Built to Drink - P1 (WG)

When did she ever become drunk this easily?

Jessica sipped back her scotch once more, ignoring the sting in the back of her throat. Enough strength behind that flavor to distract her from the loud noise--music. Technically music. More like electronic beats without melody. Without taste, either. Just left her with a headache, her eyes sore, unfocused.

Part of her wanted to go home. Melissa was already blathering off with some guy in the corner. Jessica knew him from somewhere. College? Maybe a coworker back at the theater? Didn't matter. He seemed alright. He got a cute butt. Probably all Melissa cared about right now. Neither of them were looking for any serious relationships. Just a quick night out. Not that a boyfriend or girlfriend would be totally unwelcome, just not financially feasible.

Still, she only had two scotches. Not enough to get this light headed.

Conversations flew by her ears like oil atop water—sliding about, never mixing or connecting with anything. She wanted to go home. She wasn't having any fun anymore.

She had finally been able to squeeze into this black dress, too. She hadn't worn it since before high school, and now it was wasted. Or, at least, wasted tonight There'd be other days where she felt more with it. She'd show off her sexy body then, see those boys—and hopefully a couple ladies—turn and stare at her tight derriere, and hear them call her sexy and fabulous, hot and alluring. Maybe a boy, for the first time in probably five years, would not think “nerd” or “dork” or “crazy chunky cat lady” when they saw her.

She hated that last one.

Dogs were so much better than cats.

And, for the first time in five years, she wasn't fat.

She pushed that thought to the back of her head, the same way she brushed her brown bangs out from her eyes, the same way she pushed herself back from the bar, stood up on her own two legs—and then almost barfed over the floor. She didn't. She managed to hold herself together, but she hadn't realized how sick she felt until rising to her feet. The gravity pulling her slim limgs down, dragging down at her waist—too much. Too much at once.

She rushed to the bathroom, and ended up lingering in the stall. She never upchucked, but she remained there, breathing steadily, as the room that span around her began to steady—slow at first, then more. Once she had herself composed, she went to the sink. She adjusted her glasses, which had gone askew in her rush, and gazed at her reflection.

Slim, heart-shaped face, framed by brown hair that could hang down to her shoulders. She used to tie it into a ponytail, but stopped once she realized it made her cheeks look chubbier. She had green eyes—flakes of brown within—the longer she gazed, the more flakes of other, fairer shades she noticed. She had a bit of a button nose, upturned. Stereotypical cute nose.

She realized, though, staring at herself, that her boobs took up far less space than she remembered.

Small price to pay to be fit.

Small price to pay to be sexy.

Even if Jessica just felt small and scrawny more than anything right now.

She leaned back, running a hand over her forehead, squeezing her her, tugging at her scalp. “Snap out of it. Calm down. Just breathe.” She obeyed her instructions, and, slowly, the anxiety settled.

She forgot how she got home.

She woke up in her bed with her head pounding. Melissa sat upside in the seat across from her, snoring. She wasn't wearing underwear.

She went to make her favorite hang-over food in college—sunny-side down eggs on top of pancakes—but stopped herself. The last time she ate that, she had a spare tire that burst through her front button. That had been seven months ago, and, even then, she had been working like a dog to get fit. Even if her head throbbed, even if her pores burst with sweat that wanted to gush out like a geyser, she restrained herself. She held herself back.

She ate dry toast instead, to settle her belly.

Once full, she laid back, head still sore, patting her belly. It felt hard, even though one look at Melissa showed her what true skinniness was like. Melissa, still sporting that purple strip of hair among her boyish dark hair, was scrawny. Even though Jessica had seen that girl eat a ton, she still had the body of a ten year old girl. Scrawny, short, and all that noise.

Still a cutie, though.

Jessica was sipping tea by the time Melissa rolled to her feet. She didn't stay steady, and fell just short of a few steps on. “Damn it, head hurts. Jess, make me something.”

“What?”

“Make me fooood. Need fooood.”

“Make it yourself.”

“But Jesssssss—!” Melissa fell on top of Jessica's shoulder. She could feel her drool. “You always make the best food. Don't let me cook. I'll burn the apartment again.”

She did that freshman year of college, making popcorn. The whole machine ignited in seconds, sending plumes of black smoke along the ceiling. It was a very unpretty sight. “Yeah, well, you can't.”

“Whyyyyy?”

“Because I don't feel like cooking.”

“You're a bitch, letting your poor roommate starve.” Melissa sniffled so dramatically that Jessica knew it couldn't be real. “While I slave away at work, here you sit, doing stretches—”
“I'm yoga instructor.”

“—and running around doing nothing—!”

“I job around a bit. Sue me.”

“—while I make money.”

“I have a job too. I teach yoga and substitute teach.” Best jobs she could find. Somehow Melissa's uncle got her a job as a programmer. Melissa would spend hours working from her computer in nothing but a bra and panties, going crazy as she typed and examined code. To this day, Jessica had no idea how Melissa did it. Looking at that monitor for five seconds gave her a headache.

