Alan sat at the bar nursing his beer.
 
While everyone else was chatting it up or hoping to get lucky, the young man in his mid-twenties just drummed his fingers on the bar table.
His hands were rough and calloused; covered in faded scars and fresh cuts from work. The bone in his left hand never properly set, so it bent forward at a noticable angle just before the second knuckle. It made his whole finger stick out just enough to make him even more cautious when holding a nail steady.
 
He knocked back his pint and chugged it. Biceps stretching his sleeve before settling it back down. His arms were thick like tree trunks. Barrel-chested, and sporting an unfortunate beer gut to match. Alan used to keep himself in good shape. Even getting passing glances as a result. But recently he only really worked out to keep up his strength for his job, and the compliments faded with his six pack.
 
The bartender washed out a glass with a worn-out rag. He knew Alan for years now. The first day they met was when he was with Maryline. Those two were practically joined at the hip. Then one day, Alan gave him the news that she was in the hospital. Maryline was fit, young, and full of life; so the news was just as much of a shock to him as it was to Alan.
 
Where Alan and Maryline had sat at that bar and made plans to travel the world together, the bartender only occassionally pulled a pint for Alan on days when her condition was too unstable for visiting as the hospital. The bartender never breathed of word about it to anyone, on or off hours. But he Alan's daily visits to see Maryline was something of a town legend at that point.
 
Now the young man sat broken. Drinking a pint to the last drop, and waiting for the buzz to die down before leaving with a generous tip that never failed. Alan had been soboring up for the past half-hour or so. The night was still young when he decided to pick himself up and go back to his house.
 
When suddenly, his routine was interrupted by the heavy footsteps of a woman about his age. Something about how his whole body relaxed as Alan eased back down into his seat caught him off guard. The young lady checked out the collection of bottled on display as Alan scanned over her wider frame.
 
The bartender pretended not to pay him any mind as Alan was fixed on her. And he even felt a faint glimmer of hope as she trailed off before deciding what she wanted. With a very enthusiastic "Coming right up!" the bartender turned his back on the pair as he got to work mixing her drink.
 
Alan himself had a cocktail of feelings and confusing thoughts swimming in his head. More so than what to say to her, his own returning thought was whether it was okay for him to open up himself to her or not.
 
[The next morning]
 
Alan put the finishing touches on the dish. Adding the spices this late into cooking meant the flavor would be more pronounced rather than an undertone like the parsnips had been.
 
Patricia was a big eater. That much was certain. She was ravenous when she first woke up in Alan's bed.
 
To her surprise and delight, he asked if he could treat her to breakfast; and much to his delight, she asked if she could stay for dinner. Luckily neither of them had anywhere to be for the weekend.
 
A relative feast was laid out on the table for her, it really was quite a spread. "Mind if I use two chairs? I need a little more support for all this junk in my trunk." Alan just smiled. "I got a spare."
 
Patricia looked back and aimed her double-wide, full and rounded bottom and landed it on the leather-lined cushions. The foam within hissed as the air quickly escaped under the waist of her enemce girth as the frames of the two chairs creaked and slide on the floor a bit.
 
She breathed a sigh of relief as she turned her attention to the table in front of her. Alan brought over a plate and some cultlery for her. He even got a napkin to set with the table.
 
"It's like a fancy restaurant!" Patricia chirped while clapping. Wiggling in her seat(s) as Alan made his way back into the kitchen area.
 
"I was always into cooking. - I even baked a few birthday cakes before."
 
"You baked your own birthday cake?"
 
"Well no, not for myself." A smile ran away from Alan's face as his mood began to sour. Even though he was entertaining a guest, all he could do was think back to Maryline who once sat where Patricia waited to be served now.
 
Patricia simply marvelled at how the kitchen seemed to glow in the late-afternoon rays of the summer sun. The warm light bouncing off the hard wood floor and making the cozy abode shine. "So do you have people over often?"
 
He shook his head. "We- er... I used to." Alan came back with a big serving dish held by a pair of oven mitts. The meal radiated with a heat more intense than the beams beating down on Patricia's exposed flesh, cooled by the spinning ceiling fan that was another light source as the hours grew darker.
 
Portioning out onto her plate, Alan elaborated. "Mostly I've just been focusing on work... I've been saving up to move to a new place for a while. Bigger and in a better neighborhood."
 
Patricia rubbed her hands together as she was transfixed on the master piece laid out in front of her. "Sounds nice." Grabbing the knife and fork, she immediately went in. "But your house is so beautiful as it is."
 
Alan sat opposite to her, a modest little snack in comparison to the generous portion he served Patricia. "Too many memories. I- uh... Feel like it's long overdue for a change in scenery." It wasn't entirely untrue; he just didn't want to start over in a new life alone.
 
Alan pushed around a morsal on his plate with a fork. But his mind was elsewhere. He jumped back in his chair with a start when he heard a very loud, very unladylike belch coming from Patricia. He looked up from his plate to see her covering her mouth with her hand as she stifled another.
 
"Sorry, " Patricia offered, " it's just so good. I guess I ate too quickly." Quickly was right, she went straight back in with admirable gusto as the moment passed. But for Alan the scene played out a bit differently.
 
Backlit by the setting sun, the bright reds and oranges behind her faded into a gradient purple hue as Patricia seemed to shine like a solar eclipse. When the light from the fan gentle blowing overhead illuminated her more closely, Alan got a show of every curvacious detail.
 
The kitchen melted away. The minuscule backyard; the house; the bustling streets outside: everything. His whole body relaxed as his breathing slowed and he just let himself enjoy the moment.
 
A few stray crumbs from between her soft lips fell down her chin and down her thick neck. Or right into her cleavage, just barely contained by her sizable bossom as her motions loosened her crop top's strap, that slid off her shoulder and down around her flabby arm that rested on her back fat spilling out over the rim, before she paused from her eating to pull the strap back up. The way she hummed to herself as she breathed out and eagerly resumed; taking another bite onto her fork and carrying it up to her face and rolling her tongue under it as those juicy lips curled around the morsal and sealed it inside. Her brilliant green eyes rolling back as she savored Alan's cooking and sank into her shoulders and neck flab; wiggling in her two chairs as she smiled from jiggled to herself.
 
