Chapter 2
Kat's father, as part of his determination to have the closest thing to a perfect nuclear family he could since his wife's death ten years earlier, worked from home.
This did not work in Kat's favour, as she reminded herself upon walking into the kitchen to be greeted by her father stirring a large, bubbling pot of stew.
"Katyusha" he smiled and kissed the top of her head. "Good day?" Before she could answer, he noticed Natalya rapidly disappearing up the stairs.
"And hello to you too, Natalya!" he called after her, before shaking his head and resuming stirring the stew. It smelled rich, and Kat could see drops of oil, coloured orange and ember with spices, floating on the surface. Must be fatty meat in there, she decided.
"Hope you're hungry" her father said with a smile. "Now, where might your brother be?"
Kat shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't see him today."
At that moment, the front door swung open, and in strolled Ivan, clad in his ever-present coat and scarf, despite the mild weather.
"Shoes, Ivan" Mr. Braginski muttered in exasperation for what had to be the thousandth consecutive day. "And where have you been?"
Ivan beamed and ruffled Kat's hair, much to her annoyance. "Spending time with a friend of mine."
Mr. Braginski gave a defeated sigh. "And by that, you mean detention because you've been fighting with that idiot Alfred again."
Ivan ripped a chunk of bread off the still-warm loaf on the counter and stuffed it into his mouth. "Wurnfy-imph" he explained. Kat took this opportunity to disappear to her room.
"How was gymnastics today?" Mr. Braginski asked his daughter. Natalya pushed a piece of potato around her plate, having eaten her fill of the stew.
"Fine."
"Just fine? What did you actually do?"
"Beam."
Seeing that this line of questioning was getting him nowhere, her father's focus shifted to Ivan.
"And you, Ivan? What did you do, other than get detention?"
Ivan wiped the last of his second portion of stew from his plate with a thick slice of bread. "We're doing a history project on the Cold War. We get to do it in pairs."
Mr. Braginski frowned. "The Cold War?" Ivan nodded enthusiastically.
"It's interesting. I already have some books on it from the library, I just need to find a partner now."
"Doesn't the teacher pair you up?"
"No. I asked Alfred if he'd like to be my partner, it makes sense showing two sides of it-"
"- and that, presumably, turned into an argument."
Ivan paused. "It was more of a conversation. A loud conversation. Then Alfred called me a commie, and I thought he was making a joke, so I called him a fat lazy burger fool, and then he threw a text book at my head. That's how I got this." He lifted his floppy, ash-blond hair off his forehead to reveal a small lump, slowly starting to bruise. Natalya gripped her knife and stabbed the unwanted chunk of potato. "I don't think Alfred got my joke."
"Would you like me to curse him?"
Natalya's question didn't sound particularly odd, coming from her; she asked it in the manner of someone offering a cookie. Mr. Braginski clearly found it at least mildly disturbing, however.
"What are you talking about, Natalya?"
"It's simple. You take a lock of the target's hair, tie a red piece of string around it, and hold it in the flames of a black candle, while reciting-"
"-Natalya" Kat interrupted, "Even if you somehow managed to get a lock of Alfred's hair, all that would do is fill the house with the smell of burning hair."
"Your sister's right. And I don't want you tampering with that sort of thing, you never know what you'll do."
"You believe in magic, then?" Natalya asked pointedly.
"I believe that young girls should not be attempting to curse people. Or burning hair. They should be clearing the table, then doing their homework."
Kat's fingers traced along the bulge of her abdomen. She swore she could feel a film of grease coating her mouth, and the lunchtime pizza danced in her memory. God, how much bread had she eaten? Had to be at least three slices. Thick slices. And of course she'd had a big portion of the stew, the strong flavours soaking into and flavouring every inch of her innards. She didn't even particularly like the stew; it was too strong, the meat chewy with white ribbons of fat, the dumplings had the texture of modelling clay. She could feel her ill-deserved meal writhe within her like a newly awoken abomination.
