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FMLA
🕑 Added 2021-01-01 02:53:44 +0000 UTCContent Warning: You know what you came here for, you sickos.
FMLA
Maverick’s weight problem began his freshman year of college. An all-access meal plan to the unlimited buffet and countless nights of stress snacking at 3 am trying to finish papers or studying. The effects took a toll on his medium, 206-pound frame. In addition to the excess food, Maverick replaced his physical exercise time with a part-time job as a page at the public library. The branch he worked at was the most underutilized in his city, meaning he spent many hours at the circulation desk. Occasionally, he returned books to the shelves, retrieved materials in secured rooms, and checked items back in. None of his work was particularly strenuous, which he liked, so he stayed, each year gaining more and more weight.
Maverick’s weight gain seemed unreal like he had an undiagnosed thyroid condition and shoveled nothing but cupcakes and icecream into his body to make it skyrocket so high. Maverick didn’t really care for his weight, but it never bothered him enough to do something about it like diet or exercise. He found a boyfriend his sophomore year who said he didn’t mind being with a chubby man, even though Maverick crept further into morbid obesity territory. A few times, he frightened himself with his weight, but always reconciled his feelings as he gained. After all, Maverick wasn’t that big compared to the people on TLC. He told himself he was still mobile, and that’s all that matters despite his continued gain of over 60 pounds a year through undergrad. Whenever one goes past a certain weight, the alarm bells in their head stops going off, and being so big just seems normal, especially when the litmus test is comparing oneself to someone bigger. Someone is always going to be bigger.
Unsurprisingly with Maverick’s attitude, the weight gain trend continued through his two years of graduate school to get himself into the position he finds himself. Despite his weight, his work was okay enough to promote him to library assistant upon graduating with his Masters of Library Science. Maverick somehow found a way to do less moving in his new position as he spent more time ordering new materials, assist people with their questions on the ‘just ask’ hotline, supervised a staff creating programs, maintaining records, staff training, preparing invoices, and other job duties he could do sitting on his fat ass. Anything physical, he found a way to get a page to do for him. His weight wasn’t ever too much of a concern with his career until three days ago.
“Good morning,” Maverick awkwardly greets the security guard in the lobby, ashamed to come back to work in a bariatric wheelchair because he’s too heavy to hold his weight on crutches. Maverick knows everyone saw the horrific fall he took earlier in the week that sent him straight to the Emergency Room, even the friendly officer who couldn’t look him in the eyes.
“Mr. Duncan wants to see you first thing this morning, Maverick,” says the guard. Maverick’s heart pounds. He knew he’d have to face his boss, Mr. Duncan, after his accident, but couldn’t he at least get to his office first? Why did the security guard have to be involved? The fear that he will be fired fills his head. It was just an accident. Maverick mumbles a “thank you” and uses the stick shift on the wheelchair to move forward towards the office suite.
Maverick uses the double doors to accommodate the width of the chair his ass is parked on so he can go through the metal detector. Once inside, he swipes his ID card into the time card machine, feeling nervous. The library was full of patrons and staff, but silence met Maverick as the room full of people looked at him with pity. Libraries at least have the sound of turning pages, eager whispers, and the pitter-patter of feet. For a moment, time stands still; no one is daring to acknowledge Maverick and his massive body. Maverick feels the piercing stares as he moves forward, the sound of the wheelchair motor humming.
Maverick looks over to the left behind a group of tables. He notices a broken latter, pushed against the wall, an eyesore and reminder of the events earlier in the week. However, the shelves seem to be upright and filled with books again. He makes his way further back into the depths of the library, where one man managed the entire building. Maverick squeezes his way back into his boss’ office and parks himself in front of a desk. Mr. Duncan looks up from his computer for a moment and then stared back at the screen, typing quickly.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Maverick quietly speaks to Mr. Duncan.
Mr. Duncan continued to type before turning to face Maverick, looking over his glasses. He gives an audible sign while looking at Maverick.