He was so enthralled by Patricia's gastonomic display, that Alan didn't notice a tightness in his pants stretching between his thighs until he leaned just a little to far over the table. He reared back - not even noticing that he had been resting his elbows on the table as he held his head on his chin, before looking down to examin his crotch. "Is something wrong?"
Alan looked back up at Patricia, her face awash with concern. He felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. All Alan could do was stammer out a meek excuse. "Just thought I felt something fall into the floor." Patricia just smiled coyly, not believing a word of it. Something about the way her chubby cheeks framed her face made him feel a little less self-concious.
 
But he still questioned himself. Was he really getting off to watching Patricia eat? No, no he just appreciates that she enjoys his cooking, he reassured himself. It was a swelling pride in his work, not in his pants.
 
Patricia happily savored every last bite of Alan's cooking. And Alan was so mesmerized by the display that it took him a second to realize that there was something poking out of the corner of her mouth as she was chewing it. Something that wasn't food.
 
"Uh... You have something in your-" Her eyes shot open as she reached her hand over her mouth; she knew exactly what Alan was talking about. She pulled it out: her napkin; wadded up into a clump that unfurled from her lips.
 
Something about the look on her face told him that Patricia had something to tell him. Something she dreaded talking to him about.
 
Patricia explained that she had an eating disorder that Alan hadn't heard of before. It was called pica; a kind of craving to eat things that weren't food. In some cases this craving was for things that were biological like hair; in others, natural things like leaves or tree bark. But in Patricia's case it was a generalized craving for manmade objects.
 
It started just after her fourteenth birthday, and only got worse into her adulthood. She told Alan that the reason she over ate as much as she did was to help curb her other eating disorder.
Any sort of stress triggered her pica. But it was also part of a fear response. It was the reason she avoided action movies, or horror films. She tried living a calm, simple life with her disorder, but Patricia still felt personally ashamed of it. So that evening, he made a promise to her that he'd personally cook for her and make sure she stayed well fed.
It was nothing to him; he loved cooking. But for Patricia it was the most romantic gesture she had ever been given.
 
Needless to say: neither of them got that much sleep that night.
 
[Three weeks later]
 
Alan arrived at the house a little later than usual tonight. He had been shopping for some nice new cloths for Patricia that would hopefully fit her. With all the fun they've been having well into the night, he had a good idea as to what her measurements were. But he was worried that she'd outgrow this new outfit as quickly as she had all her old ones. Even since she moved in, Alan had tried to stuff her to the gills.
 
Not only so she wouldn't have room for anything else that wasn't meant to be food, but also because it seemed to be the best way to show how much he cared about her; how much he loved her. All this cooking was becoming awkward; especially after work when he was already tired. But he wouldn't dare give her something unhealthy to eat.
 
"Honey! I'm back!" He wasn't sure exactly she'd be. Alan thought she'd be more easily tired at her size, or a least have a harder time maneuvering around the house. But the only problem Patricia had was fitting into smaller spaces. And even then she always seemed to manage despite how small everything was compared to her. Thinking about it now: Alan thought she was a bit shorter when they first met too.
 
Before he could think too much about it, he had exhausted all the usual places he found her. Thankfully, everything was still in its place since this morning when he left for work. Patricia would usually pick up a thing or two while doing chores around the place. They were little things - as you'd expect, a sock; a bolt or nut; sometimes a napkin or two. He even caught her eating one just after wiping her mouth with it. Thankfully it was nothing too serious like a nail, or a steak knife, or even a-
Alan froze at the bedroom door. It was sligthly ajar with a light shining through just a crack. Was worried him wasn't that it was open, or even a sound he heard on the other wise. No, what worried him was that he was standing right in front of it, and that he hand met no resistence when he reached for the doorknob to pull the rest of it open and walk through.
 
He looked down. Gone. The handle, the face plate, the locking mechanism. He trailed down to the carpetted floor. Screws. None of them were missing, thank God. But the screwdriver was was just laying there like she dropped it immediately.
 
Alan grabbed the door by any means he could and swung it open. Peering inside, Patricia sat on the bed. He didn't waste a moment more before coming in to check on her.
 
Thankfully she was okay. "I'm sorry, Alan." A meek apology escaped her, as she leaned into him; cradled in his strong, protective arms.
 
She wasn't in any pain. But this was serious. Inspite of all his effort and hard work, Patricia ate the knob clear off their bedroom door.
 
"Has this happened before?" Nuzzling into him, he quietly answered: "... Yes."
 
It was decided that a trip to the hospital wouldn't be necessary. Supposedly she would be alright. The only thing that concerned Alan more was just how upset she had been.
Patricia knew she would make him worried if she did what she did. But her cravings had gotten even worse. She admitted they have been ever since they started dating.
She thought he had it under control with eating a few small things here and there, but he'd been thinking about their bedroom for weeks now. She didn't want any of the lipstick or eyeliner in her dresser, or even any of Alan's undergarments. Though some of those were still missing too.
 
This just didn't make sense. Alan thought she was doig so well. All she had to say for herself was that it felt instinct.
It had already late in the night. Alan was exhausted; physically and emotionally after what had happened. And Patricia reassure him that she was alright. The only thing they could do was rest up for the morning.
 
Alan woke up hours later. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he turned to face Patricia. She was there, as big and as beautiful as ever; fast asleep and nestled in his embrace under the sheets. He wondered what it was that woke him up, but then Alan felt was that was. It was something smooth and hard; metal. He had recognized it immediately: the doorknob.
He grimaced slightly, but realized that Patricia might have "passed it" in her sleep. Was this the reason she knew she would be okay? If this had happened before, it would explain a few things. Alan thought about waking her. But no; she had been through too much. He was worried sick, but Patricia mattered more.
 
