Those who are blessed with a high metabolism and a love for food often don't have to worry about the ramifications of gaining weight when indulging themselves. While this is an attribute the young can enjoy, the metabolism tends to slow down with age. This is especially true for those who live a sedentary lifestyle. Unfortunately for Rachel Raymond, her days of having a slow metabolism were only part of her existence. She was a large woman in her late 30s who simply loved to eat. Because she refused to exercise or increase her physical activity throughout any given day, her love of food was apparent as she packed on the weight. By her thirty-seventh birthday, Rachel weighed more than four hundred pounds while standing at five feet and five inches tall. The problems of gaining weight contributed greatly to her constant knee and leg issues, which were bad enough to help her receive disability payments from the government. It also forced her to waddle as she walked.
It was late on a Sunday night, and Rachel was starting to feel sorry for herself. She had no friends to speak of, especially since she exuded a poor attitude toward life and had a way of making everyone around her feel terrible. Those who knew Rachel often talked about how she was "rotten to the core." Her sense of ultra-entitlement, snarky comments, and downright rudeness had pushed away everyone she had ever met. Aside from her little chihuahua, Max, everyone tried to stay out of her way.
That night, Rachel decided she would take herself out to a nice dinner and enjoy her own company. After all, that was the best kind of evening for her. Rachel had a very low tolerance for people in general and often found comfort by doing things by herself around town. She wasn't ashamed to be alone, and why should she? Rachel absolutely enjoyed her own company. She had no interest in having friends as she believed them to be nothing but time-wasting trouble. As she slid one arm through her coat, she thought about taking herself out to a nice, Italian restaurant. Rachel often preferred spaghetti to most other forms of meals, and the new Italian place, Tony's, was just a mile from her house.
As she zipped up the coat across her bulbous stomach, she looked down at Max. He had been staring at her with eyes that seemed to ask, "where are you going?"
"Sorry, Max. You need to stay here," she said trying to bend over as much as her stomach would allow.
Whimper.
"I know. It would probably be safe since we're not getting Chinese, but we don't want to take a chance you'll be put on the grill, do we?" she said, chuckling to herself.
Rachel was seated in the middle of the busy restaurant by an attractive hostess. Immediately, Rachel assumed that the hostess was quite familiar with tables, or at least, dancing on them. It was a clean place, and the smell of fresh bread, garlic, and other spices wafted in the air, making her mouth water almost the instant she walked into the establishment. Rachel quickly began flipping through the menu until she came across the page displaying the house spaghetti and other kinds of pasta. Although she knew that pictures often don't depict the reality of the dish, the visage of the pasta still made her stomach growl. It sounded as though a great, unholy beast was ready to rip from her abdomen ready to run down its prey. The grumbling was so loud that the people sitting next to her at another table turned their heads.
"What?" Rachel responded with a rude tone to their visual inquiries.
"Eat yer damn meal." The onlookers turned their heads away as they could tell Rachel was already becoming upset.
After what seemed like an eternity for her, although it was only three minutes, Rachel's waiter finally arrived at her table. He was a teenager, probably a junior in high school, dressed all in black. His face was plagued with zits, which made her feel uncomfortable about dining in the restaurant. To her, the waiter looked like he was a few puffs into his third bowl of weed for the night. Then again, she always assumed the worse of everyone she meets. This was one of the biggest reasons why she had no friends.
"Sorry, ma'am. It's been a busy night," he said with a smile. He was trying to be apologetic while lightening the mood, but Rachel would have none of it.
"It's about time you showed up. Is it common practice to make your visitors sit for so long? Some people come to a restaurant to eat, ya know."
"It's only been a few minutes, ma'am."
"So, you're gonna argue with me now?"
"No, ma'am. You're right. I am so sorry," the teen replied trying to keep a hold of the situation. Dealing with rude customers was part of the job, but the tone and nastiness about this particular woman were about to make him question his life decisions.
"What can I get you?" he asked pulling a pad of paper and a pen from his pocket.
"First, you can stop calling me ma'am. Second, I just want the house spaghetti with a side of garlic bread."
"Would you like something to drink?"
