Soulmates

Chapter 1

The sorority’s living room hummed with chatter. Sisters lounged on overstuffed couches, some sitting cross-legged on the floor with notebooks, others sipping iced coffees and scrolling through their phones. The Halloween party was just a week away, and deciding on costumes was one of the most important moments of the semester. Not because anyone really cared what they wore, at least not beyond Instagram photos, but because it was an opportunity to stand out as a collective and make an impression.

Tara sat in her usual spot, curled into the corner of an armchair with her phone resting on her knee. She wasn’t a leader by nature, but she liked her position as vice president of the sorority chapter. It gave her influence without the heavy responsibility of being in charge like Haley. She didn’t envy Haley, not exactly, but she admired the way her best friend took the job so seriously. Haley always seemed to know what she wanted and didn’t care if others got in the way.

“Okay, bitches, focus,” Haley snapped from the center of the room, silencing the chatter with a clap of her hands. She stood at the front of the group, wearing a sleek crop top and high-waisted yoga shorts that made her toned stomach impossible to miss. Her caramel skin was perfectly smooth and her light brown hair straightened into submission, a few sensual curls styled in. Tara noticed a few sisters fidgeting, self-consciously adjusting their shirts in response. Haley had that effect on people. Everyone felt a little smaller in her presence.

“We need costume ideas,” Haley said, flipping her hair over one shoulder and scanning the room like a queen surveying her subjects. “Nothing basic. No witches, no cats, no stupid matching themes.”

A girl sitting near the coffee table, one of the newer members, tentatively raised her hand. “What about, like... cowgirls or something?”

Haley shot her a look that could cut glass. “That’s basic,” she said flatly. “Next.”

Another sister, this one more confident, chimed in. “We could do a ‘Mean Girls’ theme. Like, everyone dresses in hot pink?”

Haley rolled her eyes. “We’re not twelve.”

Tara smiled to herself. All the suggestions would be ones that popped up every year. As much as their sorority toted “individuality” as one of their values, there really wasn’t much among the sisterhood.

A junior named Lila, who rarely spoke at meetings, cleared her throat. “What about bunnies?” she suggested.

Tara saw the way Haley’s eyes lit up, and she knew instantly that this would be the winner. Of course, Haley would like that. Sexy but simple, playful but provocative—it was exactly the kind of thing that fit her vibe. Even though it was just as basic as the other ideas.

“Bunnies,” Haley repeated thoughtfully, her lips curling into a grin. “Yeah. I like that.”

She turned to the room, addressing the group with more enthusiasm now. “Okay, we’ll all be bunnies, but everyone has to be a little different. Like, I’m doing white, so no one else can do white.” She shot a warning glance around the room as if daring anyone to argue. No one did.

“Everyone pick a color or theme, whatever,” Haley continued. “I want each of us to stand out, but still look hot. So… tiny boy shorts, corset bralettes, and bunny ears. Sexy as hell.”

Tara leaned back in her chair, already imagining the chaos of trying to wrangle everyone’s costumes into something cohesive. That was her job, though, as Haley’s right hand, the one who made sure all the details were perfect.

Haley turned toward Tara now, as if reading her thoughts. “Tara, you’re in charge of finding pieces everyone can order for their outfits. Make sure they match, but no duplicates. We’ll need them by Friday.”

Tara nodded, typing a quick note into her phone.

As the conversation shifted to claiming colors and customization ideas, Tara’s gaze drifted toward Camille, who sat awkwardly on the far edge of the room.

Camille, chubby and shy, didn’t belong there. Everyone knew it, and Camille knew it, too, but no one said it outright. Instead, they pretended to ignore her, as if not acknowledging her presence would make her disappear. She was a pledge, but only because her aunt was one of the sorority’s most famous alumni, a legendary president who had donated thousands over the years.

Without that connection, Camille wouldn’t have made it through the door.

Tara watched as Camille shifted in her seat, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself. The idea of wearing such a revealing costume likely made her uncomfortable. Tara felt a twinge of sympathy but pushed it aside. Camille had chosen to pledge, after all. No one had forced her.

“Alright, that’s it for now,” Haley announced, clapping her hands again. “Get your costume ideas to Tara by tomorrow. Meeting adjourned.”

The girls began to scatter, some heading to their rooms, others lingering to chat. Camille hesitated, as if waiting for someone to invite her to stay. No one did. She gave a nervous smile to no one as she shuffled toward the door.

Once the others had cleared out, Tara stayed behind, knowing Haley would want to talk. Sure enough, Haley was gathering her things, a satisfied smile on her face.

“Bunnies,” Haley said, flashing a perfect smile. “It’s perfect! We’re all gonna look so cute.”

Tara leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You think everyone will be comfortable with it?” she asked casually.

Haley gave her a sharp look. “You mean Camille?”

Tara shrugged, not meeting Haley’s gaze. “I just think the shorts might be a bit much for some people.”

Haley snorted, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Camille shouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for her aunt, we wouldn’t have to deal with her.”

Tara said nothing, letting the silence stretch between them. She didn’t disagree, exactly, but it still felt harsh.

“Maybe it’ll do her some good,” Haley added with a smirk. “Give her a little motivation to drop a few pounds.”

Tara pressed her lips together, unsure how to respond. Haley always had a way of making cruelty sound like practicality.

“Look,” Haley said, brushing past Tara on her way out. “We’re doing her a favor by letting her pledge. If she wants to fit in, she’ll figure it out.”

Tara stood there for a moment after Haley left, listening to the click of her heels fading down the hallway.

Chapter 2

The bathroom in Haley’s room smelled like expensive hair products and overpowering perfume. Three girls were crowded around her, each taking turns brushing, curling, and smoothing her silky brown waves into place. Haley sat perched on the bathroom counter, barking instructions impatiently.

“No, looser curls,” she snapped, swatting away the curling iron in one girl’s hand. “I said waves, not ringlets. God, do you even listen?”