He figured apart from being embarressing, Patricia was already so concerned over what he might think that he didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on her; not in her current state.
 
He thought he'd descretely take the doorknob out from under the sheets and set it aside someplace she wouldn't find it. That way she wouldn't discover it on her own if she woke up before him as much as he didn't feel right handling something that came out of his girlfriend's... rear, he needed to protect her.
 
Alan tried to carefully take the doorknob in hand so as not to wake Patricia. But when he did, he felt something he hadn't when he tried opening the door to the room earlier that night: resistence. The knob was complete; whole and fully essembled. Which was enough of a surprise as it would have been hard for Patricia to swallow like that.
But what caught him off guard the most was that following the handle up to the face plate, he felt the bevalled metal pressed flat against the familiar sensation of his girlfriend's soft stomach. Alan took a moment to process what he was feeling. It couldn't be. As much as he wanted to just throw the covers off, disturbing Patricia was the last thing on his mind.
 
Instead he carefully got out of bed. It was hard, because Patricia tried moving closer in her sleep to feel his warmth against hers; even on a hot summer's night. But Alan managed to get up and out of bed. He reached for his pants pocket and pulled out a small key. Taking it in hand he went to a tool box he kept stached away. As he unlocked the box and searched through its contents he found what he was looking for: his flashlight.
Anything in the house could have ended up in Patricia's stomach, so he didn't want anything like a battery-powered flashlight in there. He took it in hand and carefully draped the covers over himself so that the light wouldn't bounce around the room.
 
As Alan aimed it at his girlfriend's stomach, he saw the doorknob. But it didn't just look like it was stuck to her, it looked like a relief on her midsection; as if someone had made a sculpture of Patricia and put a doorknob there that was chiselled from the same slab of rock.
He felt it up again. Smooth, harm-blooded flesh to metal. The face plate - and even the handle itself were warm to the touch.
 
He turned the flashlight off. Eased himself off the bed and quietly walked back to the box to put the lightflash back before locking it again. Placing the key in his pant's pocket, he got back into bed like nothing ever happened.
But something did happen. Something that Alan couldn't explain.
His Patricia was a monster.
 
Alan woke up by the sun's rays the next morning. His alarm hadn't gone off yet. He looked over at his beautiful Patricia: sleeping soundly.
He knew it wasn't a very smart idea, but he decided to let her sleep. He made her a big breakfast - some parts were made the day before, and got ready for work.
The bills were starting to pile up, and even though his wife always took priority. The medical bills would be through the roof if she did need any sort of treatment.
 
The job was an easy one. Just some roof work. Nothing Alan couldn't handle.
 
The one problem on his mind was if Patricia would be worried. He stopped what he was doing and reached for his phone. Texting Patricia, he left a short message: "I saw the doorknob this morning. Don't worry, I'll be back after work. Same as always. I hope you enjoyed breakfast. Love you."
It didn't make a lot of sense, but Alan just knew somehow that the most important thing was acting like it was completely normal.
He didn't really know what else to do.
 
Putting his phone right back into his pocket, he got back to work.
 
But it was hot that day; really hot. So hot in fact that it was hard for Alan to focus. Hammering in each nail took time because of his messed up finger, but he still had to make the deadline for the project. He barely noticed as he slipped out of consciousness.
 
***
Alen woke up at the hospital.
 
Dazed and confused as she groggily looked around to survey his surroundings. Before he even saw the nurse he looked outside and saw that it was already getting dark out; which meant that it was way passed when he should have been back.
 
"Oh, you're awake." The nurse calmly noted. With many years of experience, she stopped Alan from trying to get up out of bed with a firm, yet gentle and practiced motion. "Sir, I wouldn't do that."
 
Alan just grunted, "I need to get back home." The nurse shook her head. "You had a heat stroke, sir. We can't release you just yet.
 
Having regained his senses, he realized what the nurse had just told him. And that she was right. But he still had one thing he had to do at all costs. "I have to call my wife," he was stern and sure in his words, "... she needs to hear from me!"
 
The nurse, content with what his answer, knodded her head in agreement.
 
"Patricia! Patricia, I'm okay. I'm still here." He'd hoped his choice of words made it clear that he would still be there with Patricia despite everything.
 
"Oh thank God. I didn't recognize the number at first. When did you make me your emergancy contact?" Looking back at it in that moment, Alan honestly wasn't sure. It just seemed right.
 
"Patricia, please. I didn't mean to worry you. If I could be there, I would. I-" But as he started trailling off, Patrica manage to talk him down on the other end.
 
"Alan! Alan, listen: Of course you didn't mean to end up in the hospital. I am worried; and a little scared." He knew exactly what she meant by that, but wanted to hear to piece. "Alan, I got your text. I didn't know what to think when I woke up, but seeing that breakfast you made and reading that it-" Alan heard her tearing up over the phone as she sniffled " it meant so much to me. I- I don't know what this all means; but I want to try and make this work. I just don't want to lose you."
 
They spent hours talking over the phone. About nothing in particular. They couldn't recall any details if they tried. All that mattered was that they heard each other's voices and just had that moment together.
Soon the time came when the nurse had to break up their call so Alan could sleep. But not before he and Patricia made a promise that, no matter what came next, they would face the day together.
 
***
 
It had been just a little over forty-eight hours since Alan was admitted, and the doctors deemed him fit enough to release and continue his recovery at home.
But Alan's mind was on one thing and one thing only: Seeing Patricia again. In his heart, he knew that it would be bad. He'd been dreading what he'd find when he opened the door and walked in.
 
Alan drove carefully, painfully slow on his way back from the hospital. He could think straight, but the doctor said that he should take it easy. But every agonizing second he kept Patricia waiting was another second she'd eat something that he might not ought to. But given her 'unique' situation, Alan thought that might not be the case.
He got out of the car and stepped towards the front door. Looking up, everything looked good so far. As he turned the front door key in the lock and pushed past it, "Patricia! Honey! I'm back!" , he called out.
 
