Full Bloom

The first button went flying across the classroom and hit Yukiho in the forehead.

She blinked at me, rubbing the spot where the white plastic disc had bounced off her skin. The button rolled to a stop near her shoe. A tiny, shiny witness to my humiliation.

“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, sorry. Are you okay?”

Yukiho picked up the button. She looked at it. Then she looked at my shirt. Then she looked at my face with that particular expression she’s perfected over fifteen years of being my little sister. The one that says *I love you but you are an absolute disaster*.

“Honoka,” she said slowly, “is that from your shirt?”

I looked down. The gap between the two sides of my school blouse revealed a triangle of pale skin and the edge of my bra. A pale pink one with little strawberries on it. Kotori bought it for me last spring for my birthday. It used to fit fine.

“It’s fine,” I said, tugging the fabric together. The remaining buttons strained. The one below the missing button was pulling so hard I could see the thread twisting. “It’s just. It’s fine. The button was loose anyway.”

Yukiho held it out to me. “You should probably sew it back on before Mom sees.”

“Yeah. Yeah, totally. I’ll do it tonight.”

We both knew I wouldn’t do it tonight. I’d forget. I always forget. And tomorrow I’d wear a different shirt, one that fit better, and I’d tell myself I’d fix the button later. And later would never come.

The bell rang. Saved by the bell. Literally.

I shoved the button into my pocket and gathered my books. The fabric pulled tight across my chest as I stood up. I could feel it. That pressure. That slight resistance of cloth against body. It used to be loose. Now it wasn’t.

I’d noticed it about two weeks ago. The way my uniform felt different. The way my skirt sat higher on my waist than it used to. The way the waistband left red marks on my skin when I took it off at night.

I’d noticed. I just hadn’t done anything about it.

School ended and I met Kotori by the gate. She was already there, waiting for me like she always was. Her hair caught the afternoon light, that soft brown turning almost gold at the edges. She smiled when she saw me and my stomach did that little flip it’s been doing lately. That flip I don’t think about.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Starving,” I said. “I could eat a horse.”

“There’s a new bakery near the station. I saw it this morning. They have cream puffs.”

“Cream puffs?”

“Huge ones. With custard filling. And chocolate drizzle on top.”

I grabbed her hand. “Why are we still standing here?”

She laughed and let me drag her down the street. Her hand was warm in mine. Soft. She’s always had soft hands. She does that hand cream thing every night, lavender and shea butter. I’ve watched her do it a hundred times. The way she massages it into her fingers, slow and careful, like she’s giving each one its own moment of attention.

I don’t think about that either.

The bakery was small. Tucked between a convenience store and a ramen shop. The sign said “Patisserie Riko” in cursive letters with little flourishes. The smell hit me before I even opened the door. Butter and sugar and vanilla. Warm. Sweet. The kind of smell that makes you feel like everything is going to be okay.

The cream puffs were exactly as Kotori described them. Huge. Golden brown. Split open and filled with custard that spilled out the sides. Drizzled with chocolate that had hardened into a glossy shell.

I bought two.

Kotori bought one. She took small bites. Delicate bites. The kind of bites that make a cream puff last twenty minutes. I finished my first one in about four bites and started on the second one while she was still working on her first.

“You really were hungry,” she said. Not a question. Just an observation.

“I’m always hungry lately,” I said, licking custard off my thumb. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“I ate a whole bag of chips before bed last night. The big bag. The family size one.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“Then nothing’s wrong.”

She said it so simply. So matter-of-fact. Like eating a family size bag of chips at midnight was just a thing people did. Like it wasn’t something to feel bad about.

I looked at her. She was watching me with those calm eyes. The same eyes I’ve known since we were six years old. The same eyes that watched me fall off my bike and skin my knee. The same eyes that watched me cry when my grandmother died. The same eyes that watched me sing my heart out at the school festival and told me I was amazing.

Something shifted in my chest. Something I couldn’t name.

“You’re not going to tell me I should stop?” I asked.

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Because. I don’t know. Because I’m getting fat.”

