I Dare You (Pheacker)

Part II - Discomfort

What happened that one night happened... many more nights. For some reason, my drunk friends were really impressed with how much I could eat and decided to test the same dare out with a few different types of meals, all found at the bars we've visited. After wolfing down four entire plates of barbeque chicken bites, I'm almost feeling a bit queasy. It'd take a lot for me to actually throw up, so I don't feel in any danger of that. It's just that that's the most I've ever eaten at once.

George helps me to my dorm again, still seeming guilty, as always. It seems like he wants it to stop, like he feels bad for what they're putting me through, but he never says anything about it nor does anything to stop it. He sits me down on the bed for the sixth time this month and does his usual "dance" of should-I-leave-or-say-something? before ultimately deciding to just stand there. He sometimes just leaves, so I'm not sure what prompts him to stay and talk to me the nights he doesn't immediately leave. "What's up?" I ask him when he doesn't say anything for a minute. He seems really hesitant tonight.

"You seem like you're not feeling so well. Do you want me to stay?" George asks.

He's never actually asked to stay before, like that. This time, it seems like he's planning to stay for a bit longer. "Sure," I agree, feeling like maybe having him here will distract me from my stomach pains.

He comes up to my bed and sits next to me. "Does it hurt more than usual? You seem especially uncomfortable tonight," he says with concern.

I look at him, surprised. He's never outwardly showed this much concern. "No, it's okay," I say, sticking my hand under my shirt and rubbing my stomach a bit, the attention brought to it making it ache a bit again. "I can handle it."

He looks down at my stomach, a bit of concern still noticeable on his face. I look down as well. I've been noticing, but trying to ignore, the effects that these little truth or dare sessions have had on my belly. Even as tightly stretched full as my stomach is right now, my belly is still soft around it. I've definitely packed on a few pounds, no matter how much I try to ignore it. As I pull my hand away from my stomach and my shirt falls down, not even covering all of it until I pull it down myself, I can really see how my belly presses up against the shirt that used to fit perfectly on me a couple months ago. Obviously, the nights of Truth or Dare? weren't enough on their own to create this. This is partially my fault: not getting enough exercise in the days afterwards, and deciding to eat a bit too much extra every now and then. Exercising is just so bleh, and food is just so good, so it's hard! Since I've come to live here for college, I feel like I've gained at least fifteen pounds already. Is this the freshman fifteen everyone talks about? None of my friends have gained weight, at least not noticeably. It feels like my belly is pressed up tightly against my shirt right now, but even without a full stomach, it's noticeable.

George must've noticed me staring down at myself because the next thing he says is, "I'm sorry. I should have stepped in at some point to stop them from pressuring you to eat so much. It's already happened eleven times, and I did nothing, every time."

I look up at him, wondering why that was what finally prompted him to say something about it. "It's okay. The, uh... the freshman fifteen happens to a lot of college freshmen, right?"

George stares at me for a second before replying, "Philip, sorry to point this out to you like this, but that looks like a little bit more than fifteen pounds..."

I blink and look down at myself. It's close to fifteen, though, right? I get up and go into my bathroom, taking off my shirt and pants and getting on the scale. 130 pounds?! Well, that's only eighteen more pounds than what I weighed when I got here. So, yes, a bit more than fifteen, but not by much. It's probably a more healthy weight for my height, anyway. But if this keeps up, it'll definitely be much more than fifteen...

I sigh and look up at myself in the mirror. Of course, my stomach is still painfully stuffed full of food, so a pound or two could just be the food that hasn't digested yet. But that'll probably just add to my normal weight later on, anyway... I put my hands on my currently round belly and try to press it in. Nope, can't do that right now. Too full. I sigh again and pull my clothes back on, going back out to sit next to George in silence.

"Um.. you okay?" George asks, clearly concerned again.

"Yeah," I reply after a second, staring down at my feet. At least I'm not fat enough to not see my feet, right? "I gained... eighteen pounds."

George is silent for a minute, and I'm not sure if I've just imagined it, but it sounded like his breath hitched. I look up at him and notice that he's biting his lip and looks mildly... uncomfortable? He shifts a bit where he's sitting and crosses his legs, hanging them off the side of the bed. When he notices me looking at him, though, he sets his face back into his usual unreadable expression and looks back at me, replying, "A little more than fifteen then."

"Yup," I say, popping the "p" at the end. I put a hand back on my stomach, feeling it aching a bit again. It's gonna be hard to get to sleep tonight.

"You know, from... personal experience, I've learned that rubbing your stomach when you're full helps a lot," George says.

I nod. "Yeah, it does," I reply, starting to rub it a bit through my shirt.

"Has it hurt this much every time...? Do you have trouble falling asleep?" George asks, practically reading my mind.

"Oh, it's-- I don't..." I look down. "Yes..." I admit.

"Aw.." George says quietly. "Do you... want me to stay and, uh... help you?"

I look at him curiously, not sure how he's planning to help me. "Help me how?"

"I can, uh... rub your bel-- er, uh.. your stomach for you. To help you fall asleep," George suggests, sounding a bit nervous. It is a bit of a strange suggestion. But he just wants to help, right? So I nod.

"I think I'm going to try to sleep now, actually. As soon as I get changed," I say, standing up to go get some pajamas. After all, I don't want to keep George here too long, or he won't have time to go and get ready for bed. I go to the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth before starting to change.

I haven't worn this particular set of pajamas in a while. Usually I wear either my clothes from the day to bed or just sleep in my underwear. It's easier that way. But no way am I doing that if George is staying here until I fall asleep. I get them on, but unfortunately, as I try to slide up the pants, I realize they're uncomfortably tight. And my shirt just barely covers the bottom of my stomach. Guess I gained weight in places other than my belly, too. Oh well. It'll have to do.

I walk out and get into my bed, trying to quickly get under my covers. But it's clear from George's gaze, whatever his look means, that he's noticed how tightly the clothes are fitting on me. He doesn't say anything about it, though, instead coming up to sit next to me. I avoid looking at his face, instead staring at the wall behind him, as I feel his hand slide under my shirt. It's warmer than I expected, and it feels nice. He gently rubs my belly, and I close my eyes and start to drift off pretty quickly, feeling strangely the most comfortable I've felt in a long time.