your well-fed princess

Devon, realized just how much food had been made and was sent into a panic. "You have to eat all of this. Right now. They can't see it. They'll be here soon." Devon scrambled, ushering Poppy into a chair. Poppy, irritated and overwhelmed recommended the trashcan, or offered that Devon should have it as a punishment of sorts, but Devon retorted that they'd smell it in the trash, outside or even on their breath. "Please Poppy. Just eat the food I made us. I promise we will have time together later if either of us are still alive." The worry in Devon's tone was enough. Poppy obliged. It was an arduous task. The entire table was coated in decadent foods— breads, cheeses, wines and soups. At first let herself indulge. Seeing Devon, the desperate crease on her brow as she handed Poppy bite after bite. The delicious taste, the way her partners hand touched in fluttering movements thoughtfully over her stomach any time she made so much as a hum in response to how much she was eating. Little sorries, whispered between glances to the doorway as if they could just walk in on their own without invitation. Eventually though Poppy was struggling. She could feel her once loose white blouse becoming tight around her stomach, her belly pushing against the fabric. Her skin felt stretched and her stomach was bloated. She had to lean back in the chair to even get a semblance of respite from the building pressure. "Devon," She was near breathless. "I can't." Poppy shook her head in a daze. Devon's face was a scrunched mess of fear. It was enough that Poppy pushed herself up, hands against the chair and looked over the table to reassess. She could. She could do it. This wasn't Devon's fault. But both of them would be dead if she didn't get rid of this evidence. She finished off the last bowl of soup and began picking at the bread. Each little piece was too much.

Devon began cleaning the table, bringing bowls to the kitchen to clean them as swiftly as possible. By the time the doorbell rung, Poppy's stomach poked up from under her shirt as if she were pregnant, she couldn't bare the idea of getting up from the table, afraid the movement alone would have her sick. "Come on sweet girl." Devon whispered, shimmying her arm up under Poppy's to help her out of the chair, a worried hand holding under her packed belly. "You poor thing." Devon whispered. Poppy could feel the shift in her weight as Devon hoisted her upright, the way the swell of her abdomen shifted and gurgled and she had to bring a hand over her mouth with fear she might pop or be sick. Devon glanced back up the staircase beside them and then to the door. Sweat was prickling at her brow. "Can you make it up the stairs?" Devon asked. Poppy glanced at the imposing rails and shook her head quickly, already nauseous at the idea. A small burp wriggled its way out of her followed by a now drunken hiccup. She could feel the food settling in her belly alongside the wine. She brought a weary hand over Devons under her stomach.