"I'm upstairs." The bedroom, it had to be. Alan made the climb up. His heart started to sink as he did. What if she couldn't climb the stairs anymore? What if she couldn't make it through the doorframe anymore? All these questions whirled in his head, and yet everything felt strangely disconnected as he stepped onto the landing and rounded the reiling towards the bedroom door.
 
But what caught Alan off guard was that the door looked different than it did a few days ago. It had a knob on it.
 
Maybe she got it off of her? Maybe she put it back?
Alan slowly walked towards the door. Reaching for the handle, then stopped just short as his hand retreated. Trepidation. She was on the other side. She had to be. He thought he was ready, but all his confidence just went right out the window now that the moment of truth was where. Please don't let me lose someone else, he thought. "Please just let us be happy."
 
"Hey."
 
Patricia's voice broke Alan out of his panicked and paranoia-fueled trance.
The door receded slightly as it bent and buckled in on itself. From the hole in the wall where the doorframe fit perfectly into like a puzzle piece, a pair of plump, heavy breasts rested atop a distended belly drifted down. Alan's gaze followed the cleavage that was easing down past eye-level, as Patricia's round, beautiful face came into view. Beaming at him.
 
It was only then that Alan got a good look at her assets through the hole in the wall.
She sported a girthy, heavy gut that hung from her lovehandles down to her feet, one that had the door that Alan was just trying to open firmly embedded in it.
 
"Hey... " He breathed out in a sigh of relief as Patricia smiled back at him. "So... " He stammered out, " did you eat?"
 
Patrica waddled to the side to give him a better view of the bedroom. She moved with surprising ease, considering how big she'd gotten. Even with Alan's broad, muscular shoulders, he guessed her stomach was twice as wide, and her waistline four and a half times the breadth of his body.
 
He saw what became of their bedroom in his absence when he peered into the space behind Patricia. She had eaten everything: the pillows, comforters, the sheets, the covers, the mattress, the lamb, Alan's tackle box; the bed frame itself, the night stand, dresser, chairs, all of the furniture; the curtains, carpet, the wallpaper along with the molding and drywall underneath; even the windows to the outside.
 
The only thing Patricia didn't touch was the wiring and the plumbing, as Alan saw threading through the wooden beams.
Everything down to the wooden framing. He was astonished she hadn't fallen through them and into the room below them.
 
Patrica shuffled back into view. Alan looked at her as she smiled down at his dumbfounded expression. His eyes trailed down her neckline, between her cleavage, and to her belly.
The door that had once been fixed in the wall of the hallway was now just a relief on its surface. It seemed to rise and fall in time with her breathing, and bend and buckle where it needed to act like flesh instead of wood. But still retained its angular shape.
Alan thoughtlessly reached out and gripped her handle, the doorknob that had worried him so much just two days before.
 
He just looked back up and smiled at her, breathing a sigh of relief that turned into a breathy, nervous little chuckle.
"You got a door on your belly."
 
Patricia jiggled, making her new fat folds jiggle and shake.
"Yep! I do."
 
In truth, He didn't know how to procede. Alan didn't want to risk accidentally hurting her just to sate his curiosity, but something about how relaxed Patricia was emboldened him to do what he did next.
But first it only felt right to ask for permission.
 
"... Uh. Is it safe? For you, I mean." Patrica just coyly raised an eyebrew and smirked, "To open it?" Alan was at a loss for words. This was crazy; beyond strange. All he could do was nod weakly as he jaw hung open and swung with the motion.
Patricia put her hand on his shoulder - clubbed, yet elegant, and slid it down his thick, muscular arm down to rest on the back of his broad, rough hand gripping her nod. "Be my guest."
With a little help from his girlfriend, Alan felt confident enough to carefully turn the knob. He felt the tumbler slide back behind the face plate as the door was now free to swing on its hinges. Still unsure as to what he would find, he pushed and slowly swung it to the side.
 
What Alan saw next floored him. He didn't know what to expect, but what he didn't expect to see beyond what would have been the other side of Patricia was the rest of the bedroom; the parts Patrica ate, in the correct places.
Just as Alan left it.
Everything was there; he took a good, long look. But with how surreal the situation was, he had to be sure. "Can I come in? You know: to have a closer look?" Patricia nodded.
 
In truth, neither of them knew what this was going to feel like. But as Alan took a step on the soft carpet and met resistence from the hard wood flooring beneath, not a moment of pain from Patricia nor Alan's own sudden alarm from hearing her exclamation of pain and protest pierced the silence as the man put more of his weight onto his foot.
A moment passed, as he crossed the threshold as he shifted his weight forward and took another step inside Patricia's "room". All Alan felt was a slight sense of vertigo as he walked into a space he knew should have stopped where her back should have been.
 
His eyes scanning the room as he walked past the dresser, the bed and night stand; examined the cuboid walls lined with decorative wall paper. What really caught his attention was the window. He walked up and felt even more alienated as he pushed the curtains back and looked "outside".
 
It was the bedroom. Not the one he was standing in; but the one Patricia was in. The exposed framing and infrastructure. Since Patrica's door was safe to open, Alan found the courage to unlock the sash lock to open the window.
Gently gripping the bottom rail and pulling it up along the side jamb, he wrapped boths hands on the exterior sill for support as he ducked down and poked his head through. Inside he was clear across his old bedroom, but outside his head was just poking out of Patrica's back near the hallway where they met.
 
He heard a giggle coming from above and behind him. Looking over his shoulder, Alan saw Patrica doing the same as best she could; staring right back down at him from over her back fat. "Pretty cool, huh?" Cool was putting it lightly.
A wave of relief washed over him seeing her face again; a respite from the otherwordliness of what was going on. "Can... " Alan started to stammer out, "... can you feel me?" Patricia just hummed and nodded, "You feel wonderful. It doesn't even feel like your pulling on my back; but Alan, I just can't describe it. It feels... just so right!"
 
