Although she practically begged him, he refused to get something to eat with her. He’d had enough of people commenting on his eating that day, and, even if she claimed she wasn’t making fun of him, it sure seemed like she was. As soon as she’d suggested it, his mind had flashed back to that night in the diner when she’d caught him drowning his sorrows in cheesecake. His face had colored even at the thought of her seeing him shovel huge quantities of food into his mouth and what she must think of him. Cee, however, had just taken that image from his mind as proof that he was hungry.
“But you’re hun-“ she was cut off as the front door to Xander’s dorm closed. He sighed as he ascended the stairs, not looking forward to the exertion. He was hungry, sure. It had been a few hours since he’d bailed on his parents, and he hadn’t had anything to eat since that sandwich before they’d surprised him. He thought about heading to the food court to see Sheriece, but then he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Gasping for breath at the top of the stairs, he pulled it out, only to see eleven missed calls and five voicemails. “Shit,” he muttered as he opened his door. Each one was from either his mother’s or his father’s phone.
“Xander Lucas, you get back here right now –“ Delete.
“Xander, your mother and I aren’t joking –“ Delete.
“Xander, please, I didn’t mean to upset you –“ Delete.
“Xander, this is your father. We’re coming to pick you up. We insist that you see Dr. Fording, for your own good. So please pack up your bags and be ready for us. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Delete.
“Xander, please come out. We’ll wait out here as long as it takes. This is for your own good. You can’t go on like this. We just want to help you.” Delete.
The last one was from an hour ago. As he deleted it and hung up, his phone buzzed again and showed yet another new voicemail. He double locked his door behind him as he punched in his voicemail code.
“Xander, this is your father again. You win, son. We’re on our way home. I don’t know what else we can do to make you realize that you’re heading to a very bad place. You really can’t keep getting bigger like this; you have to stop it. It broke my heart to see you today. We’re really disappointed in you. Please call us when you decide to talk about this rationally. We love –“ Delete.
A tear rolled down his plump cheek, and he brushed it away, feeling sick. He plopped down on his bed, unable to ignore the way the springs screamed at the sudden addition of his weight. More tears sprang to his eyes and escaped, trailing down his cheeks and dripping onto his protruding gut. He just sat there like that for a few minutes, trying to allow his sorrow to empty from his body. But when the tears wouldn’t come anymore, he still felt as if someone had reached inside his chest and ripped out everything there, leaving a gaping cavity where any trace of happiness he may have ever felt had once been.
He looked down at himself, humiliated by how fat he’d become. He knew his parents were right. He couldn’t keep getting bigger, he just couldn’t. The number “400” loomed sickeningly in his mind. What if he really did get that big? He knew that he wasn’t that far off, maybe fifteen pounds at most, but actually being four hundred pounds seemed like a huge deal, something that once he reached, would only mean that there was no turning back. But that small part of him that was excited by his vast softness thrilled at the thought of his reaching four hundred pounds, thrilled at the thought of even more squishy blubber enveloping his already massive body.
“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he murmured miserably, shaking his head. He rose to his feet and faced the mirror on the back of Adrian’s closet door. Even this far away from it, his frame was too big to fit inside the reflection. He peeled his tight shirt off and gazed at his body, wondering at his soft, rounded chest, his thick arms and neck, and most of all, at his enormous gut. It stuck out ponderously in front of him, squishy and globe-like, hanging down and out over the waistband of his tight jeans so far that he could barely see his crotch. He couldn’t stop the strange barrage of feelings coursing through him. One second, he literally felt sick with mortification at how big he was. The next, he wanted to grab his belly and feel how it jiggled. I like it, a small voice inside him said. I like being so big and soft.
He swallowed hard, knowing it was true. What does that even mean? he asked himself. What does it mean that I actually want to be a four hundred pound fatass? Does it mean I have a death wish or something? Does it mean that I really hate myself that much that I want to be forever laughed at for being so huge? Or does it just mean that I like being big? And how can I like being this big?
But I do like being this big, that small voice affirmed. He tentatively squeezed a handful of his belly between his fingers, instantly aware of the way his flesh yielded under his touch. He experimentally shook his flab, sending his belly into a wave of jiggles. It felt…good, he realized. Really good. He kept shaking it, gazing in wonderment at his reflection as his massive body quivered under his touch. It was amazing how every bit of him jiggled – even his cheeks – as he shook his belly. He felt a heat begin to burn in his nether regions, and abruptly stopped shaking his fat.
“Shit,” he breathed, rubbing his hands over his face. What was wrong with him? Here he was getting turned on by jiggling his own fat body when said fat body had caused him nothing but grief.
He grimaced at his reflection before grabbing his shirt and squeezing into it again. I need new clothes again already, he thought as he fought with the constricting fabric. The only shirts that actually fit him were the four exes he’d gotten back in October before his disastrous meeting with August at the frat party. As for pants, none of them fit. He knew his ass looked ridiculously huge in the tight fabric, and he was almost grateful for the way his belly hung over the waistband because then no one could see that he couldn’t button a single pair. And his boxers rode up uncomfortably, the fabric pulled taught over his thighs and ass.
He decided that it would do him no good to sit in his room today after what had happened with his parents, and he wasn’t even close to being tired anymore, so he made up his mind to head to the mall and get himself some new clothes. If he couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head, he could at least be comfortable.
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