Abdomination, she thought without mirth. She could feel sweat beading at her hairline and under her breasts.
Why had she eaten so much? She didn't even think, just consumed. She closed her eyes for a moment all she could see was a grotesque creature, featureless except for two long arms indiscriminately shoving, packing, cramming piles of slop into a vast, insatiable opening.
"Do you need me to wash the plates?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Her father shook his head.
"No, I think Ivan can handle that tonight. Do you have much homework to do?"
"History. Just some questions. I'm going to take a bath before I start on them."
"Very well. Don't forget to come and say goodnight later."
It was like an exorcism; her holy water being the water splashing noisily into the bathtub, disguising the splatter of her stew, looking much the same as before, against the ceramic of the toilet bowl, only to slide into the water with a soft, dispirited plop. It just kept coming up; every time she thought that she could rest, curled around the toilet that provided her comfort, she'd feel another small chunk of that awful meat at the back of her throat, and her gag reflex forced everything up and out, until her head was spinning and her ears ringing.
She had done her research, mind; she was mostly relieved that she showed no signs yet of a diminishing gag reflex. In fact, she had learned to play her insides like a musical instrument; she sometimes imagined what this must look like from the inside, and couldn't decide if this was better or worse than her reality.
Eventually, it was just spit stained with spices, and the tub was nearly full. She stood up, having been holding the door shut with one foot (her father still hadn't fixed the bathroom lock), flushed. Flushed again. Threw some scrunched up tissues to hide the still slightly cloudy water. And then, she was ready to deal with her reflection.
She slowly pulled her t-shirt over her head, noticing when it caught even the slightest bit on a stray curve. She undid the top button of her jeans, fingers whispering over the indent left in her soft belly by the waist band. Finally, in one last move, like ripping off a scab, she unhooked her bulky bra, and slid her panties around her ankles. All she could see was flesh. Her pale thighs, fighting for dominance if she stood with her feet together, her stomach as soft as cake mixture, her chubby upper arms that looked even bigger thanks to the muscle underneath from hauling bags of soil and compost around at her part time job, her pendulous breast, heavy and slightly stretch marked...
And her face. Her stupid, gormless, pasty pudding face. Currently blotchy, and with those red dots she hated so much. They went away eventually, and weren't that noticeable unless someone was looking for them, but still felt like reminders of her own weakness. Her eyes had been watering at some point; her eyelashes were wet and spiky. She remembered how much she used to cry as a child; her mother used to say that she was sensitive, everyone else said she was merely a crybaby.
Kat threw her towel over the mirror, and climbed into the batch, enjoying the cleansing burn of her holy water, too hot really. She lay back and watched the various colours and patterns behind her eyelids (probably also fat and unshapely, she reasoned), fingers running along her own contours. Here, in the water, she felt almost fine; she was soft, like the water, she could easily dissolve into it. She thought of mermaids, and how they were always drawn as slender girls with long, flowing hair. She wondered if there were mermaids that had her fat and the tail of a manatee. Would that be beautiful? She was interrupted by the door opening.
Kat's eyes opened to see Natalya standing there, curious. "I left my hair brush in here", she offered by way of explanation. Taking it from the counter, she turned around and eyed Kat again, as though she were pondering something.
"Natalya, what are you staring at?" Kat found herself wrapping her arms around her chest.
"What is it like? Having those, I mean. Aren't they heavy?"
Kat nodded. "Yes. They hurt my back sometimes."
Natalya chewed on her lip in contemplation. "Are mine going to grow that big? I would be unbalanced, I wouldn't be able to do gymnastics."
Unbalanced was certainly a good word for Natalya, but Kat just gave a rueful smile. "They won't. You don't eat as much as I do, remember? And you're naturally small anyway."
Natalya nodded, satisfied with her answer, and left. Kat just stared at the ceiling until the water turned cold and her father shouted a goodnight through the door.