"Wanna see something cool?" Alan was already exploring uncharted territory, so he let his girlfriend take the lead. "You might want to pop back inside first, " Patricia warned, " and don't let go of the sill just yet."
He did as he was told. Unsure as to what she had planned, Alan just put his trust in her. The room - the skeleton of the room that was left exposed - started moving past his view slowly. Alan buckled his legs and he braced himself, but the tension passed as he realized he was perfectly still. There was no sense of motion, even as the hole to the outside world grew nearer and nearer until Patrica's window slotted perfectly into place around it. That was smoother than a casual car drive, he thought.
 
Alan poked his head back outside. Looking back he saw the back of the house. Turning his gaze forward, he saw the yard.
He ducked back into the bedroom and turned around. He had to be sure what he was seeing was true. That's what he thought as he briskly walked back to the door and stepped out into the hallway. Turning around and closing the door behind him, he let go and watched as it receded back and buckled in on itself as Patrica crotched down to stand eye-level with him. "So, " she asked, " what do you think?" Alan took another step forward, peering through the hole in the wall as seeing Patrica's blobby body expanded to fill every corner of the space's frame. The only thing that was unambiguously hers was her flabby arms, sizable bust, and her beatiful head sticking out of the wall of flesh in front of him.
 
Alan blinked, and with a smile as wide as a mile he beamed: "Patrica, you're amazing!"
Neither of them hesitated for a moment before embracing each other. Patricia smoothered Alan in the warm, doughy flesh of her new body as he threw himself into her bolbous mess.
After sharing a passionate moment, Patrica pulled back and asked, "But are you okay? You did just come back from the hospital afterall." Alan just laughted, tears of happiness in his eyes. "You cares?" "I do!" The halls echoed with the sounds of joyous laughter as the two caught up.
 
Inspite of the fact that she had a whole other room insider her, Patricia moved throughout the rest of the house with surprising ease.
Even as she spilled out into the hallway through the hole in the wall; she took one fluid step after another as she followed Alan down to the stairs and into the living room.
 
On the sofa they lay together. Patricia's massive girth engulfing the whole piece of furniture as she strode Alan beneath her.
He smiled up at her as he was buried in her cleavage up to his chest. Her arms wrapped around his head as it rested on her flab like a pillow.
 
"Will you stay with me?" the question somewhat caught Alan off guard, but Patricia looked up into his eyes with a hint of worry. "Of course I will, " he assured, " you couldn't keep me away if you tried."
 
"Even if I end up eating you out of house and home?" Alan could tell she still had her doubts; doubts that he was quick to banish. "Patricia, before I met you, this house wasn't my home. This was just the place where I slept and sometimes had breakfast in."
He looked into her eyes. "This house isn't my home; you're my home."
 
[6:00 PM]
 
He wiped the sweat off his brow. Another job finished, Alan thought.
 
Landscaping wasn't that big of a deal for him. No, the real problem was the heat. He still had to pace himself after the incident on the roof. He even felt woozy when putting up the posts for the fensing around the garden.
 
He'd been pounding bottle after bottle of water to stay hydrated, taking breaks both to catch his breath and to use the bathroom whenever he couldn't hold it any longer. Something that the client wasn't too thrilled about. It was like she expected him to act like some tireless robot that never stopped working.
Even walking back to his car once the job was complete, Alan knew he'd be getting another scathing review for this one.
 
He dragged himself into the driver's seat. Breathing out and letting the stress fade as he turned the AC up to full blast.
 
Deciding not to risk getting in trouble for staying any longer than he already had, Alan pulled out of the driveway and hit the road. It was time to go home.
 
The ride was pretty quiet. But Alan's mind drifted between work and home. He wouldn't be as tired as he was if the client hadn't been so anal about making sure he took as few breaks to rest as possible.
It's not like he was getting paid by the hour. Besides, his paycheck barely covered rent each month. The city was practically paying him in peanuts.
 
Worse of all: They had found himself in quite the predicament. Patricia had grown incredibly large, so did her appetite. Her meals were getting bigger and more frequent; their food budget had to increase several orders of magnitude to keep her pica under control.
He decided then and there that they would get out of Beldwitsch as soon as possible.
 
[10 PM]
 
Alan's eyes fluttered open and squinted as his blurred vision adjusted to the bright light over head. Lying on his back in a loose-fitting outfit, he groaned as he realized where he was.
 
"Welcome back"
 
The nurse chirped in his ear. Back to what? He thought. Back to the world of the living? Or back to the exact same hospital, in the same room, and in almost the exact, same spot?
 
Alan looked to the side. Yep, it was her. He knew by her voice before he saw her face.
 
"So... What's the damage?"
 
"Car crash. You got some whiplash; a mild concussion; a couple pretty bad scrapes and bruises... Oh. And you're going to be in a neck brace for a while, but nothing too serious."
 
Great. This is just what he needed right now. "How long?"
 
The nurse wrote something down on her clipboard, "... You're recovering remarkably fast, so you should be ready to go home in a few weeks."
 
Alan breathed out a sigh. Judging by how she had stopped writing, they both knew he was going to say next.
 
"Phone please... " she already had it on hand when he asked for it, "We already notified your wife. But here. She'll want to hear from you."
 
For the first time since he started dating Patricia, Alan's thought drifted back to Maryline.
She didn't want him to see her in the final stages of her illness.
But right now, Alan would have gave anything just to see Patricia and let her know he was alright.
 
[Eight days later, 2 Am.]
 
Long into the night, a car pulled up in front of Alan's home.
 
"This the place, Owen?"
 
"Yeah. It's been dark for over a week."
 
"Nice place."
 
Owen shook his head and he shifted gears and drove around the corner into the alleyway. "Yeah, too nice. These rich assholes have this coming. Let's hurt 'em where it counts."
 
The three men easily broke in and started surveying the layout of the house.
 
"What are you doing, Wade?" Owen asked one of the others, who was taking a game console from the entertainment center in the living room. "Put that down! If we're going back and forth in and out of the house it's going to take all night. Just gather up everything and leave it by the door. Back to front, toward the car."
 