The word hung in the air between us. Fat. I’d never said it out loud before. Not about myself. I’d thought it. Plenty of times. Lately it was all I thought about when I looked in the mirror. The way my cheeks were rounder. The way my chin had softened. The way my thighs pressed together now when I stood with my feet apart.

But I’d never said it.

Kotori set down her cream puff. She reached across the table and took my hand. Her fingers laced through mine. Warm. Steady.

“You’re not fat,” she said.

“I am though. My uniform barely fits. A button popped off today.”

“One button?”

“One button. But more are going to follow. I can feel it.”

She squeezed my hand. “Then we’ll get you a new uniform.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

I didn’t know. That was the problem. I didn’t know what the point was. I didn’t know why I was eating so much. I didn’t know why I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know why it bothered me and why it didn’t bother me at the same time.

All I knew was that Kotori’s hand felt good in mine. And that I wanted another cream puff.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She smiled. That soft smile she’s had since we were kids. The one that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Then don’t worry about it. Eat what you want. You’re beautiful either way.”

My face got hot. The kind of hot that starts in your chest and spreads up to your cheeks. I looked down at the empty wrapper on my plate. The smear of custard. The crumbs.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

She let go of my hand and picked up her cream puff again. Took another small bite. I watched her lips close around the pastry. Watched her tongue dart out to catch a bit of custard. Watched her chew slowly, eyes half-closed in satisfaction.

I wanted another cream puff so bad it hurt.

I bought a third one.

That night I stood in front of the mirror in my room. The mirror I’ve had since middle school. The one with the chipped corner from when I threw a shoe at it. (Long story. Bad day. The shoe was old anyway.)

I looked at myself.

I wasn’t wearing my uniform anymore. Just my underwear. The pink bra with the strawberries. The matching panties. The same set Kotori gave me for my birthday.

It used to fit perfectly. The bra used to sit flat against my ribs. The panties used to lie smooth across my hips.

They didn’t anymore.

The bra was tight. The underwire pressed into my skin. My breasts spilled over the top a little. Not a lot. Just a little. Enough that the lace left marks when I took it off.

The panties were worse. They cut into my waist. The elastic dug in and left red lines. My stomach pushed against the fabric, soft and round. I turned sideways. Looked at my profile. The curve of my belly. The way my hips had widened.

I’d gained weight. There was no denying it. The scale didn’t lie. The mirror didn’t lie. My clothes didn’t lie.

I should have felt bad about it.

I didn’t.

I don’t know why. Maybe it was the cream puffs. Maybe it was the way Kotori looked at me. Maybe it was something else. Something I wasn’t ready to think about.

I ran my hand over my stomach. The softness there. The give. It felt strange. New. But not bad. Not bad at all.

I went to bed and dreamed of custard.

The next morning, my skirt wouldn’t button.

I tried. I really tried. I sucked in my stomach and held my breath and pulled the two sides together. The buttonhole lined up with the button. I pushed. The button went through. I exhaled.

The button popped right back out.

I tried again. Same result. The waistband was too small. The fabric strained. The button sat there, mocking me, refusing to stay in its hole.

I looked at the clock. I was going to be late.

“Honoka!” Mom’s voice from downstairs. “Breakfast!”

“Coming!”

I looked at my skirt. I looked at the button. I looked at myself in the mirror.

I could wear a different skirt. I had other skirts. But they were all the same size. All bought at the same time. All fitting the same way a month ago.

I grabbed a safety pin from my desk drawer. The one I use for emergency repairs. I threaded it through the waistband, pulled the fabric tight, and pinned it closed. It wasn’t pretty. But it worked.

The fabric still strained. The top of the skirt gaped a little where the pin held it together. If I bent over, the safety pin would probably show. If I moved too fast, it might pop open.

I pulled my blouse down to cover it. The blouse that was also too tight. The blouse that had lost a button yesterday.

I was a mess.

I went downstairs and ate breakfast. Two bowls of rice. A fried egg. Three slices of bacon. A glass of milk. A banana. Half a bag of leftover chips I found in the pantry.

