Quarantine Weight Gain

A quarantine wasn't going to bother Hanna. She'd made plans. She had enough toilet paper for a year and enough food for two; she was going to keep up with her friends via Skype and that one Netflix extension; she was going to keep in shape with living room workouts and maybe the occasional jog early in the morning before anyone else was up. She was going to be absolutely, admirably fine.

Well, that had been the plan anyway. Two weeks in, and she was already going stir-crazy.
She flicked through the Netflix catalogue, right leg vibrating restlessly as she stared at the same exact array of films she'd already watched half a dozen films this past week. Seriously, what was she supposed to do all day? Before this stupid quarantine she'd spent her days going to work, seeing some friends, going for a jog or to the gym. Occasionally when she found time in the evenings she'd watch a film or something, but the most she'd ever watched at once was that one time she spent a weekend binging Breaking Bad. This was on a whole other level. Weeks on end with nothing to do but waste her own time. It was bizarre, and she wasn't handling it well.
Grumbling discontentedly, she grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting beside her and swallowed it. She'd never really been one for junk food, but since the start of this endless quarantine she'd just been using trips to the kitchen to grab more snacks as an excuse to get off the couch. It wasn't as though there was anyone around to judge her, after all. The only reason she even bothered washing her hair was because having greasy blonde hair hanging over her face made it harder to watch the TV.

She puffed out her cheeks, glancing away from the Netflix catalogue for a moment. She should do something. Anything. Perhaps one of those workouts she'd been planning on doing every morning.
She felt a slight twinge of guilt at that. Two weeks on lockdown and she'd only managed a single workout so far – and she'd given up on that one halfway through anyway. It just wasn't the same, exercising in her living room; at the gym there were other people around, and she felt self-conscious about slacking. Alone in her living room, there was nothing to stop her from giving up and going back to her TV but her own self-discipline.

Sighing, she chose something from the catalogue and selected it, slumping back down on the couch as her momentary enthusiasm to do something, anything else slowly subsided. Her hand reached out absent-mindedly and scooped up another handful of popcorn, delivering it apathetically to a disinterested mouth and prodding it inside. All this salt was making her mouth dry; perhaps she'd go grab a soda from the fridge after this episode.

Her stomach grumbled as she settled into watching the show, grumpy at this new diet it was expected to handle – if this constant stream of greasy, sugary or salty junk could even be considered a diet. Hanna had always been a fairly healthy eater. She indulged occasionally, sure, but she'd always been good overall. Vegetarian five days a week, white meat over red, plenty of fruit and vegetables. She'd always treated her body well, and now the sudden shift into NEET-style haphazard gorging was not pleasing her stomach in the slightest.

Her hand drifted absent-mindedly to her waist, slipping beneath her shirt to massage her belly gently as she zoned out watching the TV. Her stomach had always been flat, even toned – her time at the gym made sure of that – but now, for the first time, there was a slight, almost imperceptible softness over the muscles of her stomach. It was scarcely noticeable, and indeed Hanna didn't even notice herself, but even just the past fortnight's worth of unhealthy habits were already taking their subtle toll – and there were still months of lockdown left to go.


Hanna hissed with irritation as she wobbled precariously in her bedroom, half-wedged into a pair of denim jeans. These had been her favourites before this stupid quarantine, but now they were... too small for her.
That was generous. It put the blame on the jeans for being too small, and not on her for being too big for them. It wasn't the jeans that had changed size, after all...
Growling, Hanna tugged, trying to yank the straining denim a little higher, but it was already obvious that they weren't going to be able to fit over her butt. The waistband was already tight just around her thighs, the pale bulk of her rump quivering overhead as she wriggled and writhed; she'd never be able to fasten the button even if she did somehow manage to get the creaking waistband over the soft bulge of her backside.

Letting out a little whine, she kicked out of the jeans and tossed them into a corner to land on top of the shorts she'd outgrown the Monday before last and the skirt whose zipper had mysteriously broken the week before that.
She was putting on weight. She wasn't oblivious, that much had been obvious for weeks now. She just... hadn't realised quite how much weight she'd already put on. Those had been her favourite jeans because they were comfy, because they were loose. If they didn't fit... well, neither would much else in her wardrobe.