“Am I fired, sir? I truly didn’t mean to destroy anything!” Maverick panics. Maverick replays the accident in his head. He was just trying to do his job. On Monday morning, Maverick attempted to return a book to the top of the shelf but couldn’t reach where the book needed to go. All of the pages were busy, so he thought he would quickly put the book away with some assistance of a wooden ladder. The ladder shook, but it seemed to hold him the first step, so he climbed two more before one of the steps snapped. Maverick tumbled down. He tried to stop his fall, and through his adrenaline rush, he fell forward just enough to knock a bookshelf over. The momentum caused one case to fall over on another and cause a domino effect. Books flew off the shelf. Maverick couldn’t get up on his own, so that’s when a clerk called for an ambulance, which left him in the wheelchair he parked his ass in and hasn’t left but to get in and out of bed with assistance from his partner.
“Maverick, I’m not firing you, but we seriously need to talk about this. Now that you’re back at work, I think we need to address the elephant in the room.” The choice of words burns in Maverick’s ears as his heart sinks. His throat feels dry. Mr. Duncan pauses, waiting for a response that never comes from Maverick’s lips. “You’ve always been a good employee, but I’ve watched your weight increase a lot since you started here six years ago. When I say a lot, I mean you’ve gained a scary amount.”
Maverick thinks about being admitted to the hospital days ago and the nurse getting his weight on the bariatric bed with the built-in scale. Mr. Duncan is right. According to the plate, Maverick weighed 747 pounds on admittance. He noticed the changes in his body, changes the doctor confirmed through a series of diagnostics. Maverick’s sky-high blood pressure, reduced lung capacity, and impending immobility highlighted his weight problem. He didn’t know it was this bad until the doctor told him at this rate, he wouldn’t last much longer. It didn’t help that he fractured a bone in his leg and was forced to wear a cast and sit in a wheelchair. “It’s a lot more than I thought, Mr. Duncan,” Maverick says shyly.
“Shouldn’t you be at home resting?” Another factual statement, but Maverick feels obligated to be at work as one of the only library assistants at the branch. Besides, he needs the money.
“I can manage. Why does it matter if I’m here in my office chair or here in my wheelchair?” Maverick asks.
“Maverick, I love having you here, but you’re not well. This job isn’t just sitting at a desk. I know you’ve let your pages do the physical lifting in this job, but that is not how this is supposed to work. As you become less and less mobile, everyone else has to pick up the slack. I’ve let it go in the past, but this job is medium work. You should be doing more standing: 6 hours, to be exact. You also have to have the ability to lift 25 pounds frequently and 50 pounds on occasion. You can’t do that right now, and I haven't even mentioned that you knew that ladder had a 250-pound weight limit. You should’ve never been on it. We could’ve been sued if anyone else had gotten hurt because you didn’t follow protocol!” Maverick was 3 pounds shy of being 500 pounds over the weight limit. His face turned red with embarrassment.
“I’m...I’m s-so sorry,” Maverick’s voice trembles.
“Honestly, how does the doctor really feel about all this?”
Maverick doesn’t respond. “Answer me, Maverick. Please.”
“He thought,” Maverick interrupts his sentence for a deep breath to prevent himself from bursting into tears. “He thought it was a bad idea to go back to work so soon.” The conversation humiliates Maverick.
“We need you to be healthy for this position, Maverick. It will help prevent future injuries, and honestly, it’s a matter of life or death.” The phrase “life or death” scares him. That’s what his doctor said about his lifestyle. Maverick just wants to forget about the possibility of death that looks over him. He wants to go back to being blissfully unaware, a fantasy sugar-coated as much as his blubber coats his internal organs.
“I don’t know if you’ve researched this, but library workers have a hard time with their life expectancy. We die on average nine years before our normal life expectancy and exercise less than an hour a week outside of our jobs. I can only imagine being super morbidly obese cuts life even shorter in this profession. Maverick, have you heard of FMLA?”