"No, I want to sit here and dehydrate. But since you asked, I'll just have a water," she said thrusting the menu at the waiter. The young man took the menu from her and started to walk away. He was thinking how the garlic bread would be dangerous for a life-sucking vampire like her, which brought a brief smile to his face.
A few moments had gone by when the waiter returned with Rachel's water. He sat it on the table as ice clanged against the side of the glass.
"Did I ask for ice?" she asked looking up at the young man with a disgusted, yet surprised look on her face.
"No, ma-er, miss. It's a house courtesy to provide it," he responded.
"Well, take it away and bring me one without ice, ya idiot. Don't be giving me shit that I didn't ask for." The waiter took the glass back into the kitchen as a few nearby patrons threw glances in Rachel's direction. She knew she was beginning to be the center of attention as she sat up straight with a smug, superior-than-thou look on her face. Less than a minute later, the young man returned to her table with a new glass of water.
"Is this tap water?"
"Yes," he answered. The young man knew the path the line of questioning was going to take the conversation.
"Well, take it back. I don't drink tap water. I want fresh, uncontaminated, bottled water." Just then, the waiter made the mistake of letting out a quiet sigh to himself.
"Do ya have a problem understanding simple orders? Where the hell did they find you, the loser's bracket at the middle school?" The waiter grabbed the glass of water and marched back toward the kitchen. He stopped for a brief moment and looked back at the table from hell. Rachel was looking away, seemingly eyeballing the deserts displayed in a glass case. The young man counted to twenty and then walked back out of the kitchen with the same glass of water.
"Here you go," he said placing the glass of water on the table.
"Thank you," Rachel said taking a sip from the glass, "was that so difficult?"
"No. Your food will be out to you shortly," the waiter said with a bow as he began to step backward.
"It better be. I'm paying good money for the food and I don't wanna wait all night to eat. And you better not spit in it or anything." At that point, nearly half of the patrons of the restaurant were looking at her table trying to determine what exactly was going on. As the waiter turned around, he thought of fishing some gunk out of the dishwasher and slipping it into her sauce. However, he loved his job while making excellent tips, and he didn't want to lose it because of some hag.
By the time the spaghetti was prepared, Rachel's stomach had been filled with several bowls of the complimentary breadsticks that were delivered to her table. It still growled like a zombie trying to crawl its way out of a grave to start hunting for brains. The waiter brought the hot plate of pasta to her table as well as a smaller plate with her side of garlic bread.
"It's about damn time. I could have ran home, ate, and ran back in the time it took you to bring this to me," she yelled at him. That was when the waiter's patience had been exhausted.
"Bitch, you couldn't run to the bathroom," he yelled back at her.
"Why I never!" Rachel gasped back in utter surprise.
"And you never will," the teen said calmly walking away. He thought that no tip was worth putting up with her attitude, especially on a night when he has worked for five straight hours without a break. As he said, it was a busy night, not to mention the restaurant was short-staffed. A few of the patrons began to giggle at the confrontation. One person began a slow clap for the teen as he walked past.
"None of your business!" she yelled at those who thought the interaction was humorous. She picked up her fork and began to shovel large amounts of noodles and sauce into her mouth.
Many people would attest that one of the most annoying things about the way Rachel ate her food was the obscene amount of mouth noises that accompanied. Between her lips smacking about, slurping, and the moans of pleasure, a few of the restaurant patrons closest to her asked for boxes to take their meals "to go." One man thought how it reminded him of how hogs dug into the trough back at his family's farm. It almost seemed like Rachel was going out of her way to make as much noise as possible while eating. The scrapes of her fork going across the plate could be heard spanning the entire restaurant. As if the ruckus she was making wasn't bad enough, she then proceeded to slurp as she licked the plate clean. Then, as with most people who gorge themselves quickly, she unleashed a belch that made a few of the women in the establishment blush in second-hand embarrassment. The force of the air from her stomach had caused a small, wayward noodle to escape her throat and land on the plate in front of her.
"Where do ya think you're going?" she asked the partially digested noodle. Rachel quickly snatched it up and swallowed it down for the second time.
The large woman didn't spend much time at the table once her plate was cleaned off. Rachel picked up her purse off the table and proceeded to walk up to the cashier. The girl attending the register had to be about the same age as the waiter. They were, perhaps, in the same grade together. Immediately, Rachel believed the young girl to be just as much of an idiot as the waiter.
