“The Girl from the TV”

You’re probably looking at me right now and thinking I’m some fat, pathetic loser who hasn’t gotten off this sagging couch in years, and if I did, it was only to answer the door for a food delivery guy. But even if that’s true, did at least one of you stop and think, where do I get my money from? Yeah. Exactly. I’m not some loser to you people. If anything, it’s the opposite. My success just isn’t measured by running around offices in a little suit holding a plastic cup of coffee pretending to be an “important person”, it’s measured by the fact that half of those office clowns depend on me and whether or not I’m in a good mood when one of them “accidentally” catches a virus on their computer.

And then my favorite part starts: “Oh Mark, please, I’m begging you, accounting is down,” “Mark, everything’s flashing red,” “Mark, I sent you another five grand, just bring the server back, for the love of God.” Idiots.

I slowly smirked, leaning deeper into the sunken couch until the springs beneath me whined miserably. My stomach spread heavily under the old stretched t-shirt and jiggled when I picked up the remote and pressed the channel button. The screen flickered, replacing some stupid crime report with another show full of supposedly funny political jokes and the permanently grinning clown throwing them out. News. Show. More news. Music channel. Show. Another show. Another one. More garbage.

“Jesus Christ, it’s all the same shit!” I barked, tossing the remote aside and reaching for the cup of warm cola sitting among pizza boxes, crumpled napkins, and greasy Chinese takeout containers. The ice had melted ages ago, turning the drink into sugary chemical sludge, but I didn’t care. I took a big gulp, feeling the soda stick unpleasantly to my throat, then glanced back at the TV screen still flashing one smiling face after another.

Now there were two people standing there: a huge, steroid-stuffed bastard with a tiny dick, judging by the look of him, and next to him some miniature fitness broom in a bright red workout outfit with tits so massive it looked like one more move and they’d burst not only out of that top, but straight through my fucking television.

“Jesus…” I muttered in disgust, already about to change the channel. “Who the hell even wants to look at these monkeys…”

Yeah, I’m a fucking racist, and I don’t care what you think, because whenever I see a white girl with a black guy, I literally feel sick. And these two looked even worse because of the size difference, like some goddamn bodybuilder had decided to walk his pocket wife around in front of cameras. And the most disgusting part was that they stood there like this wasn’t just normal, but somehow perfect. Both smiling, listening to the host’s questions, nodding like some happy little couple.

I was just about to switch channels when I heard the girl’s voice.

And nearly dropped the remote.

“Heeey! Hi, Mark!” she said with a smile, waving straight into the camera like she was talking to me personally through the fucking TV. And even though I understood perfectly well it was just a coincidence, I still felt my heart slam against my temples.

But she had already turned back toward the microphone, talking some nonsense about tomatoes.

“… Yeah, it’s really important that the tomatoes are fresh,” she continued with a wide, almost annoyingly sunny smile, lightly adjusting the microphone the host was holding with her long red nails. “Because Rafael totally loses his mind if they’re not sweet enough. He’s soooo picky, right babe?”

She tilted her head up toward her huge meathead, and he immediately smirked proudly, squeezing her shoulder with that enormous hand so casually, like he wasn’t holding an adult woman next to him but some tiny decorative toy.

“Well what can I say?” he rumbled with a lazy smug grin. “If my girl’s cooking, then she better cook properly.”

I grimaced.

“Jesus…” I muttered. “Looked familiar for a second…”

The two of them kept talking while I sat there in this weird state of frustration.

“Mark. Hey Mark.” she addressed me directly, and at that moment it felt like everything inside me dropped somewhere under the couch along with the empty pizza boxes. “Come on, answer already!”

“Huh…?” was all I managed to force out, frowning so hard my forehead hurt, while the girl on the screen suddenly stopped smiling and it looked like the entire image froze, like a paused frame.

Except for her.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” she said, stepping closer to the camera until only her face was visible, her brows furrowed.