Craig - the other robber - patted down the gun he had holstered in his belt. "Let's get going. And make sure to put the expensive stuff up in front so it goes in the car first."
 
[Fifteen minutes later]
 
The place was quiet and pitch black. The only light was from the robber's flashlights as they searched for valuables. Wade felt a notification for a text on his phone. He read it, and headed back toward the living room like it instructed. Owen was there waited for them. "Okay. Which one of you is the wise guy?"
 
But Wade and Craig just took at each other. "I said: Gather up everything by the door." Craig nodded, "Yeah. That's what we're doing." "Than why put everything back?"
 
Sure enough, the stack of loot was gone; and everything they took at back in its rightful place. "Don't pull this shit with me! We don't got all night, and we can't waste time screwing around. Now put that shit back near the door and let's move on!"
 
Craig rolled his eyes, "... 'ight. But I'm taking a leak before we go." Owen sneered, but Craig wasn't leaving him any chance to protest as he headed to the bathroom.
 
[Four minutes later]
 
Stepping out into the hallway, Craig brushed himself off. When suddenly he heard something mechanical rear to life on the other side of the hall. Shit! He knew Owen was an idiot; someone's still here.
 
Craig raised his gun and aimed down the hall way. He was sure of it now. It was probably the resident.
 
"C'mon! C'mon, try it!" Craig saw what rounded the corner: a vacuum cleaner.
 
It was an older model. A wheeled cylindrical canister with a wand ending in a floor brush connected by a long, skinny hose. Except no one was using it. Yet like a grazing cow or goat, the floor brush scanned the carpet for dirt as it dragged its tank behind it.
 
"What the fuck?!"
 
As if reacting to the sudden noise, the motor switched off. Craig watched as the vacuum's floor brush lifted off the floor and pointed at him; like it was looking at him somehow. It reminded his of a giraffe. Or, he thought, like a snake about to strike.
 
In one swift motion, the vacuum's motor revved up as it glided up the hallway towards Craig. He fired, but he wasn't hitting his mark. He thought he just couldn't see who was pushing the vacuum in the dark; not realizing that another human wasn't the immediate danger.
 
The floor brush latched onto his head like a Facehugger and Craig's head distorted as it was funneled inside by the negative pressure building inside it. A dull pop as it engulfed the rest of he's head in an instant and swallowed his neck up to the shoulders; followed by his shoulders as it pulled them in and pinned his arms to his sides.
 
Unable to reach up to pull himself out, all he could do was kick uselessly and claw at the carpneted floor as the power head slowly crept down his torso. A bulge that was Craig's head travelled up the telescopic tube past the handle and into the hose; the reticulated plastic acting like an anaconda as his form started to shrink inside.
 
As his hands and waist were taken, he kicked at nothing as the powerhead reared back like a horse and this thighs and calved followed. Soon the lump that had been Craig went up the length of the hose as the input to the canister yawned open to accept him. The cylinder wined and vibrated as its new occupent was thrown against its inside and spun inside the cylindrical chamber.
A moment later, and the tank emptied as the motor powered down.
The hallway fell silent, save for the sound of the muffled bumping of the rubber wheels as the vacuum rolled down and around the corner.
 
[Seven minutes later]
 
"Uh, Owen... I just thought of something." Wade said, earning an eyeroll from Owen, "Oh, what is it now?!"
 
"You said not to leave any finger prints or anything else that might be traced back to us, right?" Owen was more than a little annoyed right about now, "Yes, yes I did. Why do you ask?"
 
"Well, what are the chances they could get a finger print or a DNA sample from something in a bathroom?" His eyes went wide, "... Dammit!"
 
He started down the hallway where Craig sent, "Wait, where are you going?"
"Where do you think I'm going?" He shot back at Wade, "Scrubbing someone else's toilet isn't something I thought I'd do today, but I guess this is what we're doing now."
 
[Second storey, upstairs bathroom]
 
Tapping his foot impatiently at the vacant latrine, Owen growled. Wade just offered a nervous chuckle, "I guess there must be more than one bathroom." "Fuck!"
 
"Should we split up and look for him, Owen?"
 
"No, I'm going to go look for him; you are going to stay here and scrub this whole room from top to bottom."
 
"It looks fine to me, this could be in a showroom at a hardwear store."
 
"For prints, Wade. We're not housekeeping; you're scrubbing for finger prints!" And with that Owen was gone.
 
Wade honestly couldn't see how much cleaner this bathroom could get. If it weren't for the toiletries, hand towels, and bath mat, there would be no sign that it was ever used at all.
But he also knew that you couldn't exactly see finger prints either, so he thought to start where anyone would were they to use the bathroom: the doorknobs. It was the first thing in the room he interacted with himself after all.
 
He wiped down whatever he could. It felt like a waste of time to clean a bathroom when they were supposed to be robbing a place.
Wade was so occupied with his own thoughts that he didn't notice that the water in the toilet started to stir as a bubble rose up from the bottom of the bowl and breached the surface.
 
Wade felt the hard, titled floor give out from under him as he stumbled back and fell heels-over-head backwards with a loud splash. It took him a moment to get his bearings and realize that he was curled up sitting in the toilet bowl.
He cursed to himself, now his pants were all wet. They would take forever to dry.
But when Wade tried pulling himself out, he slipped off the smooth, hard ceramic surface of the plumbing fixture.
The bowl didn't seem that deep, but he still lost his footing as his leg slid back down behind him.
 
Wade looked down. Was his leg in the siphon? It was; his lower leg was swallowed up to his knee at the bottom of the bowl. It almost felt like it was twisted up into the s-bend; which was impossible. He should have broken a bone, or been in excruciating pain at least.
 
Even with his hands firmly on the rim of the seat, he had a hard time freeing himself. Then he heard something behind him, in the water tank.
The valve somehow opened by itself as the sudden rush of water surged through the rim of the bowl and caused the jets to start filling the vessel.
 
