Bad Appetites: A Body Horror Novel

by Jon Athan

  Cindy swallowed the lump in her throat, then she said, “I'm fine.”

  Deki gazed deeply into her eyes, piercing through the windows to her soul. He said, “You have to follow my instructions. Good or bad, there are consequences for all of our actions. There is a price for everything. If you don't listen, if you continue to ignore me, you might end up paying more than $1000. Be careful, Cindy.”

  Deki patted her shoulder as he walked away. His touch was gentle, his aura was caring. He sought riches, but he wasn't a conniving salesman. He was a drug dealer with a conscience.

  Cindy sniffled and shuddered as she watched Deki from afar. She was unnerved by the man's ominous warning, but she could not muster the courage to confess. She simply stood and waited until he departed the gym.

  ***

  Cindy casually jogged on the treadmill. The equipment did not rattle or groan like it did before her dramatic weight loss. She could hear her thudding footsteps, but the noise sounded normal. For the first time since she signed up for the gym, she felt as if she blended with her peers. She was just another regular person participating in a regular exercise.

  She stared at her reflection on the mirror ahead and smiled. She blushed and shook her head, overwhelmed by the sweet sensation of relief. With the help of the miracle capsules, she had successfully killed the human blob. Her reflection was no longer distorted due to her weight. She could finally see her true self.

  With tears of joy brimming in her eyes, Cindy whispered, “Just a few more days and everything will be perfect. We can do this. We can keep moving forward. We can–”

  She grimaced as she felt a twinge on her right leg. A burning sensation, as if her leg were burned with a curling iron, emerged on her thigh. She staggered as she struggled to jog. She quickly tapped a button on the treadmill's control panel, slowing her jog to a leisurely stroll. The difference in speed, however, could not quell the pain.

  As she limped on the treadmill, Cindy tightly gripped the handles and leaned forward. She scrunched her face and moaned with agony. Hopping on one foot, she straightened her leg as if stretching would help in any way. Did I pull a muscle?–she thought. To her dismay, her ego would not allow her to ask for help.

  She glanced over at one of the treadmills to her right, then she nervously smiled and waved. A man walking on the neighboring treadmill constantly glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He tried to be inconspicuous about his prying, but the man stood out like a Democrat in Mississippi. At the same time, he seemed less concerned about calling for help and more hopeful about avoiding any gym drama.

  Cindy turned off the treadmill, then she limped across the gym. She stopped in the stretching area. She stared at her reflection on the floor-length mirrors and shook her head. She grabbed the ballet barre and stretched, hoping to sooth the pain in her leg. She tried to find a simple remedy for the pain, but to no avail. Her attempts were fruitless.

  The young woman's constant stretching only amplified the pain on her thigh. The peculiar injury was aggravated, burning like a gunshot wound rubbed with alcohol and lemon. She limped away from the stretching area and jostled her way into the neighboring restroom.

  There were two women standing in front of the sinks and mirrors to her left. The women took pictures of their 'progress' for their social media followers. In reality, they were only feeding their horny followers with revealing pictures to generate a larger following.

  Cindy ignored the pair and entered the last stall in the restroom. She could still hear the women chattering, but the blabber did not disturb her. She couldn't care less about their inane discussion. She pulled her leggings down, then she sat on the toilet seat. Her bottom lip quivered as she stared at her thigh.

  She didn't vomit or shit blood, but the discovery was equally worrisome. Her quadriceps were black and blue, bruised like a baby's banana. The massive inexplicable bruise covered most of her thigh. Around the bruise, the skin was still milky-white. Dark blue veins bulged across her leg like cool rivers coursing down a snowy mountain.

  Mystified, Cindy whispered, “Wha–What's... What happened? I didn't... I didn't hit myself, did I? I didn't bump into anything, right? No, it wasn't like this when I woke up... Was it? I wasn't–”

  She stopped her self-talk upon noticing the silence in the restroom. She didn't hear the door open or close, so she could only assume the women were standing still and eavesdropping. Their snooping was bothersome, but it was part of nature. Humans were naturally curious, especially in the face of tragedy and drama.