Mom raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Yukiho looked at me like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

I ate everything and still felt hungry.

School was a disaster.

First period: I sat in my seat and the waistband of my skirt dug into my stomach. The safety pin pressed against my skin. I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. There wasn’t one.

Second period: I bent down to pick up a pencil I dropped and heard a ripping sound. Not loud. Just a small one. The sound of threads giving way. I sat up fast and checked my skirt. The seam on the side had pulled apart. Just a little. Just enough to show a strip of white fabric underneath.

My slip. Thank god for slips.

Third period: Lunch. I ate my bento in about five minutes. Then I ate the onigiri Kotori offered me. Then I ate the bag of cookies Umi brought. Then I went to the vending machine and bought a chocolate bar and a packet of crackers.

“You’re really eating a lot lately,” Umi said. Not mean. Just concerned. She has that worried look she gets. The one that says she’s about to give unsolicited advice.

“I know,” I said, unwrapping the chocolate.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“You’ve been eating a lot for a few weeks now. And your uniform looks. Different.”

“It’s fine, Umi.”

“I’m just worried about you.”

“Don’t be.”

She opened her mouth to say more. Kotori touched her arm. Just a light touch. A signal. Umi closed her mouth.

“She’s fine,” Kotori said. “Aren’t you, Honoka?”

“Totally fine.”

I bit into the chocolate. It was good. Rich and sweet. It melted on my tongue. I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy it.

When I opened them, Kotori was watching me. There was something in her expression. Something I couldn’t read. A softness. A warmth. A hunger.

No. That couldn’t be right.

I shook the thought away and finished my chocolate.

Fourth period: History. I couldn’t concentrate. The waistband was digging in again. The safety pin was poking me. The ripped seam was getting worse. I could feel the fabric giving way every time I moved.

I spent the whole period thinking about food.

Not just any food. Specific food. The cream puffs from yesterday. The way the custard tasted. The way the chocolate cracked when I bit into it. The way the pastry flaked and crumbled.

I wanted more.

I wanted so much more.

After school, Kotori grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the station.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Back to that bakery.”

“I can’t. I don’t have money.”

“I do.”

“Kotori.”

“Honoka. You want cream puffs. I want you to have cream puffs. Let’s go.”

She didn’t let go of my hand. She led me through the crowd, weaving between people, her grip firm and warm. I followed. Because what else was I going to do? Say no? I’ve never been able to say no to Kotori.

We got to the bakery. The same smell hit me. Butter and sugar and vanilla. My mouth watered.

“Two?” Kotori asked.

“Four,” I said.

She laughed. “Four it is.”

She bought four cream puffs. Two for me, one for her, one extra. “For later,” she said. But we both knew it was for me.

We sat on a bench outside the station. The sun was starting to go down. The light turned everything golden. Kotori’s hair. The cream puffs. My hands.

I ate the first one in three bites. Custard got on my chin. Kotori reached over and wiped it off with her thumb. Her thumb lingered on my skin for a second longer than necessary.

“You have some,” I said, pointing at her mouth.

She licked her lips. “Got it.”

We sat in silence for a moment. The second cream puff sat in my lap. I picked it up. Bit into it. The custard spilled out and I caught it with my tongue.

“You really like those,” Kotori said.

“I really like everything lately.”

“Is that bad?”

I thought about it. The mirror. The button. The safety pin. The ripped seam. The way my clothes fit. The way my body was changing.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought it would be. But it doesn’t feel bad.”

“Then it’s not bad.”

“But I’m getting fat.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

She turned to face me. Her eyes were serious. That soft brown gone dark and intense. “Does it bother you?”

I looked down at the cream puff in my hands. Half-eaten. Custard oozing out the sides. I took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

“It bothers me that it doesn’t bother me,” I said.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she shifted closer. Her shoulder pressed against mine. Warm. Solid. I could smell her perfume. Something floral. Something sweet.

“Can I tell you something?” she said.

“Of course.”

“I like it.”

I stopped chewing. “What?”

