emily 8

Chapter 8: Aftershock

The taxi pulled up to Max's building, and Emily winced as she stepped out into the harsh daylight. Her head was pounding, her mouth felt like sandpaper, and her body ached in ways she couldn't fully account for. She trudged through the lobby, avoiding eye contact with the doorman who clearly recognized her disheveled state for what it was.

When the elevator doors opened to the penthouse, she was greeted by the concerned faces of Max and Denise. Max paced back and forth in an expensive silk robe, phone clutched tightly in his hand. Denise stood with her arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Where the hell have you been?" Max demanded, his usual smooth demeanor cracked with genuine worry. "We've been calling you all night!"

Emily shuffled past them toward the kitchen, her substantial body moving with even less grace than usual as every muscle protested. She needed water desperately.

"I was out," she mumbled, filling a glass at the sink and gulping it down.

"Out?" Denise's voice was sharp. "Carmen and Lucia came home at three in the morning, completely out of it. They said some guy took you home. A stranger, Emily. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

Emily refilled her glass, avoiding their eyes. "It's fine. Nothing happened."

"Your smeared makeup and yesterday's clothes suggest otherwise," Max said, his voice calmer now but laced with disappointment. "The girls told us everything—about the club, about the drugs. Taking ecstasy from a complete stranger? Sleeping with him? Emily, what were you thinking?"

Emily slumped into a chair at the kitchen island, her body suddenly feeling twice as heavy. "I don't see what the big deal is. You've been letting me drink and smoke weed this whole trip."

"That's different," Max insisted. "Alcohol and marijuana are one thing. Hard drugs from strangers is another level entirely."

Denise moved closer, her expression softening slightly. "You're too young and vulnerable to be experimenting with that stuff, especially with people you don't know. Do you even remember what happened last night?"

The truth was, Emily didn't remember much after leaving the club. There were flashes—Jason's apartment, his hands on her body, moments of intense pleasure—but the timeline was fragmented at best. The realization that she couldn't account for several hours of her life was unsettling, but she wasn't about to admit that.

"I remember enough," she said defiantly, though her tone lacked conviction.

Max sighed heavily. "Get some rest. We'll talk about this later."

As they walked away, Emily heard Denise whispering urgently to Max. "I told you we should have gone with them. They're just kids, really."

Emily rolled her eyes. The hypocrisy was astounding. Max had been plying her with expensive cocktails since she arrived, encouraging her to indulge in every possible way—except, apparently, this one. And Denise had turned a blind eye to their drinking and smoking as long as they were discreet about it.

Still, she said nothing as she dragged herself to her room and collapsed onto the bed.

---

A few hours later, a soft knock on her door roused Emily from her shallow sleep. Carmen peeked in, followed by Lucia.

"Hey," Carmen whispered. "Can we come in?"

Emily nodded, pushing herself up against the headboard. The nap had done little to alleviate her headache, which now pulsed behind her eyes with renewed vigor.

Once the door was closed, Carmen's concerned expression transformed into eager curiosity. "So? What happened after we got separated?"

Lucia perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes wide with anticipation. "We tried to find you, but that Jason guy said he'd take care of you."

Unlike Max and Denise's interrogation, there was no judgment in their tones—just the conspiratorial excitement of friends sharing adventures.

"God, my head is killing me," Emily groaned, rubbing her temples.

Carmen immediately dug into her pocket. "Here," she said, offering a small white pill. "It'll help."

Emily didn't ask what it was—after last night, one more pill hardly seemed worth questioning. She swallowed it dry, desperate for relief.

"So?" Lucia prompted again. "Tell us everything!"

The tension in Emily's shoulders eased slightly as the pill began to take effect, spreading a warm, numbing sensation through her body. She leaned back, feeling her muscles relax one by one.

"It was... intense," she admitted, a small smile playing at her lips despite her discomfort. "I've never felt anything like that before. It was like every cell in my body was awake and singing."

Carmen nodded knowingly. "That's molly for you. First time is always magical."

Emily described the night as best she could remember—the overwhelming euphoria, the incredible sensitivity of her skin, how the music had seemed to physically move through her.

"And Jason?" Lucia pressed, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Emily felt her cheeks flush. "He was... experienced. And not just with the drugs."

She told them about going back to his apartment, the fragments she could recall of their passionate encounter, and his surprising familiarity with weight gain as a lifestyle.

"He said he helped his ex gain weight," Emily recounted, still amazed by this stroke of luck. "He actually understood when I told him about my streaming."

Carmen's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? What are the odds?"

"I know, right? It felt like fate or something." Emily paused, suddenly realizing the gnawing emptiness in her stomach. "God, I'm starving. I haven't eaten since we left last night."

