Fat Girl
all its pudgy glory
She’s bored and she’s empty and all she wants is a little something to make her feel better. Don’t we all? Down a drink and take a hit but her addiction is a little easier to get her chubby fingers on.
There is no rehab for food. It’s everywhere, surrounding her, taunting her, whispering delectably in her ear. Just one little bite won’t hurt, right? Trek down a couple stairs, open a cupboard and it’s beckoning for your lips, pleading to be eaten. There is no escaping food because every corner you turn it’s waiting there with a delicious smile and an enticing aroma.
I’m all you need, Fat Girl.
What else is there to do? Her Friday night is breathing down her neck and her plans consist of a date with a couple slices of cake her mom had bought the day before. An invisible finger summons her down the hall in an almost trance-like state even though she’s fully aware of what she’s getting into, what awaits her at the end. She knows what’s going to happen next.
Just a little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it?
The more that she tells herself she shouldn’t, tears herself away, the more seductive the fridge appears. Come to me, Fat Girl, I make you feel like the best of them. Barely a few calories, if even, just a touch.
She’ll regret it, Monica tells herself. Only seconds after it’s chewed and gone and destroyed by her stomach acid she’ll want to pull it all back up again, calories and all. She won’t, Monica never does, but she wishes.
Think of how good Skinny will feel, she reasons, think of how amazing it will be to wake up and not worry about how Fat you look in that shirt. Imagine being liked. Imagine being inspired. Imagine being Skinny.
What’s the harm, though? It’s not like she’ll gain that much from just a little bit.
All those girls she envies, those girls with the long legs and tight stomachs and are loved by everyone, they wouldn’t eat it. They’d sit back down and love the emptiness ravenging her stomach. They love the absence. They love the secret of being skinny. They love the secret of being wanted.
A sigh pours from her lips. Her jaw clenches and her porky arms wrap around her stomach, sucking in and despising the feeling of her fat spilling over her pants. The way that it droops over in all it’s pudgy glory. How fucking disgusting.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she opens the refrigerator door and is immediately bathed in the fluorescent light. In the corner sits her guilty pleasure, grinning sadistically in a welcome. Her hands grab at the plate.
Monica’s bored and she’s empty and all she wants is a little something to make her feel good.
There is no rehab for food. It’s everywhere, surrounding her, taunting her, whispering delectably in her ear. Just one little bite won’t hurt, right? Trek down a couple stairs, open a cupboard and it’s beckoning for your lips, pleading to be eaten. There is no escaping food because every corner you turn it’s waiting there with a delicious smile and an enticing aroma.
I’m all you need, Fat Girl.
What else is there to do? Her Friday night is breathing down her neck and her plans consist of a date with a couple slices of cake her mom had bought the day before. An invisible finger summons her down the hall in an almost trance-like state even though she’s fully aware of what she’s getting into, what awaits her at the end. She knows what’s going to happen next.
Just a little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it?
The more that she tells herself she shouldn’t, tears herself away, the more seductive the fridge appears. Come to me, Fat Girl, I make you feel like the best of them. Barely a few calories, if even, just a touch.
She’ll regret it, Monica tells herself. Only seconds after it’s chewed and gone and destroyed by her stomach acid she’ll want to pull it all back up again, calories and all. She won’t, Monica never does, but she wishes.
Think of how good Skinny will feel, she reasons, think of how amazing it will be to wake up and not worry about how Fat you look in that shirt. Imagine being liked. Imagine being inspired. Imagine being Skinny.
What’s the harm, though? It’s not like she’ll gain that much from just a little bit.
All those girls she envies, those girls with the long legs and tight stomachs and are loved by everyone, they wouldn’t eat it. They’d sit back down and love the emptiness ravenging her stomach. They love the absence. They love the secret of being skinny. They love the secret of being wanted.
A sigh pours from her lips. Her jaw clenches and her porky arms wrap around her stomach, sucking in and despising the feeling of her fat spilling over her pants. The way that it droops over in all it’s pudgy glory. How fucking disgusting.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she opens the refrigerator door and is immediately bathed in the fluorescent light. In the corner sits her guilty pleasure, grinning sadistically in a welcome. Her hands grab at the plate.
Monica’s bored and she’s empty and all she wants is a little something to make her feel good.
♠ ♠ ♠
once upon a time there was a girl and she sucked and her name was Gabby.and then she updated her story.
this chapter is dedicated to dearcatastrophe since she sort of reminded me that lol, this story exists.
this chapter is just a little how what she goes through, nothing much, but I think I'll be updating with a little more action next week.
also, new layout: yay or nay?