“I’ve heard of FMLA through our benefits, but I don’t quite understand what it means.”
“FMLA is the Family and Medical Leave Act. I’m going to make this sound overly simplified, but if you or a family member need to step away for medical reasons, you can get up to 12 weeks off to care for yourself or the family member. It’s also possible with a disability that you could get more time off if needed. It sounds like your doctor thinks you need it, and I think you need it too. I think you should take some leave time, but I promise you’ll still have your job when you return,” Mr.Duncan informs Maverick. “I want you to seriously consider taking the time to get your health back in order. Twelve weeks should be plenty of time to lose a lot of weight on a restricted diet and an exercise regime.”
“What about my responsibilities?” Maverick asks.
“We can manage. I’ve done this job long enough to know how to make it work. It’s no different than an employee taking paternity leave.”
“What would this mean for my paycheck?”
“Well,” Mr.Duncan sighs. “The leave is unpaid.” He sees the shock on Maverick’s face. “Health is more important, but I’d be happy to start a donation fund for you. I’ve already talked to the other employees, and we’ve all agreed to chip in to help you pay the bills. We can also host a benefit dinner for you. Seven other library branches would also like to help you, I’m sure.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” says Maverick.
“What’s the alternative, Maverick? Getting unhealthier? Getting fatter? Getting more injuries on the job? Getting too fat to work? You’re much better off taking the time to get healthy now, or you might end up too big to work at all.”
Mr. Duncan makes valid points. Maverick takes a minute to think before sighing. He drops his head and mumbles, “I’m willing to do what you say to do if you think it’ll help me.”
An hour later, Maverick rolls himself out of Mr. Duncan’s office, officially on FMLA. What is Maverick supposed to do now? Sit at the library all day waiting for his ride, especially in his fragile state? Maverick pulls out his phone, trembling from the circumstances. An Uber probably wouldn’t have the space for him and his wheelchair. His fingers shake as he scrolls through his contacts list to find his boyfriend’s number, who just dropped him off at work an hour and a half ago. Adam is going to be mad having to take off work to pick him up. He rehearses it in his head: “Adam, I need you to come to pick me up. I’m too fat and unhealthy to do anything. I’m a risk, and my department doesn’t want me until I lose weight.”
Maverick’s eyes tear up, thinking about disappointing Adam as a lump in his throat forms. He can’t deliver the bad news to Adam yet. He needs time to consider how he’s going to tell explain his forced FMLA. Maverick’s stomach growls, and then he remembers there’s a McDonald's and an All-You-Can-Eat Chinese buffet one block away from the library. Maverick’s stomach growls at the thought of riding his Mechanical horse down the block to drown his sorrows. He justifies his plan, “Adam won’t be back for hours. A binge before starting a diet couldn’t hurt. After all, I’m already this obese. What’s one meal?”
*~*~*~*~*~*
Maverick spends the first few weeks playing video games and watching television while mindlessly eating. His hips spill over the armrests of his wheelchair as he grows bigger and bigger. Sometimes he even slams down butter like it’s an ice cream sandwich. Over time his shirt stretched out, unable to hold his girth and bulbous breasts, as well as his tight pants squeezing his ass. At that point, he decides not to wear clothes anymore. On week five, Adam finds Maverick flat on his back, his rolls spilling closer and closer to the bed.
“No clothes again today?” Adam asks, taking off his tie after getting home from a long day at work.
“I prefer to stay naked. Clothes just don’t fit like they did,” Maverick sighs.
“It’s not like they shrank. Maybe you should lose some of that weight like you were supposed to so that you can go back to work.”
“They say sex helps you burn calories,” Maverick says with slyness.
“I don’t think it burns that much,” Adam snorts.
“Want to find out, hun?”
“You need to go exercise.”
“Please, babe. Make me sweat like we are at the gym,” Maverick uses his sexy voice.