"How was everything tonight?" the young girl asked with a smile on her face. She had been oblivious to the earlier scene considering how she, too, hasn't had a break in several hours. Her dark hair had thin strands hanging out despite being pulled back into a bun. It was apparent this teen has had a rough night already.
"It was like eating trash," Rachel protested to the girl loud enough for all of the patrons of the restaurant to hear, "the noodles were undercooked, the sauce tasted too salty, and the bread was like eating a couch cushion."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"No, you're not. But that's OK, girl. I won't cause too much of a scene. I know you're just trying to make ends meet while in between baby daddies." The cashier was dumbfounded. Was this bulbous woman implying that she was pregnant? The statement caught the young girl completely off guard and she was at a loss for words.
"Just take my damn money and be done with it, ya little whore." The cashier's hands were trembling as she took Rachel's money. The young girl was on the edge of tears mixed between the verbal assault and the long hours she had already put in. Rachel saw the distraught expression on the girl's face and gave a smirk of satisfaction. When the cashier gave Rachel her change, the large woman turned and immediately waddled toward the exit.
"I'll eat dog food before I eat here again!" the rotund woman called out walking through the glass doors.
The next morning, Rachel awoke and rolled over to one side to pull herself out of bed. The box springs groaned with a horrific metallic agony as they tried desperately to support her weight. Slight cracking sounds erupted from one of the beams within the bed, giving their daily threat to snap. Once she sat up, Rachel immediately began thinking about getting doughnuts. It was a ritual that she stuck with every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Maple bars were one of her many Achilles heels, and she would do just about anything to get one.
The best place to get maple bars in town was a small shop called, Henry's Holes. It was a popular establishment and well-known throughout town to have the best doughnuts around. The pastries were always fresh and tasted like they just came out of some heavenly oven baked by angels with powdered sugar wings. It was also convenient that the doughnut shop was just a few blocks away from her apartment complex. Rachel figured it was a good exercise to walk down and pick up a dozen of her favorites every other morning. What she often failed to realize was that eating an entire box of frosted goodies for breakfast and lunch would offset any health benefit of her brief walk.
As Rechel walked into the doughnut shop that morning, she saw that it was far busier than it normally was that time of day. She imagined it as some kind of police convention in town as people filled every seat while others stood about, some with cups of coffee in their hands. Immediately, she was stricken with disgust and contempt. How dare they interrupt her regular routine? She hated when her favorite places were packed with people. She had been coming to Henry's long before anyone knew how good the pastries were, and Rachel felt betrayed by the very thing that gave her pleasure.
Realizing that the number of customers meant a reduction of doughnuts, she quickly waddled her way to the counter like a shark heading toward a baby seal. She looked over at the glass doors protecting the doughnuts and saw there was only one maple bar left. Squeezing her bulbous body through people sitting in chairs and others who were trying to pay, Rachel made her way to the doughnut without ever taking her eyes off its maple frosting. For a moment, she felt like she was fighting for her life to get to her essence of life. Just as Rachel reached the doughnut cabinet, a short, blonde-haired girl in a pink dress was opening the glass doors. They both began reaching for the last maple bar, but the little girl had the advantage. Just as the girl's fingers wrapped around the sides of the bar, Rachel grabbed the doughnut and snatched it away.
"You gotta be faster than that, little one," she said with a laugh. The little girl was shocked and somewhat heartbroken as maple bars were her favorite as well. As Rachel began trudging her way back to the counter to order her usual dozen doughnuts, she had an intense feeling that she was being watched. She looked back and met the little girl's eyes. Usually, Rachel would feel a sense of pleasure from seeing a little girl heartbroken. In this case, however, the facial expression was not one of sadness. If Rachel didn't know any better, she would assume it was one of sheer anger and rage. How could that come from such a little girl?
As the shop worker was preparing the randomized dozen that Rachel frequently ordered, the large woman felt this odd feeling that she was being watched. Looking back, she saw the little girl by the glass cabinet, who apparently hadn't moved since the maple bar was stolen from her fingers.
