Welcome to Westbrooke Chapter 4 (Patreon)

Chapter 4 - Who Are You Again?

Violet had almost gotten used to the peace and quiet of having the dorm to herself.

For the past week, there had been no Verity complaining about the lighting, no Verity spraying perfume like a chemical weapon, no Verity making comments about Violet’s clothes, posture, skin, hair, nails, or general existence. Just quiet. Space. Privacy.

And then, that morning, the dorm room door burst open.

The sound of clacking heels followed, sharp and expensive against the floor. Luggage rolled in first: glossy Louis Vuitton, obviously. Then came the main event.

Verity Lancaster, tanned, polished, and deeply aware of it, stepped into the room with her sunglasses pushed into her sleek black bob like she had just stepped off a private jet instead of out of an Uber Black. She looked expensive in a way that made everything around her look cheaper.

Violet, who had been busy grazing through a family-sized bag of caramel popcorn, glanced up from her bed and immediately regretted it.

Verity looked exactly the same.

Worse, she looked better.

Sun-kissed, rested, untouched. Her red coat-dress cinched her waist perfectly, black thigh-high boots clicking against the floor as she dragged her suitcase in. Every part of her looked arranged. Intentional. Effortless in the way only money could make effortless.

Violet, meanwhile, was sprawled across her bed in her blue cropped hoodie and matching sweatpants, one hand still absentmindedly reaching for more popcorn.

The second Verity saw her, she stopped.

Not dramatically. Verity didn’t need to gasp. She just paused, and somehow that was worse.

Her eyes moved over Violet’s outfit, slow enough to be insulting. The hoodie still had the same cute cropped cut it always had, but it didn’t sit the same anymore. It clung too tightly across Violet’s chest and rode up over the soft swell of her stomach. Her sweatpants, once loose in that casual “I don’t try, I just look rich” way, now hugged her hips and thighs with a tension that made Violet want to sit up straighter and disappear at the same time.

Verity took off her sunglasses.

“Well,” she said.

Violet shoved a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

“Do not start.”

“I literally just walked in.”

“Yeah, but I can tell you’ve got something to say.”

Verity’s mouth twitched.

“Maybe I was going to say hello to my roommate.”

Violet rolled her eyes, but she still tugged the hoodie down. It stayed for half a second before creeping back up.

Verity saw. Of course she saw. Verity could spot a scuffed heel from thirty feet away. A stomach poking out of a cropped hoodie was practically a billboard.

“Cute set,” Verity said, setting her sunglasses on the desk. “Did we start opting for more snug clothing now?”

Violet narrowed her eyes.

“Ha ha. Very funny. Not all of us get to lay around in sundresses and bikinis.”

“Jealousy is ugly, babe.”

“So is whatever shade of spray tan that is.”

“This is Bahamian sun.”

“Ugh. I liked it better a minute ago when there was peace and quiet.”

Verity smiled, pleased with herself, and began unpacking. Silk tops, tiny skirts, creams, perfumes, everything folded and handled like museum pieces. Violet watched from the bed, chewing slower now, suddenly too aware of the popcorn bag, the crumbs on her hoodie, the way her thighs spread against the mattress.

She hated that Verity had done that without even trying.

“So,” Violet said, forcing her voice back into its usual bored drawl, “was your little island retreat fun?”

“It was gorgeous,” Verity said. “Private beach, decent service, cocktails that didn’t taste like they were made in a campus sink. You would’ve liked it.”

“Would I now?”

“Well.”

Verity glanced back at the popcorn bag.

“Maybe the buffet.”

Violet’s smile sharpened.

“You’re such a fucking bitch, you know.”

“I know.”

Verity lifted a silk blouse from her suitcase and gave it a tiny shake.

“But who else is going to hold you accountable?”

Violet laughed despite herself, but the laugh didn’t quite land right. There was still that heat under her skin. That awful awareness of being looked at and measured.

Verity kept unpacking, but her attention drifted toward the window.

“Also,” she said, “what the hell happened to this place while I was gone?”

Violet leaned back against the pillows.

“Uh, what do you mean?”

“Seriously, you can’t tell me your standards have dropped that much, Violet.”

Verity turned.

“I saw a girl downstairs carrying three iced drinks and a box of pastries like she was stockpiling for another pandemic. And don’t get me started on the guy in the lobby. His hoodie could’ve passed as a crop top.”

“Uhhh, yeah. Campus has been kinda weird.”

“Weird is someone wearing last season’s Miu Miu and pretending it’s vintage. This is different.”

Violet looked away.

“Everyone’s just… eating more. Like, a lot more.”

Verity stared at her.

“Mmm. Yeah,” she said. “I can tell, babe.”

“God, can you not be a bitch for five minutes?”

“No. I’m jet-lagged and need coffee.”

Violet’s stomach twisted slightly. She reached for another piece of popcorn, then stopped herself.

Verity noticed that too.

“Come on,” Verity said, grabbing her keys.

Violet frowned.

“Where?”

“I just said. Coffee. I need something black, bitter, and not covered in whipped cream, which apparently makes me the last sane person on campus.”

“I’m not dressed.”

