Welcome to Westbrooke Chapter 3 (Patreon)

Chapter 3 - Giving in

Verity had been away for nearly a week now, some impromptu family vacation in the Bahamas that she hadn’t even told Violet about until the day she left. A few passive-aggressive texts and one blurry poolside selfie later, and that was it silence. Violet pretended not to care, but being left behind in a now-bizarre Westbrooke campus where no one seemed to notice how out of control everything was… it was starting to mess with her head.

The place was unrecognizable. Students who used to strut across campus in gym sets and crisp polos were now waddling between buildings in stretched-out hoodies and sweats, clutching calorie bombs disguised as coffees or boxed breakfasts. The energy had shifted, indulgence wasn’t just allowed anymore. It was normal.

Violet used to pride herself on being the standard. She was the one people watched when she walked past, flat stomach, designer loungewear hanging just so. And now? Her blue cropped hoodie, which had once sat perfectly snug above her waist, clung to her like a sports bra, riding up high over a soft, obvious belly that jiggled with every step. Her sweatpants, once effortlessly slouchy, now had started to tighten around every curve of her thighs, her hips, her ass, squeezing into the fabric like sausage casing.

Still, her attitude hadn't changed. If anything, her confidence had hardened into something sharper, bitchier, defensive. She was still Violet Kensington. And nobody was going to treat her otherwise.

She tugged at her hoodie self-consciously and sauntered into the dining hall, ready to judge whoever dared look worse than her today.

Then she bumped into something.

No, someone.

Big, broad... and squishy?

She stumbled slightly and looked up, scowl locked and loaded, only to freeze mid-glare.

“Jason?” Her voice came out a beat slower than usual.

He blinked at her, caught off guard. “Violet. Hey.”

Her eyes swept over him, and her mouth parted slightly. Jason — Verity’s Jason — was barely recognizable. His once-sharp jawline had softened into something almost boyish, his cheeks fuller, and his upper body… padded. The tight-fitted athletic tee he wore clung to the swell of his stomach, a visible roundness that pushed the fabric out slightly, like it had been shrink-wrapped over a layer of softness. His arms were still thick, but it was clear they were losing their cut.

In his hands was a tray loaded with food... two greasy burgers, a double heap of curly fries, and a chocolate milkshake so dense it had barely moved in the cup.

Violet blinked hard.

Jason, who used to treat calories like poison, was very much over indulging.

He didn’t even seem embarrassed about it either. “Uhhh you okay?” he replied.

She scoffed, tossing her hair, trying to hide her shock. “Yeah. You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Jason smiled awkwardly, clearly aware of her once-over but not biting. “Well, good seeing you,” he added, already turning back to his table where his formerly shredded gym rat friends sat, all visibly rounder. One of them had his shirt riding up over a subtle belly. Another had love handles bulging against the sides of his joggers.

Violet blinked again, turning away before her expression could betray just how stunned she was.

Jason—Jason—had let himself go.

A slow smile crept onto her lips, the kind she knew Verity would absolutely die over.

She imagined Verity’s perfect tan face twisting into horrified disbelief.

She wished she could record this moment just to show her.

But the smile faded just as quickly as it came.

She glanced down only to be met with her reflection in a chrome napkin dispenser.

And her breath hitched.

Her hoodie sat tighter than she remembered. The hem lifted slightly when she stood straight. Her leggings felt snug against her thighs, emphasizing curves she swore hadn’t been that dramatic last week.

She swallowed.

Sure, she still ran. She still trained. She still tried. But the cravings… the cravings were getting worse. Stronger. More frequent. Like something inside her was urging her to indulge.

No. She still had control. She still worked out. She still cared.

This campus was just... toxic.

That’s all.

She tied her hair up, popped in her AirPods, and jogged a few blocks off campus, trying to clear her head. But less than ten minutes in, she was winded. Her feet ached, her thighs were chafing, and her stomach, traitorous and loud, grumbled like it hadn’t been fed in days.

That’s when the smell hit her.

Something warm, meaty, greasy… and heavenly.

Violet followed it like she was in a trance, slowing to a walk until she found herself staring at a fogged-up window and buzzing neon sign that read: Rosie’s Diner.