"Don't ya have parents, ya little brat?" Rachel called out to the girl. It was like the little one had become a solid statue of hatred standing in front of an empty doughnut cabinet. The staring made Rachel feel uneasy, and all she wanted to do was get her doughnuts and leave. Rachel picked up the maple bar and slowly took a bite of it, smiling at the little girl. After paying for the box of doughnuts, she slowly backed out of the shop taking even slower bites of the maple bar in an attempt to taunt the little girl into crying.
Not a tear came to the little girl's eyes.
As Rachel began making her way home, she finished the maple bar and began rooting through the box for another treat. Unfortunately, the box of randomized doughnuts was anything but randomized. Six glazed, three with white frosting, and three chocolate cake doughnuts were apparently all that was left at Henry's.
"Fucking pigs," she said to herself angrily that so many people tapped out all of the good doughnuts before she could get to the shop. As she pulled one of the glazed doughnuts out of the box, a car's backfire scared a group of nearby doves rooting around the bus stop looking for bits of anything to eat. They flew directly into Rachel's path and collided with her and the box of doughnuts. The barrage of birds knocked the box out of her hands and knocked the large woman off her feet. As the birds flew off, she looked down to see half of her doughnuts sprawled across the sidewalk. Rachel wasn't comfortable bending down to pick anything up as her knees had a habit of giving out due to the stress of carrying her weight. Somehow, though, she managed to get down low enough to pick up the box and started retrieving the doughnuts. Even though some had bits of dirt and other sidewalk grime, Rachel had no problem eating them anyway. She believed since she paid for the doughnuts, she was going to enjoy them one way or another. Standing upright after picking up the remnants of a broken glazed doughnut, she looked into the box. A couple of feathers were stuck to one of the white frosted pastries.
"Fucking birds," she said loudly pulling the feathers out of the box. As she began to walk, she picked up a broken half of a glazed doughnut and put it into her mouth. It tasted fine to her, outside of the small piece of dirt she bit into which slightly vibrated her teeth.
As Rachel continued the short trek to the apartment complex, she found herself passing an elderly man sitting up against a wall of one of the buildings. His feet were slightly over the edge of the sidewalk as he held out a styrofoam cup asking for spare change. The man's face was weather-beaten, and his mouth had one handful of teeth. It was clear that he had seen far better days. By the time Rachel had approached the old man, she had become incensed at the idea that his feet were over the sidewalk. Making her way to the further edge of the sidewalk away from the man, she stared down at him with disgust.
"Would ya happen ta have a dollar or two?" he asked holding out his cup.
"Why don't you get a job, you lazy fuck? I'm so tired of seeing trash like you piled up against my house. If you don't leave me alone, I'll call the cops," she angrily responded. The tone in her voice was harsh while accompanying the worst attitude the old man had experienced in quite a long time.
"I just asked for a dollar, ya miserable cunt," the elderly man said looking away from her.
"How dare you!" Rachel yelled back through a gasp from the comment. She continued to storm her way toward her apartment building, fueled by a mixture of anger and hunger. The one doughnut was simply not enough, but she wanted to get home to wash them down with a glass of milk.
That night, Rachel was snuggled up with her chihuahua on the couch watching a bit of late-night television. Orange dust was smeared across the upper half of her shirt thanks to binging on a tub of cheese puffs she had for a snack after eating nearly thirty dollars worth of take-out tacos. The empty doughnut box lay upside down in front of the couch with a few bits of crumbs scattered across the carpeted floor. She was flipping through the channels until a news flash caught her eye. There was a report about a train carrying toxic materials that derailed just outside of town. The train spilled its contents into the river while contaminating nearby camping areas that were in use.
"It's unknown how many people were affected by the toxic material, but officials state that several groups of campers were sent to the hospital for immediate care," the news reporter stated.
"Oh, that's a shame," Rachel said looking down at her pet, "we don't have to worry about anything like that, do we, Max?" The small dog looked up at his owner, shaking with excitement as small dogs do when someone speaks to them.
"I think it's time for a late-night snack." Because of her size, Rachel had to pull herself up from the couch by using a rocking motion. The idea was to build up enough momentum that her weight would travel forward allowing her to stand on her feet and away from the furniture. As she stood, both of her knees expelled a rackety pop, which was loud enough to frighten the chihuahua away from his comfortable place on the couch. At first, she was worried that maybe she didn't have enough to eat at dinner, which was only about an hour prior. By the time she had reached the fridge in the kitchen, Rachel felt famished.