Verity looked her up and down.

“I know.”

“Bitch.”

“Move.”

Violet stood with as much attitude as she could manage, even though the waistband of her sweatpants pressed into her stomach the second she straightened. She adjusted her hoodie, lifted her chin, and followed Verity out like she wasn’t thinking about every step.

Outside, Westbrooke looked pretty from a distance. Old stone buildings, trimmed lawns, leaves turning gold along the pathways. You wouldn’t even suspect there was a campus-wide obesity crisis creeping through the place.

Up close, though, it was impossible to miss.

Students moved across the quad in clusters, softer than they had been at the start of term. Girls in designer activewear clutched pastry bags and frozen drinks. Boys who used to live in the gym sat on benches with pizza boxes open between them. Everywhere Violet looked, someone was eating, drinking, chewing, laughing with glossy lips and full hands.

Verity’s mouth curled.

“Ew. This is so embarrassing.”

Violet folded her arms, then unfolded them when it pushed her hoodie up.

“For who?”

“For the institution. For their parents. For anyone with eyes.”

“You sound like you care way too much.”

“I sound correct.”

Before Violet could answer, someone called from behind them.

“Verity!”

Violet turned first.

She recognized that voice anywhere.

Jason.

The version of him Violet had seen in the dining hall was bad enough. Seeing him now, walking, no, slightly waddling straight toward Verity in broad daylight, was worse.

He was still tall, still recognizably Jason, but everything about him had softened and spread. His face was fuller, his jawline blurred under new weight. His grey T-shirt clung to his chest and stretched over a heavy belly that pushed out beneath it, the hem riding up enough to show a pale strip of stomach over the waistband of his pants. His thighs filled out his joggers, and even his arms looked thicker in a way that had nothing to do with definition.

Behind him, his friends had seemingly followed suit. Bigger faces, tighter shirts, rounder middles. One of them had a green top stretched over a gut that looked impossible to ignore. Another hung back with his hands near his stomach like he was only just realizing people could see it.

Verity went very still.

Jason stopped in front of her, smiling like the old rules still applied.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re back.”

Verity didn’t answer right away.

Her eyes swept over him once.

Then again, slower.

Jason’s smile faltered.

“What?”

Verity took off her sunglasses fully, as if she needed an unobstructed view of the damage.

“Uhh,” she said, coldly. “Who are you?”

Jason blinked.

“What do you mean, Ver?”

“Did I stutter?”

Verity looked him up and down again.

“Do I look like I’d associate with someone like you?”

The question dropped between them like glass hitting tile.

Jason flushed.

“It’s me. Jason. Stop playing, Ver.”

Verity gave him a look so cold Violet felt second-hand frostbite.

“I would say we should address the elephant in the room,” she said, “but it seems I’m already looking at it.”

Jason shifted. His shirt pulled tighter over his stomach, his face blushing redder.

“I’ve just been eating more. Everyone has. The food here’s been kind of—”

“Oh, so we’re blaming the food now, are we? Did the food force its way down your throat?”

Violet bit the inside of her cheek.

Jason’s friends went quiet behind him.

“Verity,” Jason said, lowering his voice. “Can we not do this right here?”

“Now you’re worried about being seen?”

His face reddened.

Violet should have felt bad. Maybe a better person would have. But the look on Verity’s face was too much: horror, disgust, betrayal, all wrapped in designer composure. Violet had imagined this moment all week, and somehow the real thing was crueler.

Jason tried again.

“I just wanted to talk.”

“You should’ve wanted a treadmill.”

Violet nearly choked.

Jason stared at her.

Verity stepped back. The movement was small, but obvious, like even being close to him had become socially dangerous.

“I’m not doing this,” she said.

“Doing what?”

“This.”

She gestured at him, vague and devastating.

“Whatever this is.”

Then she turned and walked off.

No apology. No softening. Just Verity, heels snapping against the path, leaving Jason standing there in front of his equally uncomfortable friends.

Violet lingered.

She looked Jason up and down, unable to resist.

“Brutal,” she said, fake-sweet, patting him on the back.

Jason’s jaw tightened.

Violet tilted her head.

“Maybe skip dessert for a week and circle back.”

Then she turned and hurried after Verity.

By the time she caught up, Verity was walking like she wanted the pavement punished.

“Oh my God,” Violet said. “You actually said that.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not even judging. I’m impressed.”

“You saw him.”

“Duh.”

“He looked like he ate himself.”

Violet snorted before she could stop herself.

Verity shot her a look, but this time the corner of her mouth twitched.

They reached the café a few minutes later, and even Verity’s rage had to pause for the smell.

Sugar. Caramel. Warm pastry. Syrup. The place was packed, louder than it used to be, the line curling around tables crowded with students and oversized drinks. The old café menu had been slowly replaced by something that was surely breaking several health regulations.

Verity stared up at the board.

“No.”

Violet followed her gaze.

“What?”

“There’s no black coffee.”

“There has to be black coffee.”

“There is not black coffee. There is a frosted caramel blend and something called a cinnamon cloud.”

“Maybe the cloud has espresso.”