Tara stood by the sink, already dressed and ready. Her reflection stared back at her from the wide, glowing mirror, and for a moment, she admired the sleek figure she’d put together. She’d gone for a dark bunny look: leather boy shorts hugged her hips, and a black lace corset lifted her chest, exposing just the right amount of cleavage. She wore sheer thigh-high stockings with stilettos, and her bunny ears—one perfectly intact, the other bent and smeared with fake blood—gave her an edge.

She tilted her head slightly, assessing herself with a subtle smile. She looked dangerous. Confident. Just how she preferred.

In contrast, Haley’s outfit was the exact opposite: all white and shimmering under the fluorescent bathroom lights. Her corset was encrusted with rhinestones, sparkling with every tiny movement, and her shorts, so small they left nothing to the imagination, showed off the firm curves of her cheeks. Bunny ears perched perfectly on her head, and a delicate halo floated above them, attached by a thin, invisible wire.

“Someone fix the volume in the back,” Haley demanded, tossing her head in frustration. “It’s flat.”

One of the girls obediently went to work with a teasing comb. Haley pouted into the mirror, her lips glossed to perfection, adjusting her top to ensure it hugged her breasts just right. Everything about her screamed perfection. Flawless and untouchable.

Tara ran her fingers through her own loose curls, exhaling quietly. She had no interest in standing here any longer, trapped between Haley’s complaints and the cloying cloud of floral perfume. Her head was starting to ache from it all—hair spray, flat irons, and ego.

“I’m heading downstairs,” Tara announced, slipping away from the mirror.

Haley waved a dismissive hand without even looking at her. “Fine. Make sure no one’s doing anything stupid.”

Tara slipped out of the oversized, lavish bedroom. Everything about Haley’s room felt like a shrine to herself, plush carpets, a king-sized bed draped in silk, and a vanity table cluttered with luxury cosmetics. It was grand, just like Haley, and even when she wasn’t physically there, her presence was inescapable.

Tara made her way down the grand staircase, trailing her fingers along the smooth banister. The mansion was old, with soaring ceilings and antique chandeliers that dripped with crystal. The hardwood floors gleamed under the soft glow of sconces, and elaborate molding traced every doorway. The sorority house was expensive and elegant, a testament to generations of wealth and tradition.

As Tara descended into the foyer, she passed several sisters lounging in their costumes, each one a different take on “sexy bunny.”

Lila wore red bunny ears with a white button-down crop top, tie and plaid miniskirt, going the schoolgirl route. Another girl had gone for a playful neon-green outfit with the word ‘brat’ written in black across her chest. Someone else sported a Playboy-inspired look, complete with fishnets and stilettos. There really wasn't much cohesion aside from the bunny ears and exposed legs and midriffs. Yet each girl was a version of the same theme: slim, toned, and camera-ready.

Tara allowed herself a small smirk. It was amusing how they all tried so hard to look different, only to end up looking exactly the same.

She slipped into the kitchen, craving a moment of quiet before the night’s madness began. The kitchen was as opulent as the rest of the house—white marble countertops, sleek appliances, and a massive island in the center. It looked more like something from a magazine spread than a place where anyone actually cooked.

Sat by herself was Camille, perched awkwardly on a barstool at the island, hunched over her phone.

Camille wore an oversized zip-up hoodie, its fabric swallowing her soft frame. The only hint of her costume was the pair of pastel orange bunny ears poking out from her messy blonde curls. She looked up when she noticed Tara standing in the doorway, her expression somewhere between hopeful and nervous.

Tara crossed the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. She twisted off the cap and took a sip, eyeing Camille from over the rim.

“You know Haley’s not going to let you wear that hoodie,” Tara said casually, setting the bottle down.

Camille blinked, caught off guard. “It’s just for now,” she mumbled, tugging the hoodie tighter around herself.

Tara tilted her head, studying her. It wasn’t hard to guess how Camille felt. Self-conscious, out of place, desperate to belong. Tara saw it all the time, though from the other side. She’d always been thin, always been told she was pretty. A busty brunette with striking green eyes. She didn’t know what it felt like to hide behind layers of clothing.

“The sooner you take it off, the sooner you’ll feel more confident,” Tara said, her tone light but deliberate.

Camille hesitated, her fingers clutching the zipper. But, ever eager to please, she gave a shy nod. “You’re right.”

She slowly unzipped the hoodie, shrugging it off her shoulders. Beneath it, her costume came into view: tiny shorts and a bralette in a pale orange, like a creamsicle. No corset, unlike the others, but still within the theme.

Tara’s gaze flicked over her. It wasn’t the most flattering color choice, it washed out her skin tone, but was probably one of the only ones left by the time Camille picked. Tara noticed the way the fabric clung to Camille’s hips, how her soft sides spilled slightly over the waistband of the shorts. The outfit made her look bigger than she probably realized, and judging by the way she’d tried to cover it, Camille must have known on some level.

Tara gave her an easy smile. “You look cute.” She strolled over to her and straightened her bunny ears that were slightly crooked.

Camille’s cheeks flushed pink. “Thanks.”

Tara turned to leave, but glanced back over her shoulder with a final piece of advice. “Don’t bring the jacket. Haley will hate that.”

Camille’s blush deepened, and she nodded quickly. “Okay.”

Tara smiled again, more to herself than to Camille, and slipped out of the kitchen. It was fascinating how much effort Camille put into being accepted by people who barely noticed her.

As Tara reentered the foyer, the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood drew her attention to the top of the staircase. Haley stood there in all her glory, making her grand entrance.

She wore angel wings now, large and feathered, along with sky-high white heels. She looked like something out of a dream, or a nightmare, depending on your perspective.

“Alright, girls,” Haley called down, her voice ringing through the house. “It’s time to go!”

The girls in the foyer buzzed with excitement, gathering their things and adjusting their outfits. Tara gave her own reflection one last glance in a nearby mirror, smoothing her hair.

The night was just beginning, and Tara had a feeling it was going to be a memorable one.

—- —- —- —- —-

The cool night air brushed lightly against Tara’s skin as she walked near the front of the group, surrounded by a crowd of sorority sisters and pledges. Luckily, it wasn’t cold enough to make their skimpy costumes uncomfortable, just brisk enough to add a slight chill that kept them alert and eager to reach their destination.