Lucia jumped up. "I'll get you something! What do you want?"

"Everything," Emily groaned. "Just... everything."

As Lucia hurried out, Carmen leaned in closer. "Are you going to see him again?"

Emily shrugged, but she couldn't hide the hopeful gleam in her eye. "I don't know. I didn't get his number or anything. It all happened so fast."

"We could go back to Curves next weekend," Carmen suggested, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He seemed like a regular there."

"Do you think we could get away with it?" Emily asked. "Max and Denise were pretty pissed."

Carmen waved dismissively. "They'll get over it. Besides, Denise isn't our mother, and Max isn't yours."

Before Emily could respond, Lucia returned with two of the maids pushing carts laden with food—pastries, fruit, cheeses, cold cuts, bread, and a massive bowl of pasta salad.

"I didn't know what you wanted," Lucia explained, "so I asked them to bring a bit of everything."

Emily's mouth watered at the sight. Whatever Carmen had given her had not only dulled her headache but heightened her already formidable appetite. She dove in without hesitation, starting with the pasta salad.

As she ate, her mind drifted back to the night before. Between bites, she described to Carmen and Lucia how it felt to dance without inhibition, to feel beautiful and desired despite—or perhaps because of—her size. She told them about Jason's hands on her thighs, the way he had looked at her with unmistakable hunger.

"He really liked my body," she marveled, licking sauce from her fingers before reaching for a croissant. "Not in a fetishy way, but like he genuinely thought I was sexy."

"You are sexy," Carmen insisted. "That's why Curves exists. Not everyone wants a stick figure."

As the afternoon wore on, Emily continued to feast, her body making up for lost time and calories. The conversation shifted between reminiscing about the club and planning their next adventure, but Emily's mind kept returning to Jason.

She imagined scenarios where they met again—him feeding her decadent foods as she sat handcuffed to a chair, unable to resist. Her breathing quickened at the thought of him putting a funnel in her mouth, pouring in thick weight gain shake while telling her how beautiful she would be with another hundred pounds. In her fantasy, he was both gentle and commanding, praising her as she grew more and more for him.

These daydreams carried her through a day of near-constant eating. By evening, she had consumed what would be several days' worth of calories for an average person, but her body demanded more—both to recover from the drug's effects and to feed her insatiable appetite.

---

Around eight o'clock, Max emerged from his study looking exhausted. He found Emily on the balcony, picking at the remnants of yet another meal while scrolling through her phone.

"Emily," he said, his earlier anger seemingly replaced by resignation. "I had planned to take you to the Heart Attack Grill tonight. It's infamous—the most unhealthy fast food restaurant in the world. The waitresses dress as nurses, and they spank customers who don't finish their meals." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But something urgent has come up that I need to handle."

Emily looked up, momentarily disappointed at missing what sounded like her dream restaurant, but also relieved not to endure another lecture about her choices.

"What kind of work do you actually do?" she asked, realizing she had never bothered to find out what funded Max's lavish lifestyle.

"Investment banking, primarily," he answered vaguely. "Very boring, very demanding."

Emily nodded, not really understanding or caring about the details. "It's fine. I'm still pretty wiped out from last night anyway."

Max studied her for a moment, as if considering whether to revisit their earlier conversation, then simply nodded. "Get some rest. Perhaps we can try again tomorrow."

After he left, Carmen appeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Boss man too busy for you again?" she asked, filling both glasses generously.

Emily took one gratefully. "Yeah. Something about work."

Carmen settled into the chair next to her, kicking off her shoes and putting her feet up on a nearby ottoman. Unlike Denise, who maintained a professional distance even during their party night, Carmen had quickly shed all pretense of being staff rather than friend.

"His loss," Carmen declared, raising her glass in a toast. "More fun for us."

As the night deepened, Carmen regaled Emily with stories of her wildest parties—celebrity encounters at exclusive clubs, beach raves that lasted until dawn, backstage passes to concerts where the after-parties were more legendary than the shows themselves.

Emily listened, enthralled. Her own life suddenly seemed small and sheltered in comparison. Her idea of rebellion had been eating on camera and smoking weed in her bedroom. Carmen's world was full of experiences Emily had only seen in movies.

"How do you know about all this stuff?" Emily asked, reaching for the now-nearly-empty wine bottle. "The clubs, the drugs, everything?"

Carmen shrugged. "Trial and error, mostly. And friends who showed me the ropes." She gave Emily a sidelong glance. "Like I'm showing you."

Something warm bloomed in Emily's chest that wasn't just the wine. She had never had a friend like Carmen before—someone who seemed to genuinely enjoy her company and wanted to share experiences rather than judge her choices.

