No.184
"Rise and shine!" you say, holding the sterling silver tray in front of you, a small pyramid of bread products wobbling precariously on it next to a goblet of freshly-made raspberry jam.
You hear a soft grumbling coming from the mess of white linen that covers the bed. Beneath the chaos of sheets you can make out her outline. She's sleeping face down, her cheek pressed against a pillow but her head and body completely blanketed in white. The sun is streaming through the open windows. She's fighting the light with darkness. You decide to try again.
"Wakey, wakey!"
Nothing.
"Rise and shine," you try again. This time you get a real reaction. Something moves underneath the bedsheets and the top blanket falls unceremoniously to the side of the bed, revealing the lower profile of a long and still youthful figure. You trace the delicate skin with your eyes, from its emergence at the hip, down along an endless leg. Hanging over the precipice of the mattress, you spy a cute little foot, different color nail polish painting each toe. Over the edge, at the base of the bed, is last night's outfit: a tiny floral print summer dress crumpled up in a pile, a matching bra and panties pair left on top, blue and white striped, cute but still conservative.
"What is it?" Taylor asks faintly, still in partial slumber, still wrapped up in comfortably a whirlwind of undersheets.
"Here. I brought you bagels."
"Bagels?" With that Taylor sits up cross-legged against the bedhead, flinging a shower of bread crumbs from the bed as her body twists upright, throwing the sheets off her and onto the end of the mattress. Her hair is declaring war on itself, and along with the smell of stale bread you get a strong whiff of pretty girl smell mixed with unwashed body odour. Despite the speed at which she sat up, she doesn't look very happy with you.
"Bagels again?" she asks. She looks sad. "We've been feeding me bagels for weeks now to make me look normal, and it hasn't worked." Her hand reaches down and touches her bloated stomach. "I can't possibly eat any more, and all this bagel eating has managed to do is force me to go bra shopping!" She lets out a little burp.
You take one look at her breasts and realize she's right. Over the past few weeks her breasts have become noticeably bigger and softer in your hands, and her areolas have become more puffy. In every other respect however, bloated stomach aside, she's exactly the same Taylor she always was.
"I'm not eating any more bagels!" she says defiantly, and turns her head away from you. You put the tray down on the mattress next to her. A bagel tumbles off and hits the carpet.
"They're chocolate chip," you tell her, picking one up from the tray and slicing it in two with a knife. She turns and looks at you, eyes widened with excitement. "And I have raspberry jam," you assure her as you spread it onto one half of the bagel. She studies your actions intently.
You finish spreading the jam and put the two halves back together, then you hold out the bagel to her, a dallop of red running down one side. Taylor looks at it happily. Without saying a word she takes it from you, and with both hands she starts eating it, staring down at the bed with a big smile on her face. As she continues taking bites and chewing slowly she closes her eyes. Crumbs are falling all over the bed.