As the water rose above his waist and pooled around his rib cage, Wade felt the siphon jet blowing at his knee. Which seemed to loosen his leg. At first he thought it had loosened to the point where he could pull his leg out. But instead the water flowed right down its sides in the siphon, and seemed to pull him further down.
Wade's other leg slipped along the smooth inner surface of the bowl, as his chin dripped past the seat. It was even more awkward with his elbows high above his head like this.
 
The water continued to fill the bowl as it seemed to roar like a starving animal. The siphon had broken, and now it almsot felt like Wade's lower body was twisting into a corkscrew as the water spun around his chest in a whirlpool.
 
He tried and failed to keep his head above, before it too was pulled below the surface. His arms flailed uselessly out of the brim of the toilet as they they twirled around and were pulled down.
 
The siphon jet blasted the last of Wade down as he was flushed with a chugging sound. The bowl began to refill. The valve closed as the water in the tank was once again full and ready for the next flesh.
The plumping in the wall fell quiet as silence returned to the pristine bathroom.
 
[Twelve minutes later]
 
Owen berated his cohorts in the group chat. Everything had gone South the moment they walked in.
 
He was sure that tonight would go off without a hitch; but was he didn't account for was that he'd be babysitting a pair of toddlers in adult's bodies.
 
"Slam!"
 
He whipped his head around as a loud bang startled him. Was someone else there? No, he was sure there was no one else besides him and the others. But he didn't take any chances and decided to hide. If they were the resident of this house, he's need the element of surprise to give him an edge.
 
So the rogue headed for the only place he knew from his search of the house would be a good place to hide: the basement.
He carefully closed the door behind him, and waited.
 
It was quiet for a while. But Owen didn't dare press his luck. Than his luck ran out.
 
"Click!"
 
The bolt on the door. Owen tried the knob. The door wouldn't budge.
 
How could he be so stupid?! He practically jumped into his own coffin.
 
What? Were they going to turn him over to the police? Of course not. This was probably some paranoid homesteader who was going to take matters into their own hands. Owen tried calming himself down, but before he could...
 
His step buckled underfoot, and Owen was sent tumbling down from the top landing of the stairs. He landed hard on his chest with his arms reaching out over his head in an attempt to catch himself. But he only slid down onto the landing at the bottom of the stair case. Owen chastised for not flipping the light switch after closing the basement door behind him. It was pitch black. It thought it would be cold and damp. Well, he got the damp part right. It was oppressively humid. And hot; like - really hot.
 
It was then that he realized that there was no turbulence on his way down here; he should have broken something, or at least had a lot more bruises from hitting any steps on the stair case.
 
He lost balanced as everything shook.
An earthquake? Owen tripped and landed on his ass.
No, this was steady and deliberate.
 
It had to be someone. Some absolutely enormous. Owen imagined a weight lifter descending the staircase after him with death in his eyes.
 
But that booming sound wasn't coming from the stairs. His rational mind failed him as the sudden rush of panic sent Owen's fight or flight response into overdrive. Flight was no longer an option, and fight seemed like a Herculean feat.
 
What ever it was, it sounded like it was coming from all around him. It sure wasn't human and sounded too big to be a simple attack animal.
 
Owen rolled onto his stomach as he clawed at the ground to crawl back toward the stairs. The floor didn't even feel like carpet anymore as his hands slipped and he slid back into the darkness; pushed and pulled by the rippling floor as it contracted in waves.
 
Fear-induced paranoia took over his thoughts as he feared some obscure, man-eating animal dragging him into the darkness.
 
Little did Owen know that the moment he and his partners in crime entered the homestead, they were already devoured.
 
[One week later]
 
It was a bright, sunny - and hot Summer's day, much to Alan's frustration. His Uber didn't have air conditioning, because of course it didn't. Too bad the hospital couldn't give him a ride back 'cause that would be a little too nice of them Alan thought.
 
Still, he was back. And that's all that mattered. His injuries meant that he couldn't work as well as before. In fact, they probably meant that he wouldn't be working much as all. But right now that was the least of his worries as he hobbled toward the front door.
He knew it was going to be bad. Alan just didn't know exactly how bad it was going to be. But no matter what came next, he was determined that they would brave it together.
 
He searched the house as best he could. Alan started to hurt with nearly every step now. Patricia didn't seem to be anywhere in sight. Dread started to creep into his mind as Alan thought for a moment that she had left him; or worse.
 
Then he remembered. Alan already searched the second floor; but there was still one place he hadn't looked yet.
 
Alan walked down to the end of the hallway, cranking his head back as he fixed his gaze on the trapdoor on the ceiling. He pulled down the draw string as the attic ladder unfurled and bridged down to Alan's feet.
 
He reached up with both hands and grabbed the trap door frame as he took one agonizingly slow and steady step after another up the ladder.
 
Alan poked his head out like a telescope in the dark attic. His body felt like it was stationary and stable, but his head felt like it was bobbing up and down at a steady pace. It was breathing.
 
On either side of his head he could see two massive walls of flesh flanking him. Turning his head around, he saw what they were attached to. A chest. Alan was poking out the top of an enormous belly; wedged between two gargantuan breasts.
 
"Hey."
 
Alan looked further up. High above the top of the enormous mounds of flesh was his beloved Patricia; smiling down at him as she usually did like a goddess.
 
"... Hey."
 
He just looked back up and smiled at her, breathing a sigh of relief, "You got a trapdoor on your belly." Patricia smiled right back, "Yep. I do."
 
"... Did you eat the garage?"
 
"I did."
 
Alan thought about it for a second, then he spoke, "... How do you feel about cars?" Patricia laughed, "The hospital gave the the number of the auto-place they had towed it to after the accident. Did you see it on your way in?" Alan shook his head, "I was busy looking for you."
 
"I love you, Alan. Welcome home."
 
"I love you too."
 
 
[Two weeks later.]
 
Alan pulled up to the garage door with a bag of groceries in the front passanger seat. The old junk heep looked good as new; a better job than any mechanic could have done. The garage door opened on its own to let him drive in.
 