Adam pauses before he responds. “Fine,” Adam replies, unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them down. “I’m assuming you’re going to be the bottom,” Adam implies his boyfriend is too fat to find his dick in fupa. Besides, Maverick would crush Adam to death.
Maverick builds momentum rolling himself over onto his stomach, revealing an enormous ass so covered in cellulite that it looked like cottage cheese. Adam held his cock in his hands, trying to arouse himself for his boyfriend. The weight was sexy at first, but even Maverick is getting too big for Adam to find him attractive. He plans to fake it until he makes it. Adam slaps Maverick’s ass causing it to move in waves before he takes some lube in his hands, shoving his fingers deep inside
Maverick’s pillowy cheeks. Then, he leans forward onto Maverick’s back, teasing his ass against his member.
“Ah, I need this,” Maverick moans. As if Maverick’s response is a command, Adam clasps his hands around Maverick’s love handles as he works his way into Maverick’s tight ass. Maverick gaps feeling his plump ass cheeks rub against Adam’s cock. His whole body jiggles to the thrusts.
Two minutes later, Maverick whines, a familiar pout. “Can we stop for a second?” Maverick asks breathlessly.
“Does it hurt?” Adam asks with concern, grunting.
“N-no,” Maverick pants still being thrust into by his boyfriend.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” shouts Adam mid-thrust.
“I-ah...I do b-ah, I’m so hungry... I need a sna-ah-ck,” Maverick moans at the thrusts, red-faced and shallow breathing.
“Do you ever stop thinking about food? You’re more lard than a person at this point. I’m trying to enjoy myself and pleasure you, but the food is more important? That's seriously pathetic. You’d rather make love to the fridge than make love with me,” Adam stops his thrusting, his frustrated tone and words cuts like glass.
Adam pulls out, leaving the two in silence. Maverick’s eyes become glassy, holding back tears like a dam. Adam sighs. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes.
“I thought you loved me,” Maverick whispers.
“I do, but that’s why I’m so frustrated. I hate seeing you come closer and closer to death because of your need to eat at all hours of the day,” Adam says quietly, knowing that this won’t end well if Maverick continues to give in to his cravings.
“I thought you liked big boys,” Maverick says with tension.
“I do like big boys, but you’ve got to be healthy. I want to live a long life with you,” Adam sighs and curls up beside Maverick, who is still on his stomach. “Promise me you’ll do better.”
“I promise, but can we get McDonald’s first? I really am hungry!”
*~*~*~*~*~*
“What’s all this?” Adam groans while noticing the kitchen in disarray. Eggs shells and several butter wrappers litter the kitchen counter. A box of baking soda leans on the edge of the counter sideways, the contents of the box spilled on the ground. Maverick’s naked body is covered in flour.
“I tried baking,” Maverick’s heart flutters with anxiety.
“You were baking a cake while naked?” Adam asks in disbelief, looking at his blubber bound boyfriend in his assistive chair. Maverick’s belly rolls hang over his knees, completely hiding his buried cock. Spilled flour coats his round, jiggly breasts and belly like the baby powder he puts between his fat folds to prevent moisture from getting trapped.
“The kitchen gets hot when the oven is on. I thought I was going to pass out from the heat exhaustion,” Maverick tries to excuse his behavior. “Besides, it’s my house. No one can see me. It’s not any different than you walking around naked.”
“Why were you even baking a cake, Mave? You’re on a diet.”
“I know, I know, Adam. I just wanted to make something nice to post on social media, so everyone knows I’m doing fine. I thought a cake would be nice to bake and decorate,” Maverick’s voice lowers.
“Yeah, bake, decorate, and eat. Why is there a bunch of crumbled cakes on the other countertop?” Adam sighs.
Maverick tries his best not to feel like a failure. “I keep fucking up. I’m struggling to reach everything on the counter because my chair isn’t high enough to see, and I’m making mistakes and ruining the cakes.”
“What do you mean?”