Melissa shrugged “Look, you ought to get a job.”

Jessica had spent a solid four months receiving rejection letters. She slowed down since then, applying to the jobs that looked best, and only those. She still received rejections, but there were far few and she still had some source of income. It didn't seem so awful from that perspective, even if her success rate remained consistent at zero.

“Well, look, I'll talk to people. Maybe get you work. You can always bartend again.”

She paid for a few classes with bar-tending. Those were fun nights, talking to people, particularly about alcohols. She had been thinking about those nights a lot, but, right now, the thought of booze made her sick.

She never used to feel that way.

Especially after, what, three beers? If that?

“You got wasted last night,” Melissa laughed, “Do you remember it?”

“Do you?”

“I never black out,” Melissa replied, “You were pole dancing on the bar and everything, and you kept sneezing into people's faces. You kept asking for a Bernard, too.”

“Really?”

“Maybe. I dunno. I might've dreamed that, but it's the best recreation of last night that you got.”

“I wasn't that drunk.”

“Maybe. But you were drunk. You're so weak.”

Three beers. She one time threw back a whole six pack of Sam Adams on her own without feeling it. Sure, it was over the course of two hours, but she shouldn't feel this big of a difference.

Jessica ended up making Melissa her old hangover meal. Watching her tear into it made her feel a little jealous. She could eat whatever the fuck she wanted, and just burn it off talking or programming or whatever her secret was. She felt kind of weak. She had to work out constantly. Which reminded her that her yoga class was in four hours. She had to do all that with a hangover on top of everything. She'd figure out some good poses, maybe some that would take care of her stupid hangover.

“You know what your problem is?” Melissa asked.

“What is it?”

“You're a lot skinnier than what you used to be. Your body gets drunker faster.”

It made sense almost as soon as Melissa said it. Obvious, really. What kept her from seeing it? Stupidity, most likely. Maybe willful ignorance. She had downed that whole six pack at her heaviest weight of two-hundred-thirty-three. She remembered feeling so fluffy and soft after that—not just physically, but also mentally, if that made any sense at all. She remembered laying back, burping a little, and clinging to everyone around her in that dorm, babbling to them about whatever was on their mind. Usually, they listened too—probably not due to Jessica's beautiful rhetoric, and more because they were too drunk to ignore her.

She woke up with hardly any hangovers.

Since then, she had lost over one hundred and twenty pounds. Working out, eating right, it was the right decision. Awesome nights like that were worth sacrificing for a perfect body.

She told herself that all day, even as she was doing yoga. A few of her students, she noticed, were portly, but still held some of the best poses she had ever seen. One such person was an older student—mid thirties named Ashley. Jessica couldn't stop staring at that brown haired woman, curles bouncing in unison to her tummy as she moved, gracefully as any other student despite her thick arms and chubby thighs. Her body should've been too chunky and clumsy to do yoga, but—and Jessica had no shame saying this—Ashley was better at yoga than she could ever dream of being. Any pose Jessica assigned, and Ashley replicated it to the best of her ability. Staight limbs, no shaking—didn't even come hard to her.

“You ought to be an instructor,” Jessica told her after class, “You're amazing at this.”

Ashley blushed. “That might take way too much time away from my boys.” Her voice was raspy. “Just a handful, the both of them. This is my 'me' time. Can't spend it trying to make it a job.”

Jessica never brought up her chubby body. That would be inappropriate. Still, she thought about it. Took it in. Ashley's face was round. She had a slight double chin when she smiled—and she did a lot of that while talking about her boys.

Ashley wasn't nearly as wide as Jessica had been, but she had some chunks.

She probably could enjoy a drink.

It was dumb, but, for the next several days, she kept thinking about that. She loved alcohol. Some of her best memories in college were drinking a load, admitting to a ton of stupid things while inebriated, and then, the next morning, nursing her slight hangover with some ridiculous foods before going on with the rest of the day. She never got super sick or had big headaches. Not before she got slim.

How bad would it be to be just a little bit curvier? She could gain a small, manageable amount of pudge—nothing serious. She lost over a hundred pounds through sheer willpower alone. Surely something minor like fifteen—no, twenty—should be well within her capabilities. Besides, she'd still be physically active while gaining it. If she didn't like it at any stage, she could work it off in a matter of days.

This was just to make it easier for her to drink, though. Besides, with any luck, it'd all go to her boobs and hips, making her too sexy for any hot blooded man to resist.

Jessica played with this idea for a week before she spoke to Melissa. “Hey, can you help me gain twenty pounds?”

Melissa, who had been programming, didn't break the chattering. “Yeah? Why's that?”

“So I can drink more. Just twenty, though. Nothing more.”

“Yup. Juuust twenty.”

“Seriously, just that. I looked it up, and I should be able to drink an extra drink. I should be okay with that.”

“Indeed.”

“And I wouldn't look unattractive, either. I'd be perfectly healthy and fine.”

“Yup. You sure will.”

Satisfied, Jessica turned toward the fridge, and made herself a celebratory pancake.

Just twenty.