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“You’re… Different.” You say to your boyfriend. He looks up from the tub of ice cream he’s been shovelling into mouth for the last 20 minutes straight. It’s incredible that he even stops to answer you.
“Different how?” He puts the spoon down, genuinely curious.
“You’re just kinda strange, with the ice cream and all.”
“What? Can’t a man eat ice cream now?” He sounds amused, but just a hint of annoyance could be heard in his voice.
“You don’t like pistachio ice cream.”
“Well, maybe I’ve changed my mind. Or maybe my tastebuds has changed. Or maybe-“
“Yeah yeah, I get it.” You interrupt. You’re both quiet for a moment before you drop the bomb. “And there’s also the sudden weight gain…”
He stiffens, but then he crosses his arms and makes an unimpressed face, tone defensive. “What about it?”
“It’s… A lot. You’ve gained a lot of weight. And you need to lose some before-“ You’re stopped before you can continue by a well directed slap across the cheek. Your head is turned to the side, and you keep it like that, only slightly ashamed. You made a mistake and now you’re paying the price.
“My weight is none of your goddamn business!” He hisses, shoulders shaking a bit. Then he runs off as fast as his heavy body can carry him, which isn’t very fast as all. All you can do is sigh and rub your stinging cheek, thinking of how you both messed up.
…
He’s groaning in his sleep again. The only reason you know this is because you’re lying next to him, looking at his features contort while he sleeps. He seems to be in pain for some reason. Maybe it’s because the size of his stomach is too big.
When you look down at it, it’s incredibly bloated, swollen even. It looks unnatural and comical, almost as if he’s been pumped full of air. You can see that even with the heavy duvet he’s put over his body; it’s tenting the duvet, and all you can think of is how much he hates it.
He’s been avoiding you more and more these last couple of weeks, and your sex life has been nonexistent the last 3 months. He’s never naked or even topless around you anymore, a sight you usually enjoy. Not since you told him that he’s fat.
Maybe you didn’t use exactly that word, but you might as well have, as his slap hurt like a bitch. His mood has also been kind of weird lately, sometimes changing from happily oblivious to full blown anger in the span of mere seconds.
He’s different, and you don’t like it.
“Uughh...” He groans, suddenly a lot more audibly than before.
Is it a nightmare? Or maybe it’s simply just another restless night. He’s had quite a lot of them lately. But for now he just looks pained.
There’s suddenly a gasp from him, and you can see his eyes flutter open, confused and exhausted.
“You okay?” You ask reaching out a hand to touch him, but he immediately swats it away with a face you can’t quite describe. It’s almost like he looks afraid, and you falter in your movements.
“I-I’m fine… ‘s just stomach cramps.”
“You look pale.” You counter. Again you reach out for him, but this time he, with a bit of difficulty, sits up and put his feet on the ground beside the bed. For once he’s touching his stomach, something he’s been avoiding ever since he’s grown to this comical size.
“I said I’m fine.” He sits with his back towards you, but you can see that he’s trembling. He’s massaging his belly, and then he lets out a low groan, which ends in him whimpering a bit.
“Baby, you’re in pain.” You sit up as well and touch his shoulder, and this time he doesn’t shy away. He flinches but after a moment he turns his head to the side and says: “It’s happened before, but… It’s never been this bad.”
You’re worried now. You move so you’re sitting next to him and take his hand, then kiss him gently on the forehead. He’s not responding to the rare, loving touch, which makes you worry more. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
He shakes his head. “It’s gonna go away again. It always does.”
This is the most intimate you’ve been for a long, long time, and by god does it feel good. You’ve only kissed his forehead, but a part of you wants more, craves more. So you let the kisses trail down his face, until you’ve reached his neck, where you leave a hickey. He moans loudly, realising he has missed this as well.
But then he’s not just moaning from the pleasure, he’s moaning from the pain again. He pushes you away, then closes his eyes and rocks a bit back and forth, shifting his hips. You look down on his belly while he’s distracted, and you realise that it’s lower than it usually is. But how can that even be? Bellies don’t just move around like that.
Before you can stop yourself you’re touching it. It feels hard and firm… Maybe it wasn’t just fat, but rather something else. But what could it be?
He’s not even feeling your hand on his abdomen, he’s in so much pain. And then you feel a wetness spread on the bed. Did you just pee yourself? But, you didn’t feel anything. Confused you get up to turn on the lights, and then you see who’s causing the wetness: Him.
He’s sitting in a pool of his own fluids, but it isn’t urine or anything, because then the sheets would have turned yellow. And it would have smelled weird as well. No, it’s clear and doesn’t smell at all.
“That’s it, I’m calling an ambulance.” You go to get your phone, but he grabs your wrist and looks at you with pleading eyes.
“Don’t! It’s fine, it has to be fine…!” You can hear how he’s panicking, but then he rocks back and forth on the bed, trying to get out of bed. “Just, help me get up, I need to walk around a bit. And I need to get out of these soiled pants.”
You sigh but still help him up, which takes more effort than it usually does on his part. It’s like his knees have turned to jelly, and he’s only held up by you. You take off his pyjamas pants, then his boxers, then put on some new ones, but while you do this, you get a good look at his stomach. It’s weird because it’s so big and heavy, and you can see how stretch marks cover the entire underside of his belly. Just how did he hide this for so long from you?