At first, she started with the leftovers from several days past. It was a rotisserie chicken that still had a bit of meat clinging to its legs and back. Standing in front of the fridge, she continued to pick every morsel of meat, fat, and skin from the bird that could be found. As she lifted the back of the bird, she found a grease-covered, partially cooked feather stuck to the bottom of the tray.
"Well, that's about disgusting. Last time I buy chicken from McCale's," she said dumping the tray of bones into the trash. She had frequented McCale's Grocery since Rachel moved into the apartment building. It was about half of a mile in the opposite direction of Henry's, which she felt gave her perfect access to food regardless of what direction she walked or drove. By the time she dumped the tray of bird remnants into the trash, Rachel realized she was still quite hungry.
Grabbing a small, purple, plastic container from the fridge she walked over to the microwave. It was leftover instant potatoes that she made more than a week ago. Opening the lid, she looked inside to see a bit of liquid sloshing around near the bottom. Rachel reached over and pulled a spoon out of the sink that was covered in small bits of dried, soft dog food she used to feed Max earlier that morning. Quickly, she stirred in the liquid and proceeded to microwave the potatoes to heat them up.
After a few moments, the microwave rang out a beeping sound. Rachel flung open the microwave door and then shoveled heaping spoonfuls of steaming potatoes into her mouth. It didn't take long before she finished the container and tossed it into the sink. The satisfaction of feeling full was short-lived as her stomach began to growl once again.
"What the hell?" she asked looking down at Max. The small dog stood in the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen. She then began to pour herself a bowl of cereal as her stomach began to feel as though the food was vanishing from within her gut. Every moment that passed made her feel like she was starving.
"Like those kids in the commercial," she thought to herself as Rachel topped the cereal with milk. Within a few brief moments, that, too, found its way into her stomach. Yet again, she felt as though she still hadn't eaten anything.
One by one, the large woman began snacking on just about anything she could find in the kitchen. Chips, crackers, a diet protein shake that was given to her as a gag gift from the kids in the building - it all slid down her throat as she gorged on anything she could find. It wasn't until she tried to cram a lunch-meat sandwich into her stomach that she began to feel odd. Suddenly, everything she recently ate came up all over the kitchen counter where she stood. Rachel began to vomit uncontrollably and rushed herself to the bathroom as quickly as her stout little legs could carry her. By the time she was done hurling the contents of her stomach into the toilet, she made her way back to the kitchen to clean up the mess. Rachel immediately thought that the waiter at Tony's got her sick somehow.
"Great, the little fuck gave me the flu," she said to Max, who was watching her with great concern. His little body continued to shake with every syllable she uttered. By the time she cleaned up the counter, Rachel got the overwhelming urge to eat again. After all, she just emptied everything from her stomach.
"Maybe I can just have some crackers," she said to herself reaching into the cabinet to retrieve a large, unopened box of saltines. The large woman then made her way back to the couch while opening the box to begin eating the crackers.
It didn't take Rachel long to empty the entire box of saltines. She tried to keep her mind off of her stomach by watching more late-night television as she tossed the empty box next to the doughnut box on the floor. Yet, it didn't take long for her stomach to start growling once again. Worried that it had something to do with the flu, the large woman tried to hold off heading back to the kitchen for as long as she could. The urge to eat was so overwhelming that Rachel found herself walking to the kitchen before she realized what she was doing.
Opening the door to the fridge, she proceeded to eat everything she could get her hands on. Sliced cheese, a jar of mayonnaise, hot dogs, and even an old package of expired and slimy shredded cheese were all part of this horrible late-night snack. Eventually, she sat on the floor and kept eating everything within the appliance within arm's reach. No matter how much she ate, her stomach felt as though it were completely empty. It wasn't until she realized she was using grape jelly as a dipping sauce for a hard stick of butter that she thought the problem was worse than just a simple flu.