Sweatpants. That was what she needed now. Definitely nothing with a button, a zip, or any other uncomfortable fastening.
She yanked open her wardrobe, pulled aside the racks of dresses to reach the sweatpants at the back – and jolted back as sudden movement beyond made her jump. She'd forgotten that there was a full length mirror built into the back of her wardrobe. Curious, she shifted another couple of dresses – and was suddenly confronted by her own reflection staring round-faced back at her, painted with anxiety. Clad in only her underwear, her reflection was plump and soft-looking through the glass, all rounded curves and pale, well-padded flesh. Her hefty breasts were all-but overflowing her bra – a bra that she only even continued wearing out of sheer habit – and she winced at the sight of her bulging sides. Her thick, pasty thighs showed none of the muscle that her jogging had earned over so many arduous hours of exercise, all that work lost to a few months of sitting around the house eating junk food and watching Netflix, and even her arms were looking weak.
Worst by far, however, was her belly. It was soft and quivering, swelling out to sag over the waistband of her underwear in one hefty fold. It was round, it was flabby, and it was entirely unrecognisable as the firm, toned stomach that she'd once shown off so proudly at the gym.

Shocked and more than a little horrified, Hanna's arm snapped out and grabbed her sweatpants, before shutting the wardrobe door on that soft, bloated reflection. That couldn't have been her. She'd put on weight, but... was it already so bad?

She needed to put a stop to this. Get started on those living-room workout she'd promised herself, cut back on the junk food, no more soda. If she didn't, by the time this quarantine finally lifted she'd probably be too wide to fit through the door, never mind into her old clothes.

For a moment she almost believed that she was going to do it, too. She could imagine it. She could see herself walking downstairs, finding some exercise video on YouTube and actually, properly working out for the first time in months.

And then her stomach rumbled, grumpy at not yet being fed that morning, and suddenly priorities shifted. The exercise could wait until after a decent breakfast – and then, it wasn't good practice to work out on a full stomach, so she'd probably have to wait until the afternoon. And then...
The memory of her plump, swollen reflection was already fading as she trotted downstairs towards the kitchen, thighs rubbing together within her sweatpants, empty stomach jiggling softly with each step of the staircase.


“Mom, no, I can't turn the video chat on,” Hanna protested, pasty cheeks tinging pink, “It's, uh, the laptop's not picking up my webcam.”
“Oh, that's a shame,” she could hear the disappointment in her mother's reply, “I don't like not being able to see you.”
Hanna was sympathetic, but there was absolutely no way that she was letting her mom see her in this state. She was sitting on her bed, legs spread with the laptop between them, surrounded by the plastic debris of her endless snacking. Her largest tops had finally stopped fitting entirely last week, so she sat bare-chested, fatty breasts braless and supported only by the swell of her bloated gut. Indeed, the only thing she wore at all was a pair of stained, grey-ish sweatpants, and even they were clearly reaching their limit. The fabric of the legs creaked, threatening to split at any moment under the sheer magnitude of her thighs, and the elasticated waistband, strained to its absolute limit, dug in sharply beneath the overflow of her belly and into her fleshy sides. She was soft, pale and flabby, heaped-up on her bed like so much quivering blancmange.