You walk around for a bit, but then a pain hits him again, and he’s squatting, pulling you down with him.
He’s groaning again, trying to stop the pain simply by vocalising, but you can see on his face that the pain doesn’t stop. In fact, it just keeps growing until he throws his head back and straight up screams. It isn’t until he’s come down from the wave of pain which has left him panting that he gives a shaky laugh.
You’re confused, but you try to help him up again, to which he just makes himself heavier, which shouldn’t even be possible because he already weighs a tonne.
“Leave me alone,” He says. “If I’m going to die anyway, just leave me here on the the floor. That way I won’t ruin the carpets.”
And he’s right. He’s still leaking something onto the floor, and to be honest it’s quite disgusting. Still you want to help him, so you go get a wet rag so that you can wipe his sweaty forehead.
The groans that come from his mouth can be heard throughout the little home, and when you come back, he’s still lying on the floor, but this time on his side with closed eyes as he pants through a particular bad cramp.
You put the rag on his forehead, a brief relief in a world of pain, and he cracks open an eye, looking at you like he’s dying.
To be fair, he could very well be dying. You have no idea why he’s in pain suddenly or why he has been in pain before. “I’m calling an ambulance.” You say again, but he doesn’t agree with you.
“I-I don’t want to get an expensive treatment, th-then die on the operating table. It’s n-not worth it.” He says stubbornly, but then his face contorts in pain again, the rag on his head falling down on the floor as he tries to deal with the pain the best way his body can do.
This makes you angry. “You don’t even want to get checked over? Baby-”
He interrupts you, but only to beg. “Please, please don’t do anything. Please. I’m just gonna…”
“You’re just gonna what? Die?” You really don’t want to do this, but you’re still angry, and that makes you ignore his pleads. “I’m gonna go and come back with a doctor, he’s gonna drug you, and then you’ll be okay again.”
He thinks it over for some time, but not for long as another pain hits him. And along with it, comes some kind of shame. After he’s dealt with the pain, he tells you as he avoids your eyes. “I’ve… Cheated on you.”
You gasp, feeling incredibly hurt and disappointed at the revelation, but as another cramp seems to come up, you just take the rag and wipe the sweat of his forehead, lips pressed into a thin line.
“It was only once, but ever since that I’ve been… Different,” He says when he has regained his breath. “Tried to not think about it, too, but… I know you’ve seen it. The way everything is different. And I think…”
He gulps, feeling the mental pain of everything come through, and when he finally speaks again, he’s looking directly at you with tears in his eyes. “I think I’m pregnant.” He says in a small voice.
Not in your wildest dreams have you ever imagined this would happen. It was like the world was moving too fast, then too slow, then in the end, not at all. And through it all, the word “pregnant” resounded in your mind again and again.
“You…” You begin, not having the words to say anything, but in the end one emotion is overwhelmingly clear: Anger. “You bastard! I trusted you!” You snap at him.
He closes his eyes and begins to sob quietly, whether it is from the pain or the exposure you don’t know, but in the end you decide you don’t really care. You just want to go, leave him alone with his bastard baby, but… When you see him on the floor in absolute agony, you can’t help but pity him.
“It’s… I’m gonna help you deliver the baby, but only because I still love you.” You say, still very much angry, but able to see past the anger to help your beloved.
So you pull his pants and boxers down, only to find what must be the baby’s head crowning.
He cries out again in pain again, this time a few words mingled with the groans and screams of anguish. “Please, please, stop it, stop the pain!” He cries, but nothing is going to stop the descent of the baby now that there’s no longer any clothing blocking it.
“Easy does it…” You say, but in reality you have no idea what you’re doing. You don’t have any medical knowledge, yet you can’t bring yourself to leave him and give birth by himself.
He’s turned to lie on his back now, and with his knees spread, his eyes searches for you over the swollen dome of his belly. “Promise me something,” He pants. It’s clear that his pain is far greater now that the baby is coming out, but he still has something to say. “Promise me that if I die, you’ll take care of the baby.”
You are stumped by his request, but he just repeats himself with more force in his voice. You don’t know why, but even though you are still very angry with him, you can’t bear the thought of losing him. “You’re not gonna die, you idiot.” You say, though your voice is thick with emotion, and you’re trembling slightly.
In the end you prop one of his legs up on you shoulder as to help him keep it up, and use your hands to catch the baby. But it is far from being born, and he feels it.
“It burns! It burns so bad!” He cries, but you gently rub his leg as if trying to offer him some comfort.
His hole stretches around the baby’s head, and when it is out, a gush a fluid follows.
“You’re doing great!” You cheer him on, but is he really doing well? Probably, but you need an expert to be sure. You hold the baby’s head as it turns and its shoulders pops out with weak screams from it’s dad.
Finally the rest of the baby slides out, and you catch her, immediately placing the baby, a girl, on her father’s chest. Both him and the baby girl take small, quivering breaths, but soon the baby girl has had enough of just breathing and starts screaming.
He’s still panting, but in between ragged breaths you hear him chuckling, and he removes his shaky leg from your shoulder, making him lie completely still on the floor except from his chest which is trying to gather as much air as possible.
“I guess…” He says after you’ve found a towel to wrap her in. “I guess things are gonna be different from now on.”