After almost ten minutes of trying, tears forming in her eyes, she managed to get support on a reinforced iron bar from the bed and lift herself up.
"Alrigh'... hah... big... hah... girl," she managed to breath out, proud of herself, her entire being damp and red, "let's... huff..."
Her whole body bent forward as she walked, evidently because of the enormous stomach fat and breasts which weighed her down. Under the wide, covered in soft-looking padding, back there was the constant ache. She did not pay much attention to it, all the efforts concentrated in raising the heavy legs one after the other to waddle toward the bathroom. With every step a muffled thud could be heard if one was paying attention. She did not hear them under her soundly breath, however. Grabbing the iron support rail installed beside the toilet she sat down, peeing pleasurably, silently farting in the process. She stayed there for a while, waiting for the other part of the business to come as it usually did when she woke up. She loved that bathroom. Everything about it had been especially chosen to give her comfort and well-being.
In fact, the home that Ritchie had bought for them had been chosen as to be an exact palace for Chrissie. The new house was big, with rooms and corridors as wide and spacious as she needed them to be. There was not a room in which she did not feel like a queen. And there was not a piece of furniture in which she felt less like a woman covered in bean-bags; but that was not Ritchie's fault.
After they found the money, Ritchie was hell bent in giving his girlfriend a fitting life. He spent days just trying to understand where it had come from. He looked everywhere for answers, eventually finding receipts of old investments his father never bothered to talk about. He got hold of a number from an old war friend of his father. The man was very sad to hear about Ritchie's father, and gladly retold everything that they had been through together, since the reserved alcoholic never spoke of his past. After a while it was clear that the money was plainly and simply clean. Probably some paranoia, maybe caused by the drinking, compelled his father to hide it inside an old mattress. And now he was gone, and all that money was left for the boy. With a newly discovered future, the young man did not hesitate and changed his life for the best. Eventually he partnered up with his old boss to open another Stu's Kitchen and the restaurant was a hit. Another was to follow and the fortune from the mattress became even bigger, and it had been some time since the young man had to worry about money.
And all the while, Chrissie ate.
She tried to join the gym, and she even went everyday for at least two weeks, managing to lose a few pounds then, resolute in losing actual heavy weight. Nonetheless, the shame of sweating like a pig, of the other gymgoers not taking their stupid gazes from her, of feeling like she was about to explode after every exercise, made her will fade. And her only solace was food. Greasy, heavy food. She always wanted to eat. With every pound lost she felt like stuffing her face with chocolate filled eclairs or double-cheese burgers. And so, as her loved boy indulged her every wish, she grew.