After the packaging of the foods had been licked clean, she tossed them aside. She sat on the floor, both legs spread out like a rabbit-ear antenna amongst the debris of empty packages and cartons of various foodstuffs. Max finally made his way into the kitchen and sniffed the remnants looking for something to snack on as well. A few hours had passed and the fridge had finally been emptied out. It was only then that Rachel felt as though her stomach was starting to feel full. She had a hard time breathing as the expansion of her stomach began to press against her diaphragm. Pulling herself up off the floor using the nearby counter, the stench of aged vomit and fresh Lysol wipes hit her nose. Leaning against the counter, she bowed her head while breathing heavily, waiting for the "flu" to kick everything she ate back out. For the second time that night, she hobbled herself to the toilet to vomit.
When she came back to the kitchen, after her battle with the porcelain throne, she dropped herself into one of the chairs that stood next to the small kitchen table. Before her was a mess that she could only describe as a bomb going off in her fridge. A vast portion of the floor was unrecognizable as empty containers were strewn about.
Rachel sat back in the chair and looked at the freezer standing in the opposite corner of the kitchen from the refrigerator. It was taller than she was and loaded with a vast variety of edibles. She never wanted to be without food in the house and often hoarded as much as possible. Almost instantly, she started to feel hungry yet again. As if driven by pure instinct, she began scooting the chair closer to the upright freezer. Once she was within arms reach, she opened the door to the treasures within. Frozen meats, ice cream, popsicles, and a considerable amount of fruits and vegetables in bags were staring at her as if taunting the heavy woman to eat some more.
As soon as she saw the frozen foods, Rachel's stomach started to growl once again, and she was overcome with the desire to continue eating. Only, this desire was more of an extreme ache to fill her empty stomach once again. At this point, tears were starting to fill her eyes as she reached for the packages of frozen meats.
"What's wrong with me, Max?" she cried to her furry little friend. The chihuahua stood staring at his master, still shaking as little dogs often do.
Over the next few hours, Rachel consumed several pints of ice cream while the meats were thawing in the microwave. She continued to eat any foods she could find in the cupboards while cooking a large number of steaks, burgers, and skinless chicken breasts. The smell of the apartment reminded her of a steakhouse as all burners were fired and cooking different types of meat. As an added treat, she also had a large roast in the oven. The temperature of the kitchen was such that it caused her body to soak through her blouse and sweatpants. Once the meats were cooked, Rachel quickly consumed them as well.
At that point, she could feel how expanded her stomach had become. It was getting next to impossible for her to move, and Rachel knew that it was going to cause a lot of internal damage. For the third time that night, she slowly waddled to the bathroom to relieve the pressure by throwing up. However, this time was slightly different. Less food seemed to come up and out than before and a swell of pain was coming from her abdomen.
Half an hour had passed and Rachel emerged from the bathroom wiping the remnants of vomit from her lips. She felt weak and was finding it difficult to keep her legs moving. To her, it felt like someone tossed a heavy medicine ball into her gut when she wasn't looking. Making her way to the couch, she tossed a look back at the shambles of a kitchen. Again, her stomach started to growl, only this time, it was with greater intensity.
Rachel had to eat some more.
Stepping over the debris of wrappers and packaging strewn across the floor, she made her way to the cabinets. One by one, she opened and ate every canned food that remained. She proceeded to eat this way with terrible fervor. Every time she would fill her stomach to a certain point, she had to vomit. With each trip to the bathroom, less and less of the food would come up. Her abdomen felt as though she had swallowed a bowling ball. After every trip to the bathroom, there was another round of eating.
Raw noodles, tea bags, a pound of sugar, flour, and anything else that could be easily opened found its way into her stomach. At one point, she was sitting at the table eating the rest of the coffee grounds with a spoon.
"This actually isn't that bad," Rachel said to Max with a mouthful of grounded coffee. She inhaled a large amount of snot that had been running down her upper lip from crying.
After the last round of vomiting in the bathroom, she walked into a kitchen that was completely void of food fit for humans. Empty packages licked clean, boxes, foil wrappings from butter, spices...she had consumed it all and flushed most of it down the toilet. Like multiple times before, Rachel's stomach began to growl again. She didn't know what else to do as everything that could have been eaten, was. In the back of her mind, a little voice was telling her to call for an ambulance. What was happening was far beyond the flu. However, a much louder and more pronounced voice told Rachel that the emergency medical technicians would just tell her to stop eating.
