I'm A Twenty-Two Year Old Widow And I'm All Alone...

Trying To Live On My Own...

"Mom, I think I need the next size up," I sighed, looking down at the jeans I was trying on that were too small. "I used to be a three! I was wearing my size three jeans two weeks ago..."

"You've hardly eaten," mom questioned. "How could you possibly have gained weight?"

"I have no idea," I sighed, trying to pull the jeans tight and do them up. It didn't work.

"Uh... I'll get you the next size up," mom whispered, and she returned with size four jeans. They fitted perfectly.

I ended up with two new pairs of jeans, courtesy of my mom. I tried on a nice dress that didn't fit, but it was the same size as most of my dresses. Weird. I didn't think too much on it, not really caring.

When mom took me back home, I felt safer there. I went and ate some watermelon, huddled up in the darkness again.

>>>>

 

"I got these jeans three weeks ago!" I groaned, discovering that my new pair of jeans no longer fitted me. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Maybe the watermelon has turned on you," Chelsea suggested.

"Watermelon's healthy," I reminded her.

"And full of water... and sugar..." Chelsea smiled.

"Okay, I'm getting fat," I sighed. "I guess sitting on your ass all day has a profound effect on you."

"Yeah, I've heard that if you're always sitting down, no matter what you eat, you're gonna get big anyway," Chelsea told me. "You need to be active, Car."

"Screw that," I moaned, laying down on my stomach on the bed. I got uncomfortable immediately, and rolled over to my side.

"You need... a beauty treatment!" Chelsea suggested.

"No, I need Lucas," I sighed. "It's been seven weeks, I know. And I've uh... I spend a bit less time at home in the dark..."

"Not much," Chelsea scoffed.

"I just want him back," I said sadly. "It's been the worst seven weeks of my life. How could he just go and leave me here?"

"Oh, no tears!" Chelsea groaned. "I'm here to keep you happy."

"Well, it's not working," I cried. "I'm a fat widow!"

"Since when do you care about your weight?" Chelsea asked. "You're usually all 'I don't care what I weigh as long as I'm classed as healthy'?"

"I don't know," I frowned thoughtfully. "I never used to care... so why do I now?"

"No idea," Chelsea muttered.

I laid down on my back, and felt an odd, unusual movement in my stomach. It made me feel a bit nauseous, and I sat up quickly.

"Car?" Chelsea asked, looking worried. "You okay?"

"I just... never mind," I frowned.

"Just what?" she asked.

"I felt nauseous for about 30 seconds, but then it passed, just like that."

"Okay..." Chelsea said, looking away. "You moved pretty quickly, that's all."

"Well, my stomach had a funny fluttery feeling in it, and I thought I was gonna be sick," I sighed, laying back down.