  If a woman were muttering to herself in a bathroom stall, inquisitive people would surely intrude.

  Cindy glared at the stall wall and muttered, “Bitches, mind your own goddamn business...”

  She trembled as she softly poked her injured thigh. The skin was coarse and grainy, like pavement. Baffled by the texture, she gently scratched the mutated skin – as if she were peeling a scab. She was able to scrape black crumbs off of her thigh. As she poked the scraped area again, dark blood oozed from the wound like pus from a pimple.

  The young woman's teeth chattered as she stared at the blood. A scab, she thought, it must be a scab. And, just like a negligent child, she picked at the presumed scab. She scratched her thigh like a gambling addict scraping the surface of a scratch card. The careless action only caused more blood to spill from her thigh.

  The blood streamed across her leg and plopped onto the clean floor. The blood was darker than any she had ever spilled before. She placed pressure on the wound with her fingertips, but the effort was fruitless – blood squirted from the wound on her leg and splattered onto the stall walls. The droplets streamed across the wall and plunged to the floor.

  The constant dripping sound – plop – echoed through the room.

  Teary-eyed, Cindy whispered, “Shit, shit, shit...”

  She pulled the toilet paper roll from the stall wall. Creating a makeshift bandage, she tightly wrapped the entire roll around her mutilated thigh. The blood still seeped through the sheets, but it became less noticeable with each layer. She tossed the empty toilet paper tube on the ground, then she slowly lifted her leggings to her waist.

  Cindy shambled out of the stall. She limped across the restroom and scowled at the two young women near the sinks. She didn't feel like wasting her time scolding the nosy couple. Instead, she trudged towards her exit.

  As Cindy opened the door, the brunette woman by the sink smirked and asked, “Aren't you going to wash your hands?”

  As she hobbled through the doorway, Cindy responded, “Fuck off, you stupid bitch.”

  Despite the catty women yelling every obscenity they could imagine at her, Cindy proudly limped out of the gym. Without a second thought, she fell into the driver's seat of her sedan, then she sped away from the building. She raced home, trying to escape another humiliating nightmare.

  Chapter Ten

  Eat or Be Eaten

  The phone vibrated across the nightstand as the shrill ringtone echoed through the apartment. The home was dark and eerie, swallowed by the ominous shadows. A slit of sunshine poured through the closed curtains and blinds, illuminating a small table under the window. Depression reigned supreme in the apartment, dousing the room in a melancholic darkness.

  Face planted in her pillow, Cindy blindly reached for her irritating phone. The lamp fell from the nightstand, wobbling as it collided with the ground. She lifted her head from the pillow as she finally grabbed the phone. She was annoyed to see Charlotte's picture and name on the screen. Her persistent calling had interfered with her abnormal sleeping schedule.

  Cindy whispered, “I don't want to talk. Just... Just leave me alone already.”

  She muted her phone, then she returned the device to the nightstand. She turned on her back and absently stared at the dusty ceiling. She was exhausted and apathetic, incapable of interacting normally with the world. Her roller coaster ride had reached a massive low, sending her to the deepest depths of her misery. She only wanted to
sleep, but she knew it wasn't an option.

  The troubled woman rolled to the edge of the bed, then she sat on the corner of the mattress. With her elbows on her knees, she covered her face with her hands and whimpered. Both of her thighs were burdened with the same inexplicable bruising. Her weight loss also continued at an alarming rate. With her newfound lethargy, she found herself incapable of fighting the capsules.

  Eyes brimming with tears, Cindy glanced at her phone and said, “Maybe I should give up. Maybe I should just call an ambulance. I'm... I'm no good like this. Even if I burn off the fat, I'll probably just end up dead. He was right. I... I messed up. I really–”

  Cindy inhaled deeply, then she burped and groaned. She held her hand over her mouth and lurched into her bathroom. She moaned with agony as she staggered to her knees. The hard tile flooring further damaged her injured legs. She persevered through the pain, though. She pushed the seat up, then she barfed into the toilet.

  She tightly closed her eyes as the thick vomit plunged into the water and splattered on the bowl. She panted as she struggled to catch her breath, then she vomited again. The barf burned her throat and tongue as the vomit spewed out of her mouth.