The sisters moved together like a pack, heads held high, stilettos and platforms clicking confidently against the pavement. The pledges followed closely, looking both excited and nervous, still learning how to match the polished energy the upperclassmen exuded effortlessly.

At the front, Haley led the charge, her angel wings wide and sweeping, making it impossible not to notice her. Every step she took demanded attention, and the group naturally fell into place behind her as if she were royalty. Tara kept pace near the front, trying not to get smacked by Haley’s oversized wings as she walked.

The walk to the party wasn’t long, just a few blocks from the sorority house to one of the biggest fraternity houses on campus. They were notorious for throwing the best parties, and their annual Halloween bash was legendary. Every year they went all out, sparing no expense. Rumor had it they’d rented not just the DJ, but a full light rig, laser show, and professional bartenders. Tara knew none of that would be true, having gone to a few of them herself. Though somehow their parties were still the best. Their house was an old Victorian mansion that had been converted into a frat house decades ago, complete with ivy-covered brick walls, a wide front porch, and sprawling lawns perfect for pre-party crowds.

Tara listened as the girls around her chattered excitedly about the night ahead, speculating on what the frat brothers had planned this year. One girl whispered that there was going to be a haunted maze in the backyard. Another insisted there would be bottle service in every room.

The sisters laughed and stumbled on the uneven pavement, each one struggling to maintain their balance in their sky-high heels and skimpy outfits. Passersby gave them a variety of looks as they passed, some students and some not. Tara couldn’t help but be amused by the contradictions of it all—these girls, pretending to be offended by whistles and catcalls from passing students, even though she knew they secretly loved every second of it.

“Shannon, I love you!” a drunk guy shouted from across the street, waving wildly at one of the sisters.

The girls around her gasped theatrically. Shannon flipped her hair over her shoulder, muttering, “Ugh, he’s so weird,” but her smirk betrayed her amusement. It was what they lived for, after all.

Haley’s voice cut through the playful chatter as she turned her head, glancing at Tara and the girls nearest to her. The glow of the streetlights made her look almost otherworldly, her face sharp and shining beneath the halo. She leaned in slightly, her voice low and conspiratorial.

“Alright, listen up,” Haley said with a sly grin. “We’re doing a bit of hazing tonight.”

Tara’s ears perked, though she kept her expression neutral. Around her, a few other girls leaned in closer, drawn by Haley’s quiet, secretive tone.

“We’re gonna see just how fat Camille really is,” Haley said, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Tara felt her stomach twist slightly but stayed silent, watching as Haley's grin widened.

“Just hand her drinks and food all night,” Haley continued. “Keep giving her more. Shots, snacks, whatever you can find. Every time there’s food, make sure she gets some.”

Lila giggled nervously. “What if she doesn’t eat it?”

Haley rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious. “Have you seen her? Of course she’ll eat it.” The girls around her stifled their laughter, leaning in to share the joke as if it were too delicious to resist.

“Pass it around,” Haley added. “Everyone needs to be in on it.”

The girls nodded eagerly, already whispering to each other and sharing excited looks. The plan spread like wildfire among the group, the promise of subtle cruelty dressed up as fun. Tara said nothing, but a small weight settled in her chest.

She turned slightly, glancing toward the back of the group where Camille trailed behind. The pledge was talking quietly with one of the nicer sisters, her arms crossed protectively over her stomach. Her soft, pastel bunny ears bobbed slightly as she walked, their simplicity standing out in contrast to the cooler, creative ears of the other girls’ costumes.

There was a vulnerability in Camille that was hard to ignore, and Tara felt a flicker of sympathy. It was one thing to put up with Haley’s antics when you were already in the sisterhood, but another thing entirely when you were still on the outside, trying to earn your place.

Tara adjusted her pace slightly, watching Camille for another moment. Camille was chubby in a way that made it obvious she didn’t fit the sorority mold. Her shorts rode up just enough to expose the softness of her thighs, and her bralette clung tightly to her chest.

She bit the inside of her cheek, feeling torn. Part of her knew she should stop this, at least say something, maybe tell Haley to cool it just a little. But the other part of her knew that was pointless. Haley wouldn’t listen, and everyone was already in on it.

Tara sighed and turned her gaze forward, letting the crowd carry her along as they neared the towering silhouette of the fraternity house. She hoped, for Camille’s sake, that tonight wouldn’t be too much.

Chapter 3

The girls arrived at the frat house, their heels clicking up the grand front steps. The bass of the music vibrated through the ground, and clusters of people already lingered on the lawn, red Solo cups in hand. Inside, the music swelled to an almost deafening volume, and the air was thick with warmth and the scent of alcohol. Every inch of the space was steeped in Halloween spirit, the decor impressive and eerie. Blood dripped from the walls in long streaks, and thick cobwebs choked the corners. In the center of the foyer, a pale, dark-haired prop woman in a tattered white gown dangled from a rope looped around her neck, her head lolling to one side like a broken marionette.

The crowd was a blur of costumes, some meticulously planned, others lazy but passable, with the occasional person having thrown on a pair of cat ears or a bloody T-shirt as an afterthought. The brothers of the fraternity, though, had mostly taken their costumes seriously. They had clearly shelled out for help from the theater art and design students, for the decor and their makeup; prosthetics dripped with realistic gore, and layers of makeup transformed them into zombies, killers, and creatures from nightmares.

As the girls made their way deeper into the party, Haley’s boyfriend, Trevor, emerged from the crowd. His costume was minimal, just a pair of ragged pants torn at the hems, but he was coated in streaks of fake dirt and blood. A gruesome prosthetic gash stretched across his broad chest, and his snout dripped with faux blood. Even under the messy, haggard look, he was undeniably attractive, abs glistening under the dim light.

“Hey gorgeous,” he said as he approached, his voice low and playful.

Haley pouted as she eyed him. “You were supposed to be a cute devil fox,” she whined, crossing her arms. “Now we don’t even match.”

Trevor grinned, brushing off the complaint. “We look good together no matter what.” With that, he pulled her into a kiss, gripping her ass like there was no one else in the room. Haley, clearly satisfied by the gesture, melted into him, her complaints forgotten.