“First, I guess I mixed the batter too vigorously. It was a soupy mess, and then it got solid and too thick to pour and cook properly. The second time I forgot to grease the pan. I scraped all of the cake out in pieces. I’m so embarrassed. I think I’ve got it right this time. Third time is the charm?”
Adam starts cleaning up the immediate mess of broken eggshells, empty butter wrappers, and enough white powder to kill a drug addict. The timer on the oven beeps loudly, indicating the cake is done. Maverick puts in his oven mitt and wheels himself toward the stove. He removes the cake with disappointment on his face. Then, he drops the cake pan onto the counter, his face turning red.
“You must’ve used too much baking powder,” Adam suggests looking at the collapsed cake.
“I can fix this,” Maverick’s voice trembles with uncertainty.
“How do you expect to do that?”
“This one is still edible. Maybe if we melt the frosting on top, it will solidify and look alright,” Maverick reaches for the frosting and puts it in the microwave. Adam sighs.
When the microwave dings, Maverick pulls out the icing cup and starts to put it onto the cake still in the pan. “Stop that, your ruining the cake and my pan. This is hopeless,” Adam says while gritting his teeth.
“I can fix this!”
“You’re making a damn mess,” Adam shouts, watching Maverick get frosting all over his hands. Adam walks over, slips on an oven mitt, picks up the pan of cake and melted frosting, and opens the garbage can.
“Wait! Please! No! I need to do this!” Maverick begs.
“I’m not about to clean up any more of your mess. This was a bad idea and went against your diet. No one needs to know you’re okay by baking a cake. The cake is why you’re in this position, and I’m done,” Adam throws the entire pan away in the garbage before ferociously jolting out of the kitchen.
Heartbroken and defeated, Maverick wheels himself closer to the trash can. Why would Adam be so cold? Maybe Adam had a point. Maybe Maverick spoiled all the cakes so he could get his greedy paws on all of them and justify his food addiction. Maverick looks deep into the trash can full of cake before a disgusting thought crosses his mind. He shouldn’t. Maverick’s belly growls. He ignores the hunger pains, the strong contractions of his distended stomach for five minutes. That’s as long as he lasts because minute by minute the uncomfortable sensation fuels his desire to eat. Maverick’s belly takes over, demanding food, or anything that has calories to the point he can’t ignore it any longer. It wears down his resolve until he does the unthinkable.
The thought would’ve made any sane person gag, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Maverick reaches into the garbage can and pulls up a handful of discarded cake from the garbage can. He lifts it to his mouth before going in again, chocolate frosting smeared on his face and interlaced with his fingers. At least he’s not pulling condiments out of the fridge and chugging them...again.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Maverick leaves bed less and less. His pitiful body deteriorates under an unknown amount of weight. He’s not sure he can anymore. The accumulated lard suppresses Maverick’s joints, crushes his enlarged heart and lungs from within, and rearranges his brain’s chemistry. Sometimes he hears the voice of his doctor ring in his head saying, “your time is almost up,” but he pushes the thought into the back of his mind. Weight loss and health are on the back burner while consuming thousands of calories brings him closer to the brink of death.
Adam comes into the bedroom with a red suitcase. Maverick barely opens his eyes. His body feels more lethargic than ever, only existing to eat mass quantities of food until he passes out.
“Going somewhere?” Maverick manages to gurgle under his weight.
“Mave, I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I just can’t be around you anymore.”
Maverick’s eyes shoot open at the horrific proclamation. “What do you mean, Adam?”
“What do you think it means? I’m not happy with you anymore. There’s such a thing as too big, and you hit it 300 pounds ago, and there’s no sign of stopping.”
“Adam. No! No, no, no, Adam! I can change it. I can lose weight. This is so sudden!”
“I want to believe you, but I don’t think you can lose weight. You’ve been home for eleven weeks. You were supposed to follow a strict diet and exercise regimen, but you’re somehow much heavier. It’s getting to be too big of a responsibility to handle. I’ve been telling you this for weeks, but I’ve hit my breaking point.”