  As the nausea dwindled, the young woman leaned on the seat and flushed the toilet. She was irked by the bloody chunks of vomit, but she was relieved to see the water swirling down the drain. She leaned on the seat and stared at the remaining blood splattered on the bowl. She couldn't help but sob as she pondered her fate.

  Mouth full of saliva, Cindy cried, “Am I... Am I dying?”

  She limped into the living room. Through the darkness, she stared at her reflection on a full-body mirror beside her dresser. She had purchased the mirror after her first week of progress. She lifted her loose black t-shirt, revealing her black underwear and matching brassiere. Although she had lost over 130 pounds in a month, she was still disgusted by her figure.

  She wasn't a human blob, she was a deformed monster. Her skin began to droop across her body, sagging like the jeans on an arrogant teenager. Her legs and arms were still thick while the fat on her stomach burned at an accelerated rate. Although she still weighed over a hundred pounds, her ribs were visible on her torso, protruding on her skin like the bones on a starved child.

  As she stared at her ribs, Cindy whispered, “I didn't see them like this last night... What's happening to my body? Parts of me are still fat, others are... are skinny. What the hell is going on? Did... Did the fat just... move?”

  She couldn't find a reasonable explanation for her strange weight loss. She stared at her ribs and shook her head. Her curiosity got the best of her. She gritted her teeth and tapped her protruding rib. She staggered and screamed due to the pain – ow! The simple touch caused an insufferable twinge to echo across her body, as if her ribs were broken.

  As she recomposed herself, Cindy turned her attention to her reflection. She said, “I'm... I'm so damn ugly. Why did I do this to myself? Why didn't I go to the doctor? Why didn't I just eat? Why am I doing this?”

  Her body was blemished with pink patches and black bruises. Her legs suffered from the worse bruises while her arms and shoulders were burdened with rashes. Her stomach, on the other hand, remained milky-white. However, the texture of the skin surrounding her belly button was different. The drooping skin resembled a blob of rotten milk or cottage cheese.

  Cindy inhaled deeply as she carefully examined her stomach. Although the skin was not discolored like a rash or bruise, the texture was worrisome and even intriguing. She thought: is it the burned fat or is it rotting skin? She loudly swallowed and nodded, mentally preparing herself for another disgusting trek. She couldn't trump her curiosity, she could not stop her anxiety from running rampant.

  She gritted her teeth as she poked the flabby skin on her stomach. She grimaced in disgust as she stuck an inch of her finger into the roll of skin. She felt as if she had sank her finger into a bowl of pudding – moist and mushy. She wiggled her inserted finger around her stomach, as if she were turning a key in a lock – or perhaps cleaning out her belly button after years of neglect.

  Cindy gasped as she pulled her finger out. Her fingertip was drenched in dark blood. The blood streamed down her finger and across her hand. Due to her curious prodding, she left a hole in her stomach – and blood poured from the wound like water from a downspout.

  Cindy shouted, “Shit, shit, shit!”

  She rushed into the bathroom, slipping and sliding on the puddle of blood on the floor. She quickly retrieved half of the paper on the toilet roll, then she rolled the sheets as if she were rolling a joint. She stuffed the paper into the hole, effectively clogging the leak – a makeshift plug. The plug was quickly soaked in blood, but it was effective.

  Cindy said, “No, no, no. I can't keep going on like this...”

  ***

  Cindy returned to her bed, unnerved by the experience. Accepting defeat, she grabbed her phone, then she slowly dialed 911. She stopped before she could tap the vibrant green 'dial' prompt. Although her logical mind told her to call for help, her ego would not allow it. She considered her atrocious appearance and the ridicule she would receive from the hospital staff.

  Her insecurities struck fear into her heart – irrational but raw dread.

  Cindy wiped the tears from her eyes and whispered, “I can't do it...” She scrolled into her contacts, then she dialed Deki's number. As the shrill tone constantly repeated, the young woman murmured, “Please, answer me. Help me...”

  Deki answered, “Hello?”

