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Romeo continued to follow Farah's advice, more out of habit than conviction. The meals no longer tasted new, but had a familiar, almost reassuring flavor.
Every morning, he vowed to eat smaller portions. Every evening, he ended up going back for seconds, telling himself he would get back on track “tomorrow.”
His body was changing fast—too fast.
The buttons on his shirt were straining, his belts had moved up a notch, then two. He felt his breath becoming shorter, his movements less supple.
At first, he laughed it off, embarrassed: “Trust the process... I guess.”
But now he avoided the mirror.
One evening after dinner, he found himself alone in his living room, the lights dim and his stomach heavy. The silence of the apartment weighed on him even more than his digestion. He placed his hand on his abdomen, as if to verify its reality, and sighed.
He thought of Garry.
His friend had always had this ability to make everything seem lighthearted, even his mistakes. But Romeo now knew that behind his laughter, there was something else: a fear of admitting defeat. And perhaps, he thought, he himself was not so far from that.
The weeks passed like this, between hesitant workouts and overly rich meals.
Sometimes he tried to get back into weight training seriously, but fatigue quickly caught up with him. His arms trembled, his breath faltered. He would sit down on the bench, look at his hands, and remain there, motionless, as if waiting for his willpower to return.
It didn't come back.
Then came the day when he dared to step back on the scale.
The numbers flashed, merciless: 236 pounds.
He stood there for a long time, staring at the result like a sentence he couldn't read.
He wanted to laugh, or at least make fun of it, but nothing came. Only a strange emptiness, a feeling of being stuck between two selves—the old one, slim and attentive, and the new one, heavier, calmer, but without direction.
The next morning, he decided to go out, just to “walk a little.”
On the way, he saw his reflection in a shop window. His features had changed. His face was rounder, his shoulders hunched under the weight rather than strength.
He smiled discreetly, melancholically.
“You wanted volume, you got it...,” he thought.
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Every morning, he vowed to eat smaller portions. Every evening, he ended up going back for seconds, telling himself he would get back on track “tomorrow.”
His body was changing fast—too fast.
The buttons on his shirt were straining, his belts had moved up a notch, then two. He felt his breath becoming shorter, his movements less supple.
At first, he laughed it off, embarrassed: “Trust the process... I guess.”
But now he avoided the mirror.
One evening after dinner, he found himself alone in his living room, the lights dim and his stomach heavy. The silence of the apartment weighed on him even more than his digestion. He placed his hand on his abdomen, as if to verify its reality, and sighed.
He thought of Garry.
His friend had always had this ability to make everything seem lighthearted, even his mistakes. But Romeo now knew that behind his laughter, there was something else: a fear of admitting defeat. And perhaps, he thought, he himself was not so far from that.
The weeks passed like this, between hesitant workouts and overly rich meals.
Sometimes he tried to get back into weight training seriously, but fatigue quickly caught up with him. His arms trembled, his breath faltered. He would sit down on the bench, look at his hands, and remain there, motionless, as if waiting for his willpower to return.
It didn't come back.
Then came the day when he dared to step back on the scale.
The numbers flashed, merciless: 236 pounds.
He stood there for a long time, staring at the result like a sentence he couldn't read.
He wanted to laugh, or at least make fun of it, but nothing came. Only a strange emptiness, a feeling of being stuck between two selves—the old one, slim and attentive, and the new one, heavier, calmer, but without direction.
The next morning, he decided to go out, just to “walk a little.”
On the way, he saw his reflection in a shop window. His features had changed. His face was rounder, his shoulders hunched under the weight rather than strength.
He smiled discreetly, melancholically.
“You wanted volume, you got it...,” he thought.
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Category Artwork (Traditional) / Fat Furs
Species Coyote
Size 2217 x 1662px
File Size 254.8 kB
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