She hesitated.

Her stomach didn’t.

The door jingled open with a whiff of buttery air, and before she could rethink it, she was inside.

The place was old-school, all red leather booths and chrome barstools, with the comforting hum of a milkshake machine and sizzling bacon on the grill, and the smell wafting from this place — overpowered her pride. She tried to convince herself this was a one-time thing. Just a quick bite. No one would know.

She wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh. Gross,” she muttered, glancing around like she was touring a zoo.

Behind the counter, two girls looked up.

Max, a short brunette girl with sarcastic eyes and a permanent smirk, leaned lazily against the bar, swirling a straw around in a mostly-empty iced coffee.

Caroline, blonde, polished, and clearly pretending to still be part of high society despite wearing the same faded uniform, gave Violet a quick once-over before plastering on a too-bright smile.

“Aw,” Max said dryly. “Another runaway from pilates. We should start handing out medals.”

Caroline cocked her head. “Or menus. But sure, let’s start with sarcasm.”

Violet blinked at them, one brow raised in disbelief. “Is this… how you greet customers?”

Max shrugged. “Only the ones who look like they haven’t eaten all day and are about to order like they’re feeding three people.”

Caroline stepped out from behind the counter with a laminated menu. “Welcome to Rosie’s. I’m Caroline, and this is Max. She’s our resident bitch, and I’m the polite one—unless you’re rude, and then I’m worse.”

Violet crossed her arms. “I don’t need the full waitress talent show. Just a booth.”

Max smirked. “Sassy and sweaty. Cute.”

They led her to a red vinyl booth with a slightly squeaky seat. Violet slid in with a huff, tugging her hoodie forward to mask the way her middle spread across the cushion. Her thighs pressed thickly against the sides, and she hated how aware she was of every inch of herself.

Caroline handed her a menu, but Violet didn’t bother opening it.

“Cheeseburger. Double. Large fries. And one of those milkshakes I smelled from down the street,” she snapped, flicking her fingers in the air. “Vanilla.”

Max raised a brow. “That was oddly specific. You sure this is your first time here?”

Violet shot her a glare. “Do I look like I’ve been here before?”

Caroline leaned on the edge of the booth, lips curling into a sweet, fake smile. “Oh honey, you look like you wish you hadn’t.”

Max scribbled on her notepad. “Coming right up. One cheat day meltdown, extra judgment on the side.”

They walked off, whispering in hushed tones.

When the food arrived, it hit the table with an audible thud. The burger was thick and greasy, cheese oozing out the sides. The fries were golden and stacked high, glistening with salt. The milkshake, an absolute monstrosity of cream, syrup, and frozen indulgence, stood tall, topped with a swirl of whipped cream nearly as high as Violet’s standards.

She dove in without hesitation.

Her first bite was a sloppy mess of beef and cheese. Her second was bigger. By the third, she wasn’t even thinking anymore — she was devouring. She alternated between mouthfuls of fries and long sips of the milkshake, pausing only to wipe a streak of sauce from her cheek with the back of her manicured hand.

Max leaned over the counter with a dry grin. “Look at her go.”

Caroline watched too, her brow raised. “She said she was just hungry. I didn’t realize she meant starving-for-attention hungry.”

Max nudged her. “You think she knows she’s licking the straw like it owes her money?”

They both snickered.

Violet didn’t even hear them, or if she did, she didn’t care. Her tray was emptying fast. Her belly pressed harder against the waistband of her pants, her cropped hoodie riding up subtly as she leaned forward for the last fry. Her breathing was heavier now, each sip of the milkshake slower, lazier.

Caroline folded her arms. “Mark my words. That one? She’s coming back.”

Max nodded. “And next time, she’s ordering two.”

Violet finally sat back, slouched in the booth. Her tray was a graveyard. Her stomach was tight and bloated, but her expression was soft, almost dreamy.

She didn’t say thank you. She just licked a final streak of whipped cream from her straw, wiped her mouth, and whispered under her breath:

“…Whatever. I’ll work it off tomorrow.”

But she didn’t move.

Because truthfully, she wanted more.