“Sorry, I dunno why it's not working,” Hanna shrugged, the excess flesh of her round shoulders bunching up slightly with the motion, “But it's not like I can get a computer guy to come and fix it at the moment.”
“Yes, this endless lockdown...” she heard her mother sigh, “It feels like it's never going to end.”
Hanna nodded sympathetically – before remembering that the video was off.
“Uh, yeah, just going on and on. I've lost track of how long it's even been at this point...”
“I hope it ends soon, I miss being able to go outside,” her mom grumbled, “You know, I've put on nearly eight pounds since we've been in quarantine? If it lasts much longer, the first thing I'll need to do when the shops reopen is buy some new jeans!”
Hanna laughed nervously, one hand drifting to the bulk of her belly sagging between her thighs, feeling its warm, unfamiliar mass.
“Y-yeah, I think I might have put on a couple of pounds too,” she almost whimpered.
“Well, watch that it's only a couple,” her mom hummed, “It's easy to lose track of that sort of thing when there's nobody around to judge, but you'll definitely regret it when the quarantine is lifted.”
“I'm- look, Mom, I'm actually, uh...” Hanna began, feeling her cheeks flush redder with embarrassment. It would be better just to admit it now; she couldn't hide this forever, “I'm...”
“You're what, dear?” her mom broke in, voice pleasantly curious, and suddenly Hanna's will broke.
“I'm- I'm going to go and get a snack,” she rushed, “I'll be back in a minute.”
“Oh. Well, alright, don't be long.”

Cursing her own cowardice, Hanna rolled off the bed and hefted herself down the stairs towards the kitchen, feeling her thick thighs rub and bunch up against each other with each laboured step as she found herself a bowl and emptied a family-size pack of chips into it. At some point over the past few months a family pack of chips had become little more than a snack for her, her appetite so swollen by the quarantine indulgence that anything short of a three-course feast left her feeling still hungry.
Chips in hand, she waddled herself back up the stairs, huffing with the strain of each step. By the time she reached the top she was out of breath and wheezing, her pasty bulk shimmering with a thin sheen of sweat as she paused for a moment on the landing – and helped herself to a handful of chips to hasten her recovery. A single bead of perspiration dripped from her nose as she ate, running down between her flabby breasts and onto her quivering stomach, where it shone for a second before slipping into the thick crease of her navel and vanishing for good.
Still munching chips, Hanna heaved herself back onto her bed and grabbed the laptop again, double chin jiggling subtly as her jaw worked its magic.
“Hey Mom,” she puffed, “I'm back.”
“Hanna? Are you alright?” her mom sounded alarmed, “You sound exhausted, have you been having breathing difficulties? That's a symptom!”
“N-no, Mom!” Hanna started, suddenly realising just how out-of-breath she really was as she struggled even to find the air for her speak a full sentence, “I just did some -ufff – some push-ups while I was getting my snack. Got to... got stay in shape, you know?”
“It sounds like you're wheezing, Hanna,” her mom fretted, “A healthy young woman like you wouldn't be wheezing after a few push-ups.”
Hanna was redder than ever now, her mother's jibes stinging all the more for being unwitting.
“Look, Mom, I said I'm fine, alright! I just did some exercise so I'm tired, that's normal,” she whined, “Maybe I'm not quite as fit as I used to be.”
“Dear, please don't ignore this sort of thing,” her mother pressed on anyway, “It could be a symptom!”

Hanna was tired of this though, tired of being made so aware of just how far she'd let herself fall. She just wanted to lounge back with a movie, finish her chips, then go and make herself a nice bowl of macaroni cheese before she helped herself to the tub of ice-cream she'd started that morning.
“Mom, it's been lovely talking to you, but I'm gonna have to hang up now, sorry. I think my, uh, my internet's dying,” she made her excuse through a mouth full of chips, “I'll call you again next week, okay?”
“Alright,” her mother sounded despondent, “Just take care of yourself, okay? I don't mean to fret, and I'm sorry if I upset you... I just want my daughter to be healthy.”
Hanna sighed.
“It's alright, Mom, I'm really fine is all. Talk to you later.”
Hanna leaned forwards to close the call, plump, chip-dusted finger slipping over the trackpad as she navigated to the hang-up icon – and missed entirely. The cursor slipped, the meaty pad of her thumb clipped the trackpad surface, and without so much as a request to use the webcam the voice chat became a video chat. The webcam light blinked on, and Hanna's mother was afforded with a full-screen view of her daughter's flabby breasts slumped over a pale, two-tier mountain of a gut, the viewport bordered by thick thighs that were bursting from stained sweatpants like overfilled sausages escaping their cases.

Both women screamed, and Hanna slammed the laptop closed.