The only edible items left in the kitchen were the cans of pate she had bought for Max. An image of a cartoon dog danced before her eyes on the label as if prompting her to try it out. She opened one of the cans and tasted the contents. Looking down, she saw her little companion licking his lips at the sight of his can of dog food.
"It's actually not all that bad, Max. It reminds me of Spam," she said to the shaking pup. One after another, Rachel ate the cans of dog food while tossing the empties to the floor. Max licked each one clean trying to get a taste of what should have been his dinner. Licking the last can clean, Rachel thought how she should have saved some of the crackers to go with the pate.
Rachel plopped her entire weight onto the couch, which erupted with a loud creak of fracturing wood. Her shirt was covered in bits of condiments, dog food, and vomit. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying while her face was smeared with various foods and sauces. She breathed a deep sigh of relief as it seemed she was no longer starving to death. It was nearly two-thirty in the morning and the large woman was exhausted mentally and physically.
Like a tidal wave brought on by a tsunami, she felt the urge to eat once more. Rachel instantly started crying as she looked back at the trashcan sitting next to her back door in the kitchen. It contained the only thing left in the house to eat. The loud voice from before told her that since it was her trash, it would be alright. Mustering what strength she had left, Rachel got back to her feet and made her way into the kitchen. She was unable to control herself as she took one thunderous step after another. The large woman could feel how much weight she gained over the past few hours as her clothes began to feel tight. It was as if some of the food she had eaten burst through her stomach and took residence elsewhere within her. Each footfall was met with an increasing sob as she couldn't believe what she was about to do.
She was on the verge of eating trash.
A strange wave of comfort began to console her as Rachel neared the trash can. As she got within distance of grabbing the receptacle with her hands, she began to feel comfortable diving into the can in order to quell her hunger. Like a bear mauling a small animal, she dropped onto the trash can and spilled its contents across the floor. The smell was next to ungodly as she sifted through packages, papers, and vomit-covered Lysol wipes. It had been a collection of refuse accumulating over the past week or so.
First, she began picking edible morsels of anything she could find. Moldy cheese, rotting pieces of leftover steak from the week before, and the chunky residue from an old carton of milk found their way down Rachel's gullet. When every morsel of food was completely removed from the trash, she began feverishly licking the packages.
As soon as everything was sufficiently cleaned of recycled foods, she looked over at the Lysol wipes she used to clean the counter from her first bout of vomiting. There were chunks of cereal and partially digested chicken staring at her with horrific temptation. Her hand was trembling as she reached for the wipes. Tears filled her eyes once again as she realized what her body was trying to do. Quickly, her hands snatched up the wipes and Rachel began licking them clean as well. At that point, something didn't sit well in her stomach and she felt the urge to vomit once more. Unlike the first bout, however, she decided to make sure everything that came up would go directly into the toilet and flushed. Rachel vowed she would not be eating everything for a second or third time.
The large woman slowly crawled her way out of the bathroom. Her sheer size was almost too much for her arms to handle, and she felt like she was getting bigger. Rachel's stomach felt as though she swallowed battery acid and her nasal cavity burned. It was all she could do to muster up the strength to slightly move her legs across the floor. She pondered the thought of picking up the phone and calling for help. Again, the loud voice in her head told her that everyone would laugh at her when they showed up.
That she would be in the news for eating garbage.
Rachel put her head on the floor while finally being able to relax. She was ultimately exhausted, her abdominal muscles were on fire from the constant flexing, and her breathing was raspy and faint. There was literally no food left in the house to eat. If she felt hungry again, she didn't know what she would do.
As she laid on the floor drooling into the carpet, Max came up to her and sniffed her face. The small chihuahua was obviously concerned about his master and began to whine. Lifting her head to look over at the small brown dog, her stomach promptly began to rumble. The loud voice in her head told her it would be like eating Mexican food. A phrase ran through her mind immediately afterward...
Yo quiero, Taco Bell.
She reached out to grab the dog as fast as her inflated arms could move. Max, being the hyperactive breed he was, retracted with amazing speed and ran away, looking for a place to hide in the bedroom. Getting to her hands and knees, Rachel followed.
"Come here, Max. Momma needs you," she said crying while in hot pursuit. Once in the bedroom, she slammed the door with her foot to prevent the small dog from escaping.