Trevor’s twin brother, Travis, appeared just behind him, wearing a plain black T-shirt with the word “COSTUME” printed in block letters across the front. He gave Tara a crooked smile and stepped a little too close, exuding relaxed confidence.

“Nice costume,” Tara said dryly.

“I try,” Travis replied with a wink.

Trev and Trav shared more than just their looks; they co-led the fraternity, a position earned more through sheer popularity than leadership skills. Both ambitious business majors, they were the kind of guys who could charm their way through anything. Travis, in particular, hit on Tara relentlessly, encouraged by Haley at every opportunity so they could be “real sisters.” He was good for a quick fuck, Tara’s go-to sneaky link, though Tara never gave him the attention he wanted.

Travis glanced past her shoulder suddenly. “Who’s that?” he asked, a note of curiosity in his voice.

Tara turned to see Camille shuffle awkwardly through the door. She seemed out of place, not fitting with either group—neither the girls in their sleek, revealing costumes nor the guys decked out in layers of gore. The bunny costume she had been forced into only made it worse: the bralette barely containing her chest, the tiny shorts clinging too tightly around her soft middle. Camille tugged nervously at her bunny ears, clearly unsure of herself.

Haley’s face lit up in a way that was more predatory than friendly. “That,” she said with a sly grin, “is our target for the night.”

Trevor gave her a look of warning. “Don’t be too mean.”

Haley rolled her eyes. “A little hazing never hurt anyone.”

Tara and Travis exchanged a look. Both knew that wasn’t true. But Haley had already set her plan in motion, and there was no stopping her now.

The group made their way toward the kitchen, where a heated argument was underway over what should go into the jungle juice. Partygoers clustered around an enormous plastic tub filled with an alarming mix of cheap vodka, soda, and brightly colored juices. Tara grabbed a couple of beers and handed one to Travis, who was content to lean against the counter and watch the chaos. Haley, meanwhile, picked up two beers and gave Tara a meaningful look, nodding toward Camille.

Tara followed Haley through the crowd until they found Camille standing awkwardly in the corner, arms crossed protectively over her midsection as she glanced around.

“Camille!” Haley called out with exaggerated cheer, plastering on a wide, fake smile. “Oh my gosh, you look so cute!”

Camille blinked, startled by the sudden attention. “Uh, thanks…” she muttered, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts.

Haley shoved one of the beers into Camille’s hands, her grin widening. “Okay, so there’s this stupid little tradition,” she said, giggling as if it was all in good fun. “Since you’re new, you have to eat or drink anything someone gives you. Like, you have to. Otherwise, people won’t think you know how to party.”

Camille’s brow furrowed. “Everyone has to do that?”

Haley nodded emphatically. “Yep! All the pledges. It’s just a dumb thing we do. No big deal.”

Camille hesitated for a second, but then she shrugged, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I guess that makes sense,” she said. “I mean… I love a good party.”

Haley’s smile stretched wider. “That’s the spirit!” she said, nudging Camille encouragingly. “Go on, take a sip.”

Camille brought the beer to her lips and took a long drink, the bitter liquid making her nose wrinkle. Haley clapped her hands together, beaming. “See? So fun!”

The moment Camille looked away, Haley’s cheerful expression vanished, replaced by one of smug satisfaction. Tara caught the subtle shift, watching as Haley flicked her gaze toward a small group of sorority girls hovering nearby. The girls exchanged knowing looks, nodding slightly as if they had just received their orders. The plan was in motion.

As Camille lowered her beer, she glanced around nervously, still clutching the cup like a lifeline. Haley gave her one last dazzling smile before turning her attention back to the party, her interest in Camille already waning.

Tara lingered for a moment, watching Camille sip from the cup. Something about the whole thing felt a bit too calculated, too cold. But she pushed the thought aside. It’s just one night, she told herself. Camille would be fine.

The girls wasted no time, descending on Camille like bees around a flower. Drinks appeared in her hand as if by magic, and she sipped them willingly, her uncertainty slowly dissolving with each swig. At first, Camille took her time, sipping cocktails and munching on finger foods without suspicion. She was greeted with an endless parade of fried treats—jalapeño poppers stuffed with molten cheese, fried mozzarella sticks, lil’ smokies coated in sticky barbecue glaze. Camille didn’t seem to suspect anything sinister. She was just happy to be included for once, basking in the warmth of the attention. Every offering handed to her with casual insistence felt like another step closer to acceptance, so she downed each one without question. Smiling, nodding, and doing exactly as asked, eager to blend into the buzzing, glittering chaos around her.

At first, Tara kept a casual eye on the situation, but when it seemed relatively under control, she left her alone. The party was in full swing, and Tara wasn’t going to miss out. She danced with friends, drank a couple of tequila sodas, and mingled with classmates, her body swaying with the music and the warmth of alcohol settling into her veins. Hours slipped by, and she almost forgot about Camille entirely. Until, on her way back from the makeshift dance floor, she spotted the girl again.

To Tara’s surprise, Camille was still eating. More people had joined the game of feeding her, enthusiastically handing her food whenever the snack bowls were refilled. She watched from the sidelines as Camille obediently crunched her way through pretzels, Chex Mix, popcorn, and chips in every flavor imaginable. Barbecue, sour cream and onion, flaming hot, all of them ended up in Camille’s mouth, handful after handful.

Camille’s belly had become more prominent, expanding beyond the modest curve she had walked in with. The soft pooch of her stomach rounded out into a full, firm dome, straining the waistband of her shorts. Her thighs and arms, already thick, appeared even bigger as they framed her swollen middle. Camille’s face was rosy, a mix of alcohol and fullness heating her cheeks, yet she kept going, moving sluggishly but determinedly from one snack to the next, a meek smile lingering on her lips.

Even when she visibly struggled to keep up, she didn’t protest, didn’t complain. She simply drank faster to catch up, swigging beer and rum punch in rapid succession before being handed another snack. Camille’s eagerness to please, her desire to fit in, drove her to continue, no matter how bloated she became.