  Wide-eyed, Cindy said, “Deki, it's Cindy. Cindy from the gym.” She held her hand to her chest, overwhelmed by the sudden relief. She said, “Thank you. Thank you so much for answering. You don't know how much that means to me.”

  “What? What are you talking about? What's going on?”

  “I'm... I'm sorry to bother you. I'm just going through something over here. You see, I'm... I'm sick. I'm sick and I think it's because of the capsules.”

  “You're sick? Okay... Well, let's... let's get this straightened out, okay? What are you feeling? What are your symptoms? Most importantly, how long have you been sick? Can you remember that for me, Cindy?”

  Cindy bit her bottom lip and shook her head. She blatantly lied to Deki about her illness at the gym. She tracked the origins of the sickness back to Charlotte's wedding reception. For three weeks, she had been vomiting and defecating blood. Only recently did her body begin to morph and crumble.

  Cindy sighed, then she confessed, “I... I lied to you, Deki. I was sick when you saw me at the gym last week and I was sick the week before that. I've been vomiting and... and shitting blood. I was just too embarrassed to admit it. I messed up, I know. I'm so sorry for not telling you. Please, help me. I don't want to die. Please.”

  Deki remained silent as he absorbed the news. He said, “Okay, so, you're probably bleeding internally. I think it might still be fixable, but...”

  “But, what?”

  “You have to be honest with me, Cindy. Is there anything else? Are you feeling lightheaded? Are you bleeding from anywhere else? Is the texture of your skin changing? Tell me the truth. I can't help you unless you're honest with me, okay?”

  Cindy sniffled and explained, “I'm all messed up, Deki. I'm falling apart. My skin is bruised, itchy, and loose. It–It's like I'm melting or something. I also... Shit, I also poked my stomach and blood started to come out of the hole. I just poked it and blood came out! I'm... I'm going to die, aren't I? It's over, isn't it?”

  Deki did not immediately respond. He cycled through the knowledge in his cluttered mind, searching for a solution to the bloody problem. In his years of dealing the miracle capsule, he had only heard of such grotesque side-effects. He did not have first-hand experience with Cindy's deteriorating physical condition.

  Deki coughed to clear his throat, then he said, “Well, it sounds like you're being eaten from the inside. You... You really should have called me sooner.”

  Cindy respo
nded, “I'm sorry...”

  “Don't waste your energy apologizing to me. If it's really this bad, I'm going to assume you haven't been eating like I told you to. So, here's what you're going to do: you're going to eat. You understand me, Cindy? I need you to eat as much as possible and I need you to pray the food reverses the side-effects of your missteps. Okay?”

  “Eat? Is that all? I... I thought that was a joke. I didn't think it would actually work for my diet. It just doesn't make sense.”

  “It doesn't matter anymore. You need to eat. If you don't, those capsules will start to consume your muscles, your organs, your bones... everything. You're out of options. Eat, Cindy. Eat or be eaten. Good luck.”

  “Wait, Deki. What do I eat? How do I know when it's been reversed? Deki? How will I know when I'm better?” Cindy asked with a furrowed brow. She glanced at her phone and whimpered – Deki disconnected from the call. She whispered, “Eat or be eaten...”

  Cindy lurched into her kitchen. She opened the fridge and peered into the interior. Unfortunately, due to her strict diet, she did not have a fridge stocked with fresh food. In order to survive, she had to make-do with her limited supplies. She grabbed a bundle of carrots and quickly chomped on the vegetables from the tip to the stem.

  As she munched on the carrots, she grabbed a carton of orange juice. The liquid coursed down her chin and neck as she chugged the juice, drenching her malformed torso. She wasn't technically eating, but she hoped the calories would help fight the vicious side-effects of the capsules.

  Wide-eyed, Cindy stared at the fridge door and said, “Butter.”

  She unwrapped the brick, then she took a bite of the cold butter – as if she were peeling and eating a banana. She gagged due to the pungent taste, but she refuse to slow down. She leaned over the counter and grabbed her jar of peanut butter. She tossed another brick of butter into the jar, then she quickly blended the creamy contents with a large spoon.

  With her life on the line, she did not care about the mess she created.