The door swung open. And not in a smoooooth motion, one guided by a controlling hand. No, it swung open because whoever was on the other side of it just gave it one big shove and let momentum do the rest. The reason why was soon clear: The newcomer's arms were completely full of food. And very rich, decadent food, by the look of it. So, she had bumped the door open with what she DID have available: her belly.
And, sticking as far out from the rest of her as it DID, this belly seemed uniquely qualified for the task.
This lady...this fat, fat, fatty fat of a lady...well, she was fat. Not, in itself, a SURPRISE, of course, given their current location, but Bethany was accustomed to a certain LEVEL of fatness. And it was a LEGITIMATE level! Not just chubby or plump, no SOLIDLY fat, GENUINELY fat, a fat past the use of cutesy euphemisms. It was a level of fat Bethany herself belonged to, and though she certainly intended to graduate to a HIGHER level of fatness (her time at Buttercombe, indeed, more valued for helping facilitate THAT graduation rather than any graducation of a more academic sort) she was usually pleased that she was among the fatter students at Buttercombe, and even those who DID surpass her were still in the same general weight class.
THIS chick, though? Next level fat. Totally and completely. She hated speculating on weight...because, inevitably, she'd be wrong, and underestimating her own gains were infuriating and crushing disappointments, so she'd fallen out of the habit of even trying to guess hers or others...but if she DID have to guess this new roomie's weight (and she was so intrigued, she sort of DID have to guess), it would be easily past 450, maybe even somewhere deep in the sacred grove of 500, but Bethany didn't even want to CONSIDER that possibility; to a fat-centric worldview like hers, admitting that somebody close to her own age could achieve that level of fat was like admitting a personal failing on her own part.
A member of the faculty being that fat, as some of them almost definitely were by this point? Sure, fine, she could accept that, they'd had extra years and long-term access to the hog heaven of Buttercombe and even extra benefits and disposable income to spend however they wanted, it made sense, it was just something to aspire to.
But THIS? Only a year divided her and this supersized senior, but so did well over a hundred pounds, maybe TWO hundred pounds.
As she soaked in her roommate's appearance, several thoughts and feelings jostled for prominence. Surprise? Anger? Respect? Jealousy? Curiosity? Awe? Annoyance? Arousal?
But then, after moving her eyes up past the wide, thick, knee-slappingly massive belly...the soft doughy middle of the immense midriff, complete with an alluring deep bellybutton, poking out between the top and bottom of what was a VERY LARGE but still inadequate uniform..and a very substantial chest, she finally started noticing something besides her physique. And saw the perfectly symmetrical, disproportionately thin face with meticulously done make-up and luxurious lashes and dyed-blond GLEAMING hair and flawless lightly-tanned skin and chipper eyes and expensive earrings and lipsticked mouth wearing a winning smile, and then...
...THEN Bethany knew what emotion she was feeling most of all.
Hate.
She was feeling hate.
The woman, apparently finally realizing that burden of introductions were falling on HER and not the 300-pound-or-so Junior staring at her with a strange facial expression, decided to at last say something.
"Hi there! I suppose we'll be roommates, hm? Should be wonderful! My name is Giovanna Bell. And you?"
"...Bethany Taft" came the response, alongside a guarded narrowing of eyes, as if unsure this information should be surrendered so easily.
"Bethany? Great to meet you! I'm sure our time together will be splendid. Now! Mind if I put all this food down somewhere?"
"Well, yeah. Go for it."
"Thank you! Although, I should ask..."
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