A couple of girls waved her over to the dining room, where a massive spread of food was set out. They handed her a giant bowl of tortilla chips and pointed out a selection of dips she “just had to try.” There was guacamole, smoky salsa, creamy buffalo chicken dip, and even a can of Cheez Whiz that they encouraged her to spray directly onto the chips. Camille nodded along, never questioning, her expression hazy but obedient as she dipped chip after chip into the sauces and brought them to her lips.

Eventually, she had to sit down, her legs wobbling from both exhaustion and the weight pressing against her waistband. She sank into a dining chair, leaning back slightly to accommodate her full belly. Her breaths came shallow and quick, but she kept chewing, taking her cues from the people around her who nudged her forward with jokes and encouragement.

Tara found herself watching from the edge of the room, a strange mix of fascination and discomfort settling in her chest. Even when Camille was clearly full—her cheeks puffed out as she chewed through mouthfuls of dip-slathered chips—she continued eating, giggling shyly at the teasing remarks.

“Look at you go, Camille! Bottomless pit or what?” someone joked, making her blush. She only laughed it off, offering a timid grin in return.

Just then, Travis appeared behind Tara without warning, leaning down so his lips brushed her ear. “What are you staring at?” he practically shouted to be heard over the music. Tara jumped in surprise but didn’t pull away as his hand slipped to her hip, pressing himself against her side, the warmth of his touch mingling with the alcohol swirling through her system.

She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. “She just keeps eating, it’s crazy,” Tara said, pointing toward Camille.

Travis followed her gaze, squinting through the crowd until he spotted Camille. He watched for a moment, his expression teetering between amusement and confusion.

“Why’s she doing that?” he asked, his words slurring slightly.

“Haley’s making her do it,” Tara explained, her voice flat.

Travis threw his head back with a loud laugh, the sound cutting through the hum of the party. “God, you girls are so desperate sometimes,” he said, shaking his head.

Tara gave him a sharp look, her expression shifting to offense. “Says the guy who’s literally all over me,” she shot back, shoving him off her.

He stumbled a step but grinned, holding his hands up in surrender. “You love it,” he teased, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

Without missing a beat, Travis sauntered over to Camille, grabbing a handful of snacks along the way. Tara watched as he crouched next to her, loading her plate with sliders and mac n cheese bites. He flashed her one of his signature smiles, the kind that always worked, no matter the audience. Camille’s eyes went wide, sparkling with awe and something bordering on yearning.

Tara rolled her eyes and left to get another drink. In the kitchen, the pizza someone ordered had just arrived, and a group of sorority sisters rushed toward it like vultures. They chattered excitedly, eager to be the ones who brought a slice to Camille. Tara watched them scramble with growing irritation, unnerved by how enthusiastically they participated in the hazing.

She couldn’t help but think how strange it all was, stranger still that Camille seemed willing to go along with it, as if overeating was the price she was willing to pay for belonging. Tara was never that desperate, not even as a freshman pledge herself.

She made her way to return to the party, but paused as she passed the dining room. Travis was still sitting with Camille, unwrapping pieces of Halloween candy and feeding it to her. Camille looked up at him with wide, adoring eyes, cheeks stuffed with chocolate. She chewed happily, clearly loving being near him. Travis leaned in, saying something in her ear through a coy smile, and Camille offered a nervous giggle, still working through the mouthful.

Tara’s grip tightened around her drink as she watched Travis reach out and poke Camille’s belly with playful curiosity. Camille blushed deeply, her flustered smile barely hiding how thrilled she was by the attention. For some reason Tara couldn’t quite place, the sight made her skin crawl. Travis barely knew Camille, and yet here he was, feeding into the hazing like it was all a joke, giving the girl attention that would evaporate by tomorrow.

Irritated, Tara downed the last of her drink and stormed over to them, yanking Camille up from the chair without warning.

“Whoa, what? What’d I do?” Travis stammered, holding his hands out in confusion.

Tara glared at him, ignoring the bewildered look on Camille’s face as she ushered the girl away from the dining room.

Travis’ confusion melted into a lazy grin as Tara pulled Camille toward the kitchen. “You’re no fun,” he called after her, laughing.

Chapter 4

Tara pulled Camille through the crowded kitchen, weaving past the island where drunk, hungry students gathered around the pizza. She yanked Camille toward the back wall and slipped through a door into the walk-in pantry. The space was dimly lit and packed with bulk foods, rows of pasta, rice, cans, and snack packs lined the shelves. A faint smell of stale bread lingered in the air.

Near the far shelf, a Michael Myers was making out with a blue-themed bunny. They gasped when Tara barged in, and the girl started giggling.

“Out,” Tara said, waving them off dismissively.

The couple scrambled to fix their costumes, still snickering as they slipped past Tara and Camille. Once they were gone, Tara shut the door behind them with a soft click.

Camille yanked her arm free from Tara’s grip, glaring. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Tara blinked, momentarily taken aback. Camille had never raised her voice to anyone, not to the other sisters, not to Haley, and certainly not to her. For all Camille’s awkwardness, she had always been shy and quiet, practically shrinking whenever someone challenged her.

“I just saved you,” Tara said, folding her arms.

Camille scoffed, her face flushed red, and crossed her arms in return. “Saved me from what? Travis was flirting with me!”

Tara let out a dry laugh. “He wasn’t flirting with you, Camille. He was playing games.”

Camille tilted her head, a flicker of sharpness crossing her features. “What, are you jealous?”

Tara laughed again, this time with genuine amusement, though her voice stayed cool. “Honey,” she said slowly, her words deliberate, “you were being hazed. You know that, right?”

Camille’s cheeks darkened even more, but she didn’t falter. “Of course I know I’m being hazed. What, do you think I’m stupid?” She threw her hands up, frustration seeping into her words. “I know exactly what’s going on, and it doesn’t give you the right to butt in!”

Tara frowned, genuinely surprised. She’d thought Camille might be clueless, too naive to recognize the hazing for what it was. But she wasn’t. And worse, she didn’t seem to care.

“I was just trying to help,” Tara said, her voice faltering slightly, a hint of hurt slipping through.