Later, they moved the party inside, where Carmen produced her bong again. Emily's headache had returned as the earlier pill wore off, and she welcomed the familiar relief of marijuana. They took hit after hit, the smoke filling Emily's lungs as Carmen's stories grew increasingly animated.

By the time Emily finally collapsed into bed, her head was spinning pleasantly, and her dreams were filled with flashing lights, pulsing music, and Jason's hands guiding her through a crowd that parted to make way for her magnificent form.

---

The next morning, Emily awoke to the sounds of hushed conversation outside her door. She strained to listen, recognizing Max's authoritative tone and Denise's measured responses.

"I'll be gone most of the day," Max was saying. "Just keep her entertained and out of trouble."

"Of course, Mr. Max," Denise replied. "Will you be back for dinner?"

"I'm not sure. Don't wait for me if I'm not back by eight."

Emily heard his footsteps retreating, followed by a soft knock on her door. She quickly pretended to be asleep as Denise peeked in.

After the door closed again, Emily reached for her phone. A text from Carmen lit up the screen: "Coast clear yet? Lucia has mimosas ready."

Emily typed back: "Max just left. Denise still here."

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in stretchy leggings and an oversized t-shirt, Emily made her way to the kitchen where Carmen and Lucia were already enjoying brunch. The spread was less extravagant than usual—Denise was evidently taking her supervisory role seriously—but still featured a mountain of bacon and a stack of fluffy pancakes.

Denise hovered nearby, her expression carefully neutral as she observed the three younger women chatting and eating. When Emily reached for a fourth pancake, Denise's eyebrow raised slightly, but she said nothing.

The morning passed slowly, with Denise suggesting various tourist activities that Emily rejected as requiring too much walking. By early afternoon, even Denise seemed bored with her babysitting duty.

"I need to check on some things at home," she finally said after watching Emily, Carmen, and Lucia lounge by the pool for hours, hardly speaking when Denise was within earshot. "Will you three be alright on your own? No more... adventures?"

"We'll just stay here," Lucia promised sweetly. "Emily's still recovering anyway."

Denise hesitated, clearly torn between her responsibility to Max and her desire for a break. "I'll just be gone for a few hours. Call if you need anything."

The moment the elevator doors closed behind her, Carmen sat up excitedly. "Finally! I thought she'd never leave."

Emily pulled herself into a more upright position on her lounger, the effort making her short of breath. "What's the plan?"

Carmen's eyes gleamed with mischief. "There's this amazing beach party happening today. Goes all day and night, and then there's an after-party at Curves. We could see if your Jason is there."

Emily's heart raced at the thought. "What about Max and Denise?"

"Denise won't be back for hours, and Max is tied up all day," Lucia pointed out. "We could be back before either of them knows we're gone."

"Or," Carmen added with a sly smile, "we could just stay out and deal with the consequences later. What's the worst they can do?"

Emily considered this. The worst Max could do was probably send her home early, which didn't seem like much of a threat compared to the possibility of seeing Jason again. And the memory of how good she had felt on MDMA—before the crash—was still vivid in her mind.

"Let's do it," she decided, pushing herself up from the lounger with newfound energy.

The next hour was a flurry of activity as they prepared for their escape. Emily chose her outfit carefully—a flowing maxi dress that showcased her cleavage while skimming over her less favorite areas. Carmen did her makeup, applying shimmering highlighter to make her skin glow in the sun.

Lucia appeared with a bottle of expensive white wine from Max's collection. "Pre-game?" she suggested, already taking a swig directly from the bottle.

Emily accepted the bottle, tilting it back for a long drink. The cold wine hit her empty stomach with a pleasant burn. She hadn't eaten much today, too focused on their plans to bother with more than a few bites of breakfast.

"Should we bring anything else?" Emily asked, thinking of the previous night's pharmacological enhancements.

Carmen patted her purse with a wink. "Already handled. This is going to be epic."

As they took turns with the wine bottle, Emily felt the familiar warmth of alcohol spreading through her system, loosening her limbs and brightening her mood. The anxiety about sneaking out, about Max's potential disappointment, about the consequences of her choices—all of it melted away with each swallow.

By the time they were ready to leave, the bottle was empty and their laughter had grown louder, less restrained. Emily checked her reflection one last time, admiring how the dress hugged her generous curves. For once, she felt beautiful—not in spite of her size, but because of it.

"Ready?" Carmen asked, her eyes bright with excitement.

Emily grabbed her purse, her movements fluid with wine and anticipation. "Ready."

As they headed for the elevator, giggling and shushing each other dramatically, Emily couldn't help but wonder if Jason would be there—and what new experiences awaited her on Miami's glittering shores.