“Like what?”
“Feeding you. Bathing you. Helping you use the restroom. You’ve given up. I can’t even have sex with you. You’ve eaten through my savings over the past few months. We’re broke.”
“Where will you go? What will happen to me?” Maverick’s eyes go wide, and he starts hyperventilating.
“I don’t know where you’re going to go, but you better be figuring it out because next month, if you can’t pay, you’ll be evicted. I have to go back to Colorado to live with my father.”
“Our...finances...aren’t that bad...I’m not that... bad,” he gets out between breaths.
Adam walks over to the bed and sits down in the little space remaining at the end. Maverick’s belly almost takes up the entire mattress. “Honey, it really is that bad. It’s like you want to get fatter. You completely disregard my feelings, the around the clock care I give you, and the amount we spend on fast food is fucking insane. There’s no way you’ll be able to go back to work like this. I’m not happy like this,” Adam stands firm with his decision. Maverick begins to shed tears.
*~*~*~*~*~*
There isn’t a minute of the day Maverick isn’t eating or begging for more food. The slightest gap in his generous food intake registers as unbearable hunger. He’d rather die than go a minute without food. Fortunately for him, it will soon be all over.
Maverick throws a credit card on the ground. “How is it getting declined?” he pouts while grabbing another card and entering it into his food delivery app. His fat fingers press against his phone keyboard. The second credit card gets declined. He goes through three more cards. “What the fuck, why won’t any of these work?” Maverick whines. Maverick’s belly gets impatient, growling like an untamed wild beast. It’s not possible. Did he reach his credit limit on all of the cards so soon? “This is hopeless,” he cries out to an empty house. The home health worker just left after cooking him a huge meal, but he felt his stomach gurgle in famished anger.
Then, a miracle happens: Maverick’s phone rings, and he answers it despite not knowing the number. “Hello?”
“Maverick? This is Mr.Duncan from the library,” booms the voice over the phone.
“Mr. Duncan! Hello! Can I...” Maverick asks, but the man on the line cuts him off.
“Come back? I’ve wanted to talk to you about that, but...” Maverick cuts the man off as he did to him.
“Mr. Duncan, I need you to do something for me. It’s an emergency!” Maverick shouts.
“An emergency? Should I call the police? The hospital?”
“No, nothing like that, Mr. Duncan! I need you to bring me some fried chicken!”
“Maverick, that hardly sounds like an emergency.”
“Please! I’ll explain later. Get that and some soda. Leave it by my door,” Maverick requests.
“But...”
“Thanks, Mr. Duncan! Get some other stuff too!”
“Mave-“
“Leave it at my door! Bye!” Maverick hangs up quickly. Sure, it was a strange request, but surely Mr.Duncan will bring him fried chicken. Maverick decides he will have to tell a lie later.
Half an hour goes by before Maverick hears a voice in his house. “Maverick? Where are you, Maverick?”
Maverick hears Mr.Duncan’s voice echo down the hallway. Shit. Why is Mr. Duncan in his house? The directions were clear. “Just leave the bag by the bedroom door,” Maverick shouts with anxiety.
Maverick hears Mr.Duncan getting closer. Then, Maverick hears his boss knock on his bedroom door. “Can I come in, Maverick?”
“I can’t come to the door right now!”
“That’s fine, but can I come in? While I’m here, I thought we could discuss you coming back to work.” Maverick completely forgot this makes week 12, and he should be returning. Mr. Duncan expected at least a 100-pound weight loss at his size. Maverick is terrified that he spent the past 82 days packing on pounds instead of losing enough weight to go back to work. What will his boss think?
The door to Maverick’s bedroom slowly opens. “I told you to leave the food at the door,” Maverick says shyly.
“Maverick... how am I supposed to do that?” Look at you!” Mr. Duncan’s face turns to shock to see his massive employee.