It was close to four in the morning when Rachel emerged from the bedroom. Her legs were barely able to support her weight as she stumbled toward the couch. She dropped into the cushions, and at that time, the force of her body being pulled by gravity broke the bottom sections of the piece of furniture. The legs of the couch gave way, sliding across the room in all directions and the entire couch landed on the floor with a loud thud. The large woman was still so very hungry to the point where she believed she was starving to death.
Without a single crumb of food in the house, she got the overwhelming urge to start eating a magazine sitting next to her on the coffee table. Rachel began ripping out piece after piece of the pages and consumed the entire issue of "Delicious Home Recipes" in under ten minutes. In a fit of rage mixed with determination, she began tearing into the couch cushions with her bare fingers. It was her hope that the foam would fill her stomach to the point of feeling full. Tearing into the piece of furniture with the ferocity of a feral animal, she bumped the table standing next to her. An empty glass fell and exploded into shards across the floor.
Rachel looked over at the pieces of glass and instantly felt a wave of terror. She knew what was coming next and was unable to stop herself from doing anything about it. One piece at a time, she picked up the glass and started to chew. It was like someone else had control of her body and she was just along for the ride. The shards of glass began cutting into her gums and cheeks, quickly filling her mouth with blood. As she swallowed the shards, Rachel could feel them cutting into her throat on the way to her stomach.
"No!" she tried to scream. The damage to her mouth and throat prevented her from actually yelling out in a coherent fit. She quickly pulled herself up and off of the couch, something she was never able to do in the past. The large woman was on a clear mission, and nothing was going to stop her as she made her way to the bathroom.
Flinging the cabinet doors open, she began to grab every pill and liquid she could find and consumed it all. She had to end this any way she could. Her only thought while swallowing all of the medication, beauty supplies, mouthwash, and aspirin was to reach peace through death. When all of the contents of the medicine cabinet were consumed, she moved on to the cleaning supplies under the skink.
Eventually, Rachel emerged from the bathroom, waddling almost mindlessly about as if an extra from a zombie movie. Walking into the bedroom, she let gravity pull her down onto the mattress. She stared up at the ceiling feeling every nerve in her mouth, throat, and stomach firing off as if in some kind of war for dominance. The chemicals she had consumed were starting to work. The urge to eat was completely cone, and she had found peace at last. Her eyes began to weigh down as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Her last thought was...
"Finally."
*****
Molly stood next to the door to the apartment while David, the property manager, fumbled for his keys. She was an aging woman, adorned with a long, white gown with curlers in her hair. The old woman reminded David of nearly every old-person joke cartoon he had seen in his life.
"I'm telling you, there was a commotion the other night, and now the hall smells like death," Molly said in a hushed tone. She was one of those nosey neighbors that didn't want others to know she was watching them.
"How long ago? Because it reeks to high hell in here."
"Oh, I don't know. Four or five days? Are you gonna open the door or not?"
"Gimme a sec to find the key," David replied with a gruff tone in his voice. This particular apartment complex was the bane of his existence. If it wasn't the young couple on the first floor constantly throwing things out the window during fights, it was the old woman calling every ten minutes to complain about the rest of the tenants. He often thought about selling the building and moving to somewhere tropical. David often complained how Rachel Raymond was a "world-class pain in the ass." From the tropics, he wouldn't have to worry about her waddling into the office to bitch about this, that, or the other.
He opened the door to the apartment and was hit by a stench that he knew would take some time to clear before the next renter came around. Walking through the apartment, he saw the wreckage of a couch and the grotesque scene in the kitchen. As he made his way toward the bedroom, he saw Rachel's bloated body laying on the mattress. Several small sections of her body were completely missing as a little chihuahua was actively pulling chunks of flesh off the corpse.
"Max?" Molly yelled from across the apartment. David was so fixated on the state of the apartment that he didn't notice the old woman following several feet behind. The chihuahua pulled itself from gnawing on the leg of the corpse and stood his ground against the intruders. The dog's face was soaked with dried blood as skin and other tissue fibers clung between its teeth, which began overly visible as Max snarled.
"Well, looks like you're not getting your deposit back," David said callously to the corpse.