHIES: Part 3

1.

A month had passed. Sarah's sling came off by late March and she could use her arm again. We drew closer to each other as the weeks went by. Eventually she spent most days at my flat, with or without me. I kept a spare key in a hidden place for her if she ever needed to get in or out.


We heard nothing from Damien since I'd poled him on the forehead from where I hid as he'd pursued me behind the shopping center. Sarah knew what I'd done. I'd told her, a week after it happened. To be honest, I didn't know what I expected her to say. She sort of just stared off at the wall behind me, a frown coming along. I was about to say something, anything, to alleviate the look of growing fright, but then her frown lifted, like fog lifts, and she snorted and nearly laughed. And that was that. She and I were past it apparently.


Then Sarah started to change. In a good way. Her mannerisms became bolder, let free to flourish without the oppressive presence of Damien constantly approving or disapproving of what she did and did not do. That meant she stopped thinking about what she ate. Especially when we smoked weed together. We'd both ate like machines, then, forgetting we were eating like you forget you're breathing - forgetting what we had or hadn't eaten, eating more, getting full, forgetting we were full and getting more full.


In our spare time we would go out and do things together. We experienced those things two-fold - her and I.


We were sitting in the cinema one afternoon waiting for a film to start. The room was gloomy, the air smelling of buttery popcorn, people in conversation lowering their voices as they emerged from the entrance corridor, silently ascending the steps to find seats, children pestering each other in the dark, giggling, amused at the oppressive silence.


Sarah sat to my left, molly denim jacket, striped crop top and high-waist leggings, the gap between the two pieces showing the rectangle of soft baby-fat upper waist. She was nibbling patiently on a double Cadbury Twirl bar she got from outside the cinema. It wasn't much.


'That's not going to do you much,' I said.


She looked annoyed.


I leaned over her and made a point of surveying the width of her hips. I slid my hand between her thigh and the edge of the seat. 'See that?' I whispered, my hand wiggling around in the gap. 'Still room.'


She glanced down at my hand. Then she looked me in the eye and shoved the rest of the Twirl bar in her mouth. I could see her tongue swishing around inside her mouth as she chewed, tight-lipped. When she swallowed, she shunted over, crushing my hand against the seat.


'Ow-' I recoiled. 'Okay, fine. Point taken.' Then I leaned in and whispered to her. 'Fatty pants.'


She stuck out her tongue at me. It was covered in chocolate residue. I tried not to laugh. She tried washing her tongue around in her mouth to get it all off, then cleared her throat, and said, 'It just sticks. It makes my tongue feel fat.'


'You are fat,' I corrected her.


She suppressed a smirk and slapped me on the arm.


'Well. Not like fat, fat,' I corrected myself. 'Not yet anyway.'


'Getting there, though.' She performed a little drum beat on her stomach with both hands, the empty wrapper punctuating the down-beat.


'Funky,' I said.


'Well,' she started to say, reaching below her seat to get the packet of Maltesers, 'I'll have you know when I was little, I was in the class band. Guess what I played-'


The lights dimmed and she stopped talking.


'Shhh!' I told her.


'You shush!' she hissed.


'Shhh!' I hissed back.


'No you-'


I poked her in the ribs. She laughed a bit too loud, her hands clapping over her mouth. She crossed her arms and grouched at me. I giggled at her and sat back to watch the film.


Through the whole movie, we shared junk food, and I kept glancing over at her to see how she was going. Every time I checked, and maybe it was a trick, but the curve of her waist seemed to show that fraction more. Just for fun, I decided to stop checking halfway through the film, and just see how far she got by the end.


An hour later the credits rolled. I took a deep breath - the kind you do when you've been sitting in one spot for over two hours - and looked over at Sarah. She was wiping her eyes blearily. People were starting to talk, and stand up.


'You alright?' I asked as the lights came back on.


'Yeah,' she said, mouth and body stretching into a yawn, her body arching forward, chest stuck out. She sat back and lowered her arms, and glanced down at herself, chin bunching slightly. 'Well,' she said. She sat there slouched over her stomach, upper area bulged out far enough to meet the bulge of the lower.


I raised my eyebrows in approval.


She smirked suddenly, at a thought. 'I have to stand up now.'


And without shame, or seemingly without, she held the armrests and pushed herself upright. I watched; her stomach expanding forward as the angle of her body straightened. She glanced around conspicuously, then put her hands on her hips and stretched back, thrusting her stomach out for everyone to see. The gap between her crop top and leggings got wide. Then she relaxed, and said, 'Let's go.'


I had to stand up as well, before I got too hard.