“The way you look. I like it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.”

“You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. I like that you’re eating more. I like that you’re filling out. I like that your cheeks are rounder. I like that your body is changing.”

I stared at her. My heart was beating too fast. My hands were shaking. The cream puff felt heavy in my grip.

“Why?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. She just looked at me. That look I couldn’t read. That softness. That warmth. That hunger.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I just do.”

She stood up. Picked up the extra cream puff. Held it out to me.

“Here. Finish this one too.”

I took it. Our fingers touched. She didn’t pull away.

“Eat,” she said. “Eat as much as you want.”

I bit into the cream puff. The custard filled my mouth. Sweet and rich and perfect.

Kotori watched me eat. Her eyes never left my face.

I ate the whole thing.

That night, I stood in front of the mirror again. Same mirror. Same underwear. Same body.

But I looked at it differently.

I looked at my stomach. The soft curve. The way it pushed against the waistband of my panties. I ran my hand over it. The give. The warmth. The newness.

I thought about Kotori. The way she looked at me. The way she said she liked it. The way her thumb lingered on my skin.

I thought about the cream puffs. The way they tasted. The way they made me feel. Full. Satisfied. Happy.

I thought about eating more. About getting bigger. About Kotori watching me grow.

The thought should have scared me.

It didn’t.

I went to bed and dreamed of custard and Kotori’s hands on my waist.

The next week, I ate everything.

Breakfast: three bowls of rice, two eggs, four slices of bacon, a glass of milk, a yogurt, a banana.

Snack: a bag of chips, a chocolate bar, a can of soda.

Lunch: my bento, Umi’s leftover rice, Kotori’s extra side dish, two packs of crackers, a pudding cup.

Snack: a cream puff from the bakery. Kotori bought it for me. She bought one every day now.

Dinner: seconds. Thirds. Whatever was left.

Dessert: ice cream. Cake. Cookies. Whatever I could find.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

And every day, Kotori was there. Watching. Smiling. Buying me food. Touching me. Her hand on my arm. Her fingers in my hair. Her shoulder against mine.

Every day, I got a little bigger.

My uniform got tighter. The safety pin became a permanent fixture. I had to let out the waistband of my skirt with a hair tie. I looped it through the buttonhole and around the button. It worked. Barely.

My blouse gaped between the buttons. I stopped trying to fix it. I just wore a cardigan over it. Open. Because it wouldn’t button either.

My bra left deeper marks. My panties rode up. My thighs rubbed together when I walked.

I noticed all of it.

I didn’t care.

On Friday, we had practice. μ’s practice. The whole group together. We were supposed to be rehearsing for the upcoming festival. We were supposed to be perfecting our choreography. We were supposed to be focused.

I couldn’t focus.

My skirt was too tight. The hair tie was straining. Every time I moved, I could feel the fabric pulling. Every time I jumped, I could feel my body jiggling. Every time I spun, I could feel the weight shifting.

“Honoka, you’re off beat,” Eli said.

“Sorry.”

“And you’re breathing hard. Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just out of shape.”

“You should take a break.”

“I’m fine.”

I wasn’t fine. I was sweating. My heart was pounding. My clothes were too tight. My body felt heavy. Foreign. New.

But I kept going. Because that’s what I do. I keep going.

We finished the routine. I collapsed on the floor. My chest heaved. My skirt rode up. I didn’t bother pulling it down.

“Honoka, your skirt,” Umi said.

“What about it?”

“It’s. Showing.”

I looked down. The skirt had ridden up my thighs. The fabric was stretched tight across my hips. The hair tie was visible. The waistband was cutting into my skin.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. It doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“What’s there to say? I got fat. It happens.”

Umi’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You’re not. I mean. You’ve gained some weight but.”

“It’s fine, Umi. Really.”

Kotori came over. She knelt beside me. Her hand rested on my knee. Warm. Steady.

“We can get you a new uniform,” she said. “A bigger size.”

“I don’t know if they make my size.”

“They do. I checked.”

I looked at her. “You checked?”