Camille stepped closer, narrowing her eyes. “Help me? How? By ruining my chance at getting initiated? By interrupting my conversation with a cute guy?” Her lip curled into something bitter. “Not all of us have a pretty face and a skinny body to fall back on, Tara.”

She said Tara’s name with venom, dragging out each syllable in a way that made Tara’s jaw clench.

A familiar heat rose in Tara’s chest—anger, annoyance, and something deeper that she didn’t care to unpack. Most of the time, she kept herself neutral, kind enough, or at least indifferent. But what kept her from being seen as sweet, and what had ended plenty of relationships, was her cunning and pettiness.

Instead of snapping back, she took a slow breath, already working through a new plan. She tilted her head, softening her expression, and let a look of regret settle over her face, something she’d perfected from years of watching Haley manipulate people.

“You’re right,” Tara murmured, looking down as if ashamed. “I shouldn’t have gotten in the way.” She sniffled quietly, bringing a hand to her cheek as though wiping away a tear. “I guess… I’m just really insecure.”

Camille’s angry posture faltered, her expression shifting into something uncertain.

“No one even notices me,” Tara continued, her voice low and vulnerable. “Even with the pretty face and skinny body, I’m… invisible.” She cast her eyes down again, letting the silence stretch between them.

“Oh…” Camille mumbled, clearly not expecting Tara to cry. She shuffled awkwardly, biting her lip. “It’s okay. I mean… We all have insecurities.”

Tara glanced up through her lashes, offering a shy, teary smile. She stepped closer, gently taking Camille’s hands in hers. “Thanks,” she whispered, squeezing her fingers.

Camille shifted on her feet, visibly uncomfortable but unsure of what to say.

Then Tara’s face lit up, as if she’d just had the most brilliant idea. “You know,” she said, her voice brightening, “if you really want to be a shoe-in for initiation, you should join the Hallowbeer Chug!”

Camille’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s that?”

“It’s just a beer-drinking contest,” Tara explained, her voice full of fake enthusiasm. “Every pledge who’s ever participated has been accepted. It’s, like, an unspoken tradition.”

In truth, the contest had nothing to do with pledging. It was a stupid frat boy ritual, an excuse to get drunk and act like idiots. No sorority girl would willingly participate and bloat themselves like that, especially not in their tight, revealing costumes. But Camille didn’t need to know that.

“Really?” Camille asked, the hope in her voice almost painful to hear.

Tara nodded eagerly, squeezing her hands again. “Absolutely. If you do this, you’ll definitely get in.” She let her excitement bubble over, like they were conspirators plotting something brilliant.

Before Camille could second-guess herself, Tara grabbed her arm again, tugging her toward the door. “Come on, let’s sign you up!” she said, her voice bright and encouraging.

Camille followed, a hesitant smile creeping onto her face as they left the pantry. She didn’t notice the flicker of malice in Tara’s eyes.

Chapter 5

Tara led Camille through the kitchen and out to the backyard, a sprawling expanse that might have been beautiful if not for the fact that it was managed by a rotating cast of lazy, college-aged frat boys. Overgrown grass crept across the stone walkways, and the flowerbeds were littered with crushed beer cans. A string of half-broken fairy lights hung limply from the trees, their dim glow barely cutting through the dark October sky.

A group of frat guys were already setting up for the contest, lining two long fold-out tables end to end and arranging plastic cups into neat rows. The cups were bright orange, each marked with a sloppy jack-o’-lantern grin, and they filled the air with the sour scent of cheap beer.

Tara stopped near the edge of the tables and turned to Camille with a warm, sugary smile. “Wait here!” she said brightly.

Camille, clearly in high spirits, nodded eagerly. There wasn’t even a flicker of suspicion in her wide, tipsy grin, no sense that anything might be amiss.

Tara gave her one last smile before slipping back inside. She scanned the room, her gaze darting over the drunken chaos until she spotted a glowing gold halo poking up from behind a couch in the living room. She wove through the crowd toward the sofa, her heels clicking softly on the hardwood.

Haley was sitting on the couch, deep in a slurred gossip session with some guy who was blatantly hitting on her. Haley, oblivious, was nodding enthusiastically, her half full cup swaying precariously in her hand. Her angel wings were nowhere in sight, probably abandoned at some point in the night along with the rest of her good sense.

“Haley,” Tara interrupted, leaning over the back of the couch.

Haley blinked up at her, startled for a moment, before breaking into a wide, lazy grin. “Tara! What’s up?” she slurred, leaning in so close that the scent of her perfume cut through the stale beer and sweat hanging thick in the air.

Tara smiled sweetly. “I’ve got an idea, but I need your help.”

Haley perked up immediately, wobbling a little as she stood from the couch. “Ohmygod, what do you need?” she asked, nearly toppling into Tara in her excitement.

Tara kept her tone bright. “I want to get Camille into the Hallowbeer Chug,” she said with a playful edge, like it was all just part of the fun. Haley, predictably, beamed at the mention of the hazing.

“That’s such a good idea!” Haley exclaimed, her perfect teeth flashing in the dim party light. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to get Camille a spot in the contest,” Tara explained patiently.

Haley nodded eagerly, her halo bobbing. Then her smile faltered as confusion flickered across her face. “Wait… How am I supposed to do that?”

Tara’s smile grew tighter, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Haley,” she said slowly, carefully, “you need to ask Trevor to kick someone out and put Camille in their place. Can you do that?”

“Oh! Totally!” Haley said with a drunken grin, as if the solution had just occurred to her. She wobbled slightly on her heels, still somehow upright, and waved cheerfully before stumbling back into the house. “Trevor! Trev!” she called, her voice echoing above the music as she disappeared into the crowd.

Twenty minutes later, the backyard was packed with partiers, all gathered around the contest tables. The buzz of excitement filled the air, and Tara leaned casually against a low stone wall, watching as the contestants assembled.

Camille stood in the center of the group, a little unsteady on her feet but grinning nervously. Five frat brothers flanked her, their costumes a faux-bloodied mess of togas, jerseys, and body paint. The crowd cheered and jeered as Trevor took the makeshift stage with a battered megaphone in hand.