“What…?” I muttered again, quieter this time, instinctively pressing myself deeper into the couch. The springs groaned under me while the cup of cola trembled in my hand.

“You sit there in this stink,” she continued with almost genuine irritation, “stuffing your face with garbage out of boxes, hating everyone around you, then looking at people like us as if we personally did something to you.”

“Oooh, go fuck yourself,” I snapped immediately, leaning forward sharply. “Who the hell even are you? Another silicone fitness slut for Instagram? Jesus Christ, there are millions of you exactly the same.”

She slowly narrowed her eyes.

“Her name is Camilla, Mark,” she answered calmly. “And this is Rafael. Although…” she tilted her head slightly, her long hoop earrings swaying against her tan cheeks, “I’m not going to explain anything to you.”

I snorted irritably and started looking around.

“Oh, bullshit! What is this?! Somebody put hidden cameras in here? Huh?! Was it you, Chuck?! I’ll fucking report you to the police, you hear me?!” I screamed, nearly shrieking as I lurched off the couch hard enough for the springs beneath me to crunch while my stomach swung heavily under my shirt.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

The dim yellow light from the lamp and TV started pulsing unpleasantly, like my blood pressure had suddenly spiked. I whipped my head around desperately looking for anything: a camera lens, a blinking light, a phone, any explanation for what was happening, but all around me were the same filthy walls, dirty dishes, old framed pictures of naked girls, and the stink of stale food.

But the strangest thing was that in those moments I felt something brushing against my shoulders, like I had long hair, while my earlobes twitched phantom-like as if something heavy was dangling from them.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Not because I was scared. No, goddammit. It was just that a blinding bright light, apparently coming from the television, suddenly hit me, and the next second I felt the air around me compress, hum, vibrate right inside my skull.

“What the fu—” I started, but didn’t finish.

Something heavy suddenly yanked me downward, like someone shoved hard against me.

I staggered, feeling my body suddenly become… smaller. Lighter. But at the same time something on my chest bounced with such inertia that I physically jerked in shock and lurched forward. Something soft, heavy, huge. And it moved with me, crushed tightly beneath dense fabric so hard that with every breath I could practically feel the material painfully stretching, like it was begging to be taken off.

I stumbled forward but didn’t fall.

No. Quite the opposite. I realized I was standing firmly on my feet and couldn’t even move properly because something huge and warm rested on my shoulder, pressing me confidently against someone’s hard side like this was all perfectly natural.

“Hey baby, what’s wrong?” a low male voice sounded directly above my ear, instantly freezing everything inside me. “Camilla?”

I threw my eyes open and the bright sun immediately forced me to squint again. But together with the sunlight came other signs of life too: passing cars, voices, music.

I stood there for several seconds trying to ignore the hand on my shoulder, that male voice, and especially the enormous weight on my chest swaying heavily with every breath, pulling the fabric tighter and tighter each time.

Fuck this! I have to see!

I lowered my head. Long hair slid over my shoulders, heavy earrings brushed my cheeks. My eyes widened.

“AAAAAH!” an awful high-pitched scream burst out of me while I stared in disbelief at the enormous tits blocking half my fucking view, tits that apparently belonged to me now.

And the worst part was how heavily they bounced from my scream. Bounced with this disgusting delayed sway that I felt way too clearly. Felt the skin underneath stretching from their weight, felt the tight sports bra digging into my ribs, felt the thin red top stretched so tightly it seemed like one more second and the seams would burst right there in the middle of the street.

“Whoa, babe, relax!” Rafael laughed above me, his huge hand squeezing my shoulder even tighter. “Why’re you screaming like that?”

I jerked my head upward.

“AAAH!” I screamed again, unable to stop the hysteria. It was him. The same giant from the screen. And he wasn’t just big like he looked on TV. He was a fucking giant towering over me and blocking out the sky itself.

Jesus Christ. This. This is completely insane. It’s a dream. Just a dream!