“I wanted to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

She smiled. That soft smile. “For when you needed one.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I just looked at her. Her hand on my knee. Her eyes on my face. The way she was looking at me. Like I was something precious. Something she wanted.

Something she wanted more of.

“Okay,” I said. “Get me a new uniform.”

She squeezed my knee. “I’ll take care of it.”

The new uniform came on Monday.

Kotori brought it to school. She handed it to me in a bag. Plain brown paper. No markings.

“Try it on,” she said.

“Now?”

“Now. I want to see.”

I took the bag to the bathroom. Locked the door. Pulled out the uniform.

It was bigger. A full size bigger. Maybe two. The fabric was the same. The cut was the same. But it was bigger. Roomier. Made for a body like mine.

I put it on.

It fit.

Not loosely. Not tightly. It fit. The blouse buttoned without pulling. The skirt fastened without straining. The waistband sat comfortably on my hips. No digging. No pinching. No red marks.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. The uniform was supposed to be the same. But it looked different. Because I looked different. Fuller. Softer. Bigger.

I looked like a girl who ate cream puffs every day.

I looked like a girl who didn’t care.

I looked like a girl who was being taken care of.

I walked out of the bathroom. Kotori was waiting. Her eyes lit up when she saw me.

“It fits,” she said.

“It fits.”

“You look good.”

“I look fat.”

“You look good.”

She stepped closer. Her hand reached out. Touched the collar of my blouse. Fingered the fabric.

“I like this,” she said. “I like seeing you in clothes that fit.”

“You liked me better when my clothes didn’t fit.”

“I liked you. Period. But yes. I liked seeing you strain against your old uniform. I liked seeing the buttons pull. I liked seeing your skin through the gaps.”

My breath caught. “Kotori.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“That’s. That’s weird.”

“Is it?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t know what was weird anymore. I didn’t know what was normal. All I knew was that Kotori was standing close to me. Her hand on my collar. Her eyes on my face. Her breath warm against my skin.

And I liked it.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“That’s okay.” She smoothed the collar. Let her hand rest on my shoulder. “You don’t have to know. You just have to let me take care of you.”

“Take care of me?”

“Feed you. Dress you. Watch you grow.”

My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking. My body felt hot all over.

“Why?” I asked again.

“Because I want to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

She stepped back. Picked up the bag with my old uniform. The one that didn’t fit anymore.

“I’ll throw this away,” she said.

“Okay.”

“And I’ll get you another one. When you need it.”

“When I need it?”

“You will. Soon.”

She smiled. That soft smile. That hungry smile.

And I knew she was right.

The weeks passed.

I ate. Kotori fed me. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Snacks. Desserts. She brought me food every day. Cream puffs. Cakes. Cookies. Chips. Chocolate. Anything I wanted. Everything I wanted.

I grew.

Slowly at first. A pound here. A pound there. Then faster. My new uniform got tight. The blouse pulled across my chest. The skirt pressed against my stomach. The waistband dug in.

Kotori noticed. She smiled every time she saw me struggle with a button. Every time she saw me adjust my skirt. Every time she saw me outgrow another piece of clothing.

“You need a bigger size,” she said one day.

“I just got this one.”

“That was three weeks ago.”

“Was it?”

“Yes. You’ve grown.”

She held up a new uniform. Bigger than the last. Two sizes bigger.

“I bought this in advance,” she said.

“You knew.”

“I knew.”

I took the uniform. Went to the bathroom. Changed.

It fit. For now.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was rounder. My chin was softer. My neck was thicker. My chest was fuller. My stomach was round and firm. My hips were wide. My thighs were thick.

I was fat.

There was no other word for it. I was fat. I was soft. I was big.

And I was happy.

Because Kotori looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world. Because Kotori touched me like she couldn’t get enough. Because Kotori fed me like she wanted to keep me forever.

I walked out of the bathroom. Kotori was waiting.

“Perfect,” she said.

“I’m fat.”

“You’re perfect.”

She stepped closer. Her hands found my waist. Squeezed. The softness gave under her fingers.