Tara watched as Camille glanced down at the rows of plastic cups, then looked out at the crowd. When her eyes landed on Tara, she broke into a smile, so genuine and grateful that it gave Tara pause for a moment. She hesitated, then gave Camille two exaggerated thumbs up.

Does she think we’re friends now? Tara wondered, half amused, half incredulous.

Her gaze drifted down to Camille’s body. She looked ridiculous up there, practically spilling out of her costume. Her shorts pinched into the soft flesh of her hips, and her bralette strained into the round curve of her upper belly. But Camille didn’t seem to notice, or care. The alcohol had taken the edge off whatever insecurities she might have started the night with.

Trevor stepped forward, raising the megaphone again. “Alright, assholes!” he called, his voice crackling through the speaker. “It’s time for the Hallowbeer Chug!”

The crowd erupted in cheers as Trevor threw an arm around a tall, muscular guy standing at the edge of the group. “Introducing last year’s champion, Max!” Trevor shouted, raising the guy’s arm like a boxing ref.

The crowd booed, clearly hoping for a new winner. Max smirked and flipped them off with both hands. “Fuck all of you!” he shouted, laughing as the boos only grew louder.

Trevor grinned and continued. “And then we have…” he trailed off as he realized he didn’t know the rest of the linup’s names. “The rest of these losers!” he announced with a sweeping gesture toward the contestants, eliciting more jeers and laughter.

Finally, Trevor pulled a small envelope from his pocket and waved it in the air. “Winner takes home a $500 Amazon gift card!”

The crowd cheered again, and Trevor tucked the envelope back into his pocket with a grin. “Alright, contestants! You’ve got five minutes to drink as many beers as you can. First one to puke is out. The rest? Well… good luck.”

He lifted the megaphone again. “On my count. Three… two… one… GO!”

The air filled with the sound of cheering, clinking plastic, and the first sloppy gulps of beer. Tara watched from the sidelines, her gaze fixed on Camille. The poor girl lifted her first cup with both hands and started drinking. Tara smiled faintly to herself, waiting to see just how far Camille was willing to go.

Camille managed to keep up through her first beer, but by the time she reached her second, it was a struggle. She forced it down in gulps, each one slower than the last, and by the third beer, she had resorted to taking small sips, stubbornly determined not to quit.

Tara leaned against the wall, watching as Camille glanced nervously at the guys surrounding her. They were still going strong, heads tilted back as they chugged cup after cup, not even flinching. Camille, meanwhile, scrunched her nose in concentration, clearly trying to muster the will to keep going. Tara felt an unexpected flicker of warmth in her chest. For a second, Camille looked kind of cute. But Tara dismissed the thought as soon as it hit her.

Camille moved on to her fourth cup, though by now she had to take long breaks between each sip, resting a hand on her swollen belly. She hiccuped softly, and her round stomach gave a small bounce with each one. Even though it was obvious how stuffed she was, Camille pressed on, drinking little by little as if she didn’t care how bloated or ridiculous she looked.

Tara’s eyes trailed over Camille’s body again. The way she stood there, completely carefree, with her soft belly bulging out and her costume clinging to every curve, it was astonishing. There was no shame in Camille, no hesitation. She was gluttonous, almost piggish. And yet, as Tara watched, she couldn't help but think it was kind of… hot.

The crowd started counting down as Trevor lifted the megaphone to announce the final seconds. “Ten… nine… eight...”

Camille’s eyes widened in panic. She glanced down at the little bit of beer left in her cup and, with a deep breath, tipped it back, gulping as fast as she could. Her cheeks puffed out, and she swallowed hurriedly, desperate to finish before time ran out.

“…Three… two… one!” Trevor shouted, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

The frat brothers stacked their empty cups in neat towers, and Trevor moved down the line, counting each one. Camille’s four sad little cups barely made a dent next to the towering stacks from the others. Tara watched as Max was declared the winner once again, much to the crowd’s groans. He grinned smugly, jumping up and down with his hands in the air while Trevor handed him the Amazon gift card.

Camille stood awkwardly in place, cradling her belly and pouting, her lips pulled down in a sulky frown. She rubbed slow circles over her bloated stomach, and Tara’s mind drifted, imagining how tight and uncomfortable her gut must feel.

She heard footsteps approach her in the grass, and Travis sidled up beside her, finding her once again as he always seemed to do. “Did you watch? I got her a spot,” Tara said casually.

“Yup,” Travis replied simply, not taking his eyes off the tables as the crowd began to thin and people wandered back inside. The music picked up again, and the backyard settled back into its usual drunken chaos.

Tara smiled to herself, lost in thought. “That was…” She trailed off, unsure of how to put it into words.

“Hot,” Travis said matter-of-factly.

Tara whipped her head toward him, staring at him in shock. She opened her mouth to respond but no words came out. She’d had the fleeting thought—felt it, even—but never in a million years had she expected anyone else to notice, let alone say it aloud.

Travis finally glanced down at her, a sly grin spreading across his face, dimples flashing. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and sauntered toward the tables. Someone passed by him with pizza and he plucked a slice from their plate, casually muttering, “Gimme that,” as he grabbed it.

Tara watched, stunned, as Travis approached Camille. She couldn’t hear exactly what he said when he reached her, only catching snippets through the breeze. Something about how well she did, a compliment that made Camille blush and smile, her round cheeks glowing under the outdoor lights. Then, to Tara’s disbelief, Travis offered Camille the slice of pizza, and she accepted it with a small, breathless laugh.

Tara’s stomach churned as she watched Camille take a bite, her lips pressing into the cheese, and Travis stood there grinning like an idiot. Annoyance welled up inside Tara, sharp and undeniable. But the jealousy she felt wasn’t over Travis.

It was over Camille.

Chapter 6

Tara stood in her room, pulling an oversized sorority sweatshirt over her head after stepping out of the shower. She had left the Halloween party earlier than usual, just after Travis started chatting up Camille again. The night’s events replayed in her head as she rubbed moisturizer into her skin, trying to make sense of the strange feelings that had started rooting themselves inside her.