The engine turned off as he opened the door and walked into the entry way with the groceries in hand.
 
It was good to finally be Home.
 
"Welcome back, sweetie!" Patricia's voice rang out as he entered the kitchen. The scene was like that of a fairytale, with appliances operating themselves in preparation for tonight's dinner and the vacuum busily huming away in the living room.
 
Patricia hadn't gotten hungry once since Alan came back. He guessed that - maybe - him living inside her counted as "food" now that she was mostly house herself.
 
At the very least it meant now he could cook for the both of them at his own leisure. Which was good, since the accident had limited what he could do physically these days.
 
"Uh... Babe, there's someone at the door."
 
She warned even before their unknown visitor rang the doorbell. There was still one thing that Alan could do that Patricia couldn't; and that was answer the door.
 
A sharply dressed man with long, flowing hair stood on his doorstep. "Excuse me, Sir. Sorry to bother you - especially so close to dinner time. You don't know me, but you may have heard about our government's new and exciting program for the residents of Beldwitsch."
 
Somehow - someway - they were getting out of this damn city, Alan was determined as this salesmen, or govenment suit babled on.
 
"Surely you're aware that there has been a recent surge in home invasions in your area? Well, I've come here to offer you a solution to this problem. So that you can rest easy at night and wake up in the morning stress-free for that first cup of coffee."
 
Something about this guy was off. Alan shook his head and firmly said then and there that he wasn't interested in hearing anymore about his pitch. But he kept smiling and pressing on, "I understand this is inconvenient for you. Here, I have a pamphlet here-" Alan was quickly running out of polite ways to deny him, before the man in the suit and tie dropped the act altogether.
 
"Mr. Hinton, I'm afraid the danger to you and your home is very real." Alan's hands at his sides balled up into fists. Was this some kind of threat? Or maybe a scam artist trying to intimidate him.
 
"And I'm afraid you're done. Goodbye!"
 
"You can't keep it a secret forever."
 
Alan blinked. "Those home invaders, the trespassers. People know street crime is on the rise. And the criminals know that they're losing people trying to break into this house specifically."
 
What was this guy talking about?
 
"They know something happened to them. And they suspect there is something in your home worth protecting. Now: I know somewhere that's safe and out of the way. But if you stay here, things will only escalate."
 
"Than let them escalate! I'm not losing my home!"
 
"... I wasn't talking to you, Mr. Hinton."
 
"WHY?! Why can't you just let us be happy?!"
 
"?! ... "
 
The man in the suit finally seemed to back off. Whatever quiet there was, it was broken in an instant.
 
"You're not going to take Alan away from me, are you?"
 
Alan looked back, and overhead to where he heard his wife's voice coming from. Patricia's head poked out over the rain gutter above as she towered over the two. "Patricia."
 
Like the wrinkles of a bedsheet being pulled over a mattress, the shingles of the roof smoothed out, and the facade of the second storey bisected into her bare chest. Her flabby arms folding over them to preserve her modesty.
 
"... You misunderstand. I'm not here to hurt you or separate you two." the man with long hair said, "Quite the opposite, in fact."
 
***
 
Twin_Blademaster: I still can't believe there was an empty space just sitting there going unused during a housing crisis.
 
BishonenApocalypse: Blame Hugo Grotius and his dominium eminens.
 
Lord8========D: Who?
 
INXSFan89: He wrote the book On the Law of War and Peace.
 
BishonenApocalypse: It means supreme lordship.
 
Lord8========D: Okay, we get it: you guys are huge nerds.
 
Big_boss893: Basically: the government can just kick you out and bulldoze your house.
 
Lord8========D: That sucks.
 
The_Man_for_the_Job: @Lord8========D They are supposed to be compensated.
 
BurningRangerSaturn: We're spending a lot of time and effort trying to keep the monsters we find under wraps. Is it all really necessary?
 
Big_boss893: @The_Man_for_the_Job They didn't even do anything with the land they took.
 
BurningRangerSaturn: Capitalism at its finest.
 
The_Man_for_the_Job: @BurningRangerSaturn *Crony corporatism
 
BishonenApocalypse: @BurningRangerSaturn 1 humans are anti-monster AF right now. Do I need to remind you how many we had to save from the streets?
 
BurningRangerSaturn: @BishonenApocalypse Yes, but we could just help improve relations between monsters and humans. And Patricia might be the perfect chance to take that first step.
 
BishonenApocalypse: 2 You know that monster parts fetch a huge price on the black market.
 
INXSFan89: @BurningRangerSaturn that is a good point.
 
The_Man_for_the_Job: @BishonenApocalypse I can attest to that.
 
BishonenApocalypse: And 3 the moment they realize a monster is useful, they'll stop being people and start being property.
 
The_Man_for_the_Job: Damn
 
INXSFan89: Maybe there's something we could do about that.
 
Twin_Blademaster: Its not like monsters really have human rights in most of Neo America.
 
000003: typical
 
BurningRangerSaturn: I hate it when your right. God damn do I hate humanity"
 
BishonenApocalypse: I hate that I'm right too. Let's not forget why we are doing this. Helping people is great, but we're making beds in burning houses. This kind of power shouldn't be in the hands its in. Focus on dealing with all this corruption; and maybe save one or two people along the way.
 
INXSFan89: Maybe more than just one or two, but aye.
 
Big_boss893: Hear, hear!
 
Twin_Blademaster: Eyes on the price. We'll be saving more people in the long run.
 
000003: understood
 
BishonenApocalypse: @The_Man_for_the_Job By the way: thanks for pulling those strings to get that neighborhood going.
 
The_Man_for_the_Job: NP I'm a sucker for happy endings.
 
Lord8========D: How did you get so much mortal currancy?
 
The_Man_for_the_Job: If you can't make money off stupid people, than you can't make money.
 
Big_boss893: @The_Man_for_the_Job Fullstop
 
Twin_Blademaster: @The_Man_for_the_Job If only more people were like you, Ira.
 
The_Man_for_the_Job: Thank God there aren't.