If Emmett didn’t eat soon, something bad was going to happen. It was late afternoon. He’d worked more
than a full shift and still had over an hour to go. His shitty sack lunch was a distant memory. The
vending-machine trail mix he’d later scarfed had barely made a dent. His usual quantities of food were no
longer enough to tame his hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt truly satisfied.
It was worth it, though. That morning he’d weighed in at 199 pounds. He hadn’t been under 200 since he
was like, what, thirteen? It was hard to say; for a few years there he’d refused to st ep onto a scale, refused
to acknowledge his body’s growth by any measure other than the clothes that no longer fit and the cruelty
of the taunts that hounded him across the Meadowbrook Middle School campus. Fries hurled at his head
at lunch. Gum ground into his hair while waiting for the bus. Names like Porkémon and Titty Truesdale
shouted by boys he barely knew, whose brutal deaths he idly fantasized about from the back of the
classroom, and whose shirtless bodies, glimpsed in the locker room after PE, he held in his mind as he
masturbated at night.
It wasn’t just worth it to be this size, but lucrative. Ever since he’d surpassed five thousand Instagram
followers, brands had been reaching out, offering to pay him to promote their products. He turned most
of them down. He wasn’t interested in hawking protein powder and vitamin supplements. What he
wanted was to educate, to inspire. For that reason, he started offering remote personal coaching services,
providing space for people like him to express their struggles and fears, giving advice on staying resilient
in their journey to self- actualization. He was fully booked, but mostly his clients wanted his diet and
exercise secrets. He advised them to cut out sugar cold turkey.
Emmett’s stomach yowled like a randy tomcat. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. A
call went out over the radio: customer requiring assistance in the freezer section. He was passing that way
anyway. His chinos sagged as he clipped the radio back on his waistband. He’d have to ask Lizette to
take them in again.
When he reached the aisle, he was greeted by Myra astride her mobility scooter, a lilac muumuu
stretched taut between her splayed legs. Her sides poured out from under the armrests, her enormous
belly making the T-shaped steering apparatus look as tiny and funny as a toy.
Emmett strode into the aisle with a tight smile. “Hey there. Need some help?” “Yeah, I was— Heyyy,”
Myra said, her small, piggy eyes sparkling with recognition. “Is that who I think it is?”
“What’s left of me.” “Gosh, you got so skinny.” He preferred You look great or even incredible, but it
was something. Lizette barely acknowledged his weight loss at all. “I don’t give a fuck how much you
weigh,” she’d said when Emmett pressed her on it. “I’m not gonna say ‘You look good’ like I thought
you looked bad before. And anyone who does is an asshole.”
Emmett wondered if she wasn’t a little jealous. “How can I help you?” he said, and Myra directed him to
a family-size sack of frozen French fries on the bottom shelf. “No, two,” she added when he began to
close the freezer door.
A variety of frozen meats, and a pizza, and ice cream. It was always like this: he helped her out with one
thing, and he was her personal shopper for the day. He’d never minded before, but things were different
now. He k ept having to master his expression. Two bags of French fries? he thought as he schl epped
them into her basket. The triple chocolate ice cream? Does she really need all this junk?
He batted the thought away. Who was he to judge anyone for their food choices? Then, as he cleared the
shelves of Heinz cocktail sauce on her behalf: Maybe if she lost some weight, she could get it herself.
Smash! A bottle slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. “Damn it.”
The gruesome-looking splat triggered him unexpectedly. At once his mouth flooded with saliva, hunger
sizzling a ragged hole in his stomach. Weird—he didn’t even like horseradish. “Butterfingers,” Myra
jeered.
“We’ll get that cleaned up. Is three enough?” He loaded her up and radioed an associate to clear the mess.
The bottle was solid and thick, broken into a few large pieces. He collected them barehanded. “I should
take care of this, if that’s everything.”
“You go. Don’t go dropping anything else, butterfingers,” she said and motored off. Emmett gazed after
her, stifling a slur. Having disposed of the glass at the nearest waste station, he wiped his hands on his
shirt and changed out the bag. His stomach howled as he walked the glass- filled bag back to the
dumpster.
After, he headed for the break room in search of a stale muffin, or even better, something savory. He
ached for a rare burger, a blue flank of carne asada. Chewy and fatty and practically raw, juices running
red down his chin.
By the time he got back up front, Myra had checked out; he spied her zooming through the automatic
doors, Jazz calling out from her check stand, “Ma’am, you left something!” Seeing she had a line of
customers to serve, Emmett said, “I got it,” took the bottle of cocktail sauce, and stalked after Myra.
Appendix Q—Health Journal
PARTICIPANT DETAILS TRIAL ID: OBXII202305 PARTICIPANT NO: 82941 DOB: 12/8/94 SEX:
M HT: 5'11" START WT: 323 LBS Date of Entry 9/29/23 Current Weight (lbs.) 192 Lost to Date
Calculated BMI BMI Category 131 Lbs.
26.8 Overweight Please describe your physical, mental, and emotional state as pertains to this clinical
trial. Mental state not great. Definitely experiencing some memory issues and not sure if it’s from the
trial??
At first it was just little things, like not being able to remember what I’d had for breakfast or completely
forgetting a volunteer shift I was scheduled for—stuff that isn’t like me at all.
But recently I feel like it’s been getting worse, less like forgetfulness and more like short-term memory
loss??? For example, waking up one morning not being able to remember where I’d been the night
before. Then I found a text conversation with my boyfriend, Aaron, like a full-on
text conversation that I couldn’t remember having AT ALL. Apparently I’d made plans to go to a show
with him and didn’t realize it until he was blowing up my phone, asking where I was. I had to make up
some story.
Then this week at work, something happened that really freaked me out. One of our regular shoppers
finished checking out and we noticed she’d left something at the register. I ran out to give it to her and
saw her rounding the corner toward her apartment across the street. I remember going after her, calling
her name... and that’s where my memory goes dark. Like, I have a few images swimming around my
head, but mostly stuff that doesn’t feel possible. Why would I follow her back to her apartment? Why
would she be screaming???
Next thing I remember, I’m walking back into the store and my coworker Jazz is like, “Where the hell
have you been?” She says I’ve been gone for like two hours—and she’s right. I turn to look outside and
it’s night. WTF?
“What’s that on your shirt?” she says. I look down and see something red and sticky. I tell her it’s
cocktail sauce. My hands were covered in it earlier and I’d wiped them on my shirt.
But WAS it just sauce? I could’ve tasted it and been certain in a second, but part of me didn’t want to
know. Why couldn’t I remember where I’d just been? I’m still pretty freaked out about it, to be honest.
Between the blackouts and my crazy hunger, all these weird
cravings for raw meat... something’s not right. What’s happening to me???