“I love this,” she said. “I love how soft you are. How warm. How much there is of you.”

“Kotori.”

“I love feeding you. I love watching you eat. I love seeing you grow.”

Her hands moved up. Over my stomach. Over my chest. Over my shoulders. Over my face. She cupped my cheeks. Squeezed them gently.

“I love you,” she said.

The words hit me like a wave. Cold and hot at the same time. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I could only stand there, her hands on my face, her eyes on mine.

“You love me?” I whispered.

“I’ve always loved you. But this. This is different. This is wanting. This is needing. This is watching you change and wanting more.”

“I’m changing because of you.”

“I know.”

“You made me this way.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

She leaned in. Her forehead touched mine. Her breath was warm on my lips.

“Because I wanted you to be mine,” she said. “Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably mine. And now you are.”

Her lips brushed mine. Soft. Light. A question.

I answered.

I kissed her.

The kiss was soft at first. Tentative. Two girls who had been friends their whole lives, testing something new. Then it deepened. Her hands slid into my hair. My hands found her waist. I pulled her close. She melted into me.

When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

“I love you too,” I said. “I think I always have.”

She smiled. That soft smile. That hungry smile.

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

“Done with me?”

“I’m going to keep feeding you. Keep watching you grow. Keep making you bigger. Until you’re so fat you can’t move. Until you’re so soft there’s nothing else. Until you’re mine in every way possible.”

I should have been scared. I should have said no. I should have run.

Instead, I said, “Okay.”

Her smile widened. “Okay?”

“Okay. Make me yours.”

She kissed me again. Harder this time. Deeper. Her hands roamed my body. Squeezing. Feeling. Claiming.

When we broke apart, she took my hand and led me to the door.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To get lunch. You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. You just don’t know it yet.”

She was right. By the time we got to the restaurant, I was starving.

We ordered everything. Rice. Noodles. Meat. Vegetables. Dessert. I ate until I couldn’t move. Kotori watched the whole time. Her eyes never left my face.

“Good girl,” she said when I finished.

The words did something to me. Something warm and deep and hungry.

I wanted to be her good girl.

I wanted to eat more.

I wanted to get bigger.

I wanted to be hers.

We walked home slowly. My stomach was full. My body was heavy. My hand was in Kotori’s.

“I want to weigh you,” she said.

“What?”

“When we get home. I want to weigh you. I want to track your progress.”

“That’s. That’s weird.”

“Is it?”

I thought about it. Her knowing my weight. Watching it go up. Celebrating every pound.

“No,” I said. “I guess it’s not.”

We got to my house. My parents weren’t home. Yukiho was at a friend’s. We had the place to ourselves.

Kotori led me to the bathroom. Pulled out the scale. The one I’d been avoiding for weeks.

“Get on,” she said.

I stepped onto the scale. The numbers flickered. Settled.

I looked down. The number was higher than I expected. Much higher.

“I’ve gained twenty pounds,” I said.

“I know.”

“In a month.”

“I know.”

“That’s. That’s a lot.”

“It’s a start.”

She stepped behind me. Her hands found my waist. Squeezed.

“We’re going to double that,” she said. “Triple it. More.”

“Kotori.”

“You said okay. You said make me yours. This is how I do it.”

I looked at our reflection in the mirror. Her behind me. Her hands on my soft waist. Her chin on my shoulder. Her eyes meeting mine in the glass.

“I’m scared,” I said.

“I know. But you trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then trust me now. Let me take care of you. Let me feed you. Let me make you big and soft and beautiful. Let me love you.”

I took a deep breath. Let it out.

“Okay,” I said.

She kissed my cheek. Squeezed my waist one more time.

“Good girl.”

She stepped off the scale. Took my hand. Led me to the kitchen.

“You’re hungry again, aren’t you?”

I was. I always was now.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then let’s eat.”

She opened the fridge. Pulled out leftovers. Cake. Ice cream. She set everything on the counter.

“Eat,” she said.

I ate.

She watched.

And I knew this was just the beginning.