“I swear to God, I’m going to sue.”

The line behind them shifted impatiently. Someone sighed. Another girl, already holding a drink the size of a vase, leaned around Verity to stare at the menu.

Verity ignored all of them.

When they reached the counter, she tried anyway.

“Large black coffee.”

The barista gave her an apologetic look.

“Sorry, regular brew is out.”

Verity stared at her.

“This is a café.”

“I know.”

“So make coffee.”

“The machine’s been weird. We have the caramel frosted blend?”

Verity looked personally betrayed.

“No.”

The barista blinked.

“Okay.”

No one moved.

Violet glanced over her shoulder. The line behind them was growing. A few students were staring now, not openly, but enough that Violet could feel the pressure building. Verity could too. Her jaw tightened.

The barista tried again, her smile strained.

“It is coffee-based. Frozen. Whipped cream is included.”

Violet smirked.

“That sounds cute.”

Verity turned her head slowly.

“Do you want to go there, Vi?”

If looks could kill, Violet would have been dead twice over already.

“I’m just saying,” Violet said, too sweetly. “There’s a line starting to form.”

A guy behind them muttered, “Can she just order?”

Verity’s shoulders stiffened.

That did it.

She turned back to the barista with the kind of expression people usually reserved for signing legal documents under duress.

“Fine,” she said. “One caramel frosted whatever. But none of that crumbly shit.”

The barista nodded quickly, clearly relieved.

“No crumble.”

Violet looked almost impressed.

“Wow. Compromise. Growth.”

“Shut it.”

The drink arrived looking ridiculous. Huge cup, dome lid, whipped cream piled high, caramel streaking down the inside in glossy ribbons.

Verity took it like it was evidence in a lawsuit.

“So elegant,” Violet said.

Verity didn’t look at her.

“I said shut up.”

She took one careful sip.

Then paused.

Verity took another sip.

Then another.

“It’s fine,” she said, to no one.

Violet raised a brow.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were going to.”

“I was actually going to laugh.”

Verity gave her a look, but she kept drinking. By the time they moved aside, the cup was already noticeably lower. A smear of whipped cream sat at the corner of her mouth, small and almost funny because Verity, who once checked her reflection after drinking water, didn’t seem to notice.

Violet noticed.

She also noticed how quickly Verity looked down when the straw pulled air.

Not embarrassed.

Annoyed.

Like the cup had failed her by being empty too soon.

For half a second, Verity’s eyes flicked back toward the counter.

Then she seemed to catch herself. She straightened, wiped her mouth with one finger, and tossed her hair back like nothing had happened.

“It’s disgusting,” she said.

Violet looked at the empty cup in her hand.

“You destroyed it.”

“I was thirsty.”

“You inhaled it.”

Verity’s smile sharpened.

“Careful, Vi.”

Violet opened her mouth to answer, but then Verity’s gaze dropped.

Right to her stomach.

The cropped hoodie had ridden up again. Violet felt it before she looked down: the exposed softness of her belly pressing over the waistband of her sweatpants, the fabric digging in, the little swell she couldn’t make disappear no matter how many times she tugged at the hem.

Verity’s expression changed instantly. The defensiveness vanished, replaced by something familiar and cutting.

“Don’t think Jason distracted me from the fact that you’ve gotten bigger too,” she said.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just true enough to sting.

Violet’s face heated.

“Wow. We’re doing this now?”

Verity tossed the empty cup into the bin too quickly, like she wanted it gone before Violet could keep looking at it.

“I’m just saying,” Verity added, smoothing her coat like she hadn’t downed at least a thousand calories in under two minutes. “First Jason, now you. I can’t be surrounded by people expanding in real time. It’s very bad for my image.”

For a second, Violet had nothing.

Then Violet smiled slowly.

“You’re talking a lot for someone who just drank dessert out of a bucket.”

Verity froze.

Only for half a second, but it was enough.

Then she smiled back, perfect and sharp.

“I was basically forced.”

“Mmm. Sure you were.”

Verity’s expression didn’t move, but something behind it flickered.

Outside the café windows, the campus drifted by, softening in broad daylight. Students carried pastries, milkshakes, burgers, boxes, all of them acting like nothing was happening.

Inside, Verity glanced once more toward the counter.

Then she got up.

Violet blinked.

“Where are you going?”

Verity didn’t look back.

“To complain,” she said.

But when she reached the counter, her voice was smooth, clipped, and just a little too quick.

“One more of whatever I just ordered, please.”

The barista nodded like there was nothing strange about it.

Violet sat there, staring after her.

Verity stood perfectly straight, chin lifted, one hand resting on the counter like she was above the entire building. Like she hadn’t just finished the first one in record time. Like ordering a second was some tragic inconvenience forced upon her by circumstance.

But Violet had seen the look on her face.

Not disgust.

Not really.

Anticipation.

When Verity returned with the second drink, she set it down like evidence she refused to acknowledge.

“It’s for the walk back,” she said.

Violet looked at her.

Then at the fresh caramel sliding down the cup.

Then back at Verity.

“Obviously.”

Verity took the straw between her lips and gave one long, slow sip.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn’t need to.