Mr. Duncan gasps, surveying the whale in his natural habitat. Maverick is nothing but a pile of different sized striped fat rolls stacked on one another. His hips are entirely covered under cascading blubber. Even Maverick’s feet and toes bloat out of proportion. His arms look almost too heavy for him to lift by himself, but he has to be able to since he’s been eating nonstop.
“Oh my...Maverick. What happened?”
“I can’t control myself around food,” Maverick’s voice trembles.
“Maverick. I don’t know what to say,” Mr. Duncan tries to think of something he can say to Maverick, but he’s too shocked to think of something productive and polite.
“You look like you’ve put on a lot of weight. Like, a lot of weight, Maverick. Can you even get out of this bed?”Maverick knows he’s at the point he can’t do such a simple task. His legs can’t support his weight. He doesn’t know how much he weighs, but he upgraded his wheelchair for a reinforced bed, and it’s enough for the two men to understand it’s a dangerous amount of weight. He’s nothing but a lazy glutton on the verge of heart failure.
“You weren’t supposed to see me like this. You were supposed to leave the food and be on your merry way.”
Mr. Duncan sighs. “How were you going to physically get up and walk to the door to get the food?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t figure that part out, but I’m starving,” shame comes from Maverick’s voice.
“I should’ve picked up vegetables. I thought you were having a cheat day. You’ve had several cheat months! I can’t possibly give you this unhealthy junk at your size.”
“Please... please, Mr. Duncan! I beg of you! I need it. I haven’t eaten all day!”
“All day? Don’t lie to me, Maverick,” Mr. Duncan becomes annoyed.
“Fine! I’m lying, but it’s only because I’m hungry. I feel like I’m starving to death. What are you going to do? Let all this food go to waste?”
Mr.Duncan stops for a moment. Maverick is right. The food is already paid for at this point. He hands Maverick a bucket of chicken out of the bag he brought.
Maverick pulls the bucket lid off the container and discards it to the floor. The fried chicken wafts to his nose like an expensive perfume, making him drool and groan. “You got the good shit,” Maverick says absently minded taking a bite out of a warm drumstick. The first bite always feels like heaven to Maverick. He shreds the meat off the bone like a wild animal.
“You do realize that there’s no way you can physically handle the demands of your job without serious intervention, right? I can’t pay you to stay in bed and eat,” Mr. Duncan disappointingly looks at his employee in the eyes.
“What do you want me to do about it? I’m disabled,” Maverick says, discarding the bone and reaching into the bucket for another piece of chicken.
“Maverick, you’ve worked for me for a long time. I care about you, not just as a boss, but as a friend. I arranged all this help for you, and you couldn’t do it. I don’t want to see you die this big, so I’m taking things into my own hands. I’m going to leave to stock your house with healthy foods. After that bucket of chicken, you're on a diet. While I’m gone, I want you to take this credit card and find a trainer, a physical therapist, something to get you out of this bed! If you don’t make instant improvements, I’ll have to let you go,” Mr. Duncan throws his credit card on Maverick’s chest and storms out of the room, visibly upset Maverick let himself get so fat and not care anymore.
What will Maverick do without money? Is good food more important than a job, a boyfriend, or living? He can’t afford to keep this lifestyle up forever; He has to go back to work or find something soon. Maverick sighs and grabs his phone from under his enormous breast to do a quick google search for a personal trainer. He sipes through pages, continuing to eat his chicken until he finds a viable person who can help him get out of the grave he’s building himself. Maverick clumsily tries to dial the trainer's number, but the chicken grease makes it harder to type. He wipes his hand off on his tit and erases the number he messed up on. Then, another thought enters his brain. He has a phone, a working credit card, and nothing stopping him from a feast to binge on. He grins deviously, feeling his heart feel heavier, unhealthier as he opens the food delivery app to order the last meal he’ll ever have. In a few hours, Mr. Duncan will come back with arugula and celery only to find the immobile corpse of his employee covered in sweat and grease from butter burgers.