Camille had been interesting tonight. That was the only way Tara could describe it. She could still picture her clearly: flushed cheeks, hiccupping between drinks, her belly swollen under the bunny costume’s tight fabric. Tara had never really paid much attention to Camille before tonight, but something about the way she stuck with the beer chug even when she had no chance of winning was... endearing.

And then Travis showed up, of course, all charming smiles and easy compliments. Tara had excused herself from the party right then. She told herself it was because she was bored, but the truth was, she couldn’t stand the sight of them together.

Why did it bother her so much? Travis flirting with random girls was nothing new. It wasn’t like she and Camille were close. So why did it feel like betrayal seeing Camille light up at his attention?

Tara wiped her hands on a towel and padded toward her bed, hoping to push those thoughts out of her mind. But just as she reached for her phone on the nightstand, a commotion from downstairs caught her attention.

She stepped out into the hallway, leaning over the double-height railing to peer down at the sorority’s front hall. Girls trickled in from the party, looking disheveled in their colorful bunny costumes. Some were missing ears, others barefoot, their heels abandoned somewhere along the way. Most of them were too drunk to care about appearances as they slumped toward their rooms, murmuring goodnights or collapsing on the nearest couch.

Tara scanned the crowd until she spotted her.

Camille waddled in last, far behind the others. The soft swell of her belly bulged outward, and her cheeks were still pink from alcohol. Every step seemed like an effort, and her tired eyes drooped heavily.

Tara thought how lucky Camille was to be here, that her fat ass didn’t have to waddle across campus like that. The other pledges had to make the long trek back to their dorms, but Camille, likely due to her aunt’s influence, got a spot in the house.

She watched as Camille made her way to the stairs, gripping the banister for support. The climb was slow, painfully slow, and Tara found herself wondering how uncomfortable that bloated belly must feel, bumping into the tops of her thighs with each step up the stairs. When Camille finally reached the top, she shuffled past Tara without even noticing her.

Tara almost let her go. But something stopped her.

"Camille," she called softly.

Camille paused, turning back with a confused, sleepy expression.

Tara gave her a bright smile. "Come hang out in my room for a bit."

Camille blinked, too tipsy to question it, and nodded. Tara led her inside, feeling an odd flicker of satisfaction when Camille followed without hesitation.

Tara climbed onto the bed and settled into the pillows, sitting cross-legged. She patted the mattress beside her, and Camille obediently plopped down, moving slowly and cautiously, as if her body might betray her at any moment. Her blond curls were frizzy from the night’s humidity, and she still looked flushed, teetering on the edge of passing out.

"How was your first Halloween party?" Tara asked, injecting a bit of false excitement into her voice.

Camille grinned lazily, her words slurring. "It was fun! I like Travis..."

Tara’s jaw tightened, but she kept the smile on her face. "He’s cute, isn’t he?" she said, feigning nonchalance. "What did you guys talk about? After the beer chug?"

Camille scrunched her nose, struggling to recall through the haze of alcohol. "Uhh... he said it was cute that I could drink so much." She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, but the laughter quickly faded.

Her expression turned sheepish. "But I didn’t win the contest, though... I’m sorry I didn’t win."

Tara shook her head. "That’s okay. The contest doesn’t matter. You’ll still get initiated."

Camille’s face lit up, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Really?"

"Really," Tara confirmed.

"Sweet," Camille said, pulling her hand into a little fist-pump of victory. Tara couldn’t help but smile at the gesture.

"What else did Travis say?" Tara asked, unable to resist.

Camille shifted, her tired body sagging deeper into the pillows. "He said he’s gonna call me... I gave him my number."

Tara scoffed inwardly. Of course he did. She didn’t know if Travis was actually interested in Camille or just playing his usual games, but either way, she didn’t like it. Camille was too naive to see it coming, and Tara felt a strange, protective urge rising in her. She needed to look out for her, right? Girls had to look out for each other.

Sure, Tara had tried to humiliate Camille earlier tonight, but that was different. She’d been annoyed with her then, frustrated by her presence. Now... now, she wasn’t sure what she felt. But it was definitely different.

"You know, Camille, I—" Tara stopped mid-sentence. Camille had fallen asleep.

Her full lips were slightly parted, her breathing soft and steady. Tara’s gaze drifted down to her stomach, round and taut. The upper curve of her belly looked firm and stretched, but the sides and lower part were softer, more yielding.

Without thinking, Tara reached out, her hand hovering above Camille’s belly. She hesitated only a moment before pressing her palm gently against the warm skin, feeling the contrast between the tight fullness at the top and the soft give of the lower and sides.

It felt... nice.

She curled her fingers slightly, resisting the urge to squeeze, afraid to wake Camille. Instead, she let her hand rest there for a moment longer, soaking in the strange intimacy of the touch.

Finally, Tara sighed and pulled her hand away. She got up and turned off the lights before returning to the bed.

Sliding under the covers, she lay on the other side of the bed, listening to Camille’s quiet breathing. She told herself this was just looking out for a sister. Nothing more.

Chapter 7

The next time Tara saw Travis, it was a week later. She was trudging back from her afternoon classes, earbuds in, lost in thought. The wind had picked up, scattering fallen leaves across the pavement and making her wish she'd brought a thicker hoodie. As she cut through the parking lot near the dorms, the low growl of a familiar engine rumbled behind her. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Travis’s car rolling up alongside her, the window already down, his arm hanging lazily over the edge.

He gave her that lopsided grin, the one that always made her want to slap him or jump his bones, depending on the day. “What are the odds?” he said, as if it were fate.

Tara scowled. “Do you just have, like, a GPS tracker on me or something?”

“Maybe,” he teased. “Or maybe it’s destiny. Soulmates and all.”

Tara rolled her eyes so hard it felt like they might fall out of her head. “Soulmates? You’ve got issues.”

Travis laughed, the sound lilting over the song playing in the background. “Get in,” he said, nodding toward the passenger seat. “I’ll drive you home.”

Tara shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her arms crossed tight across her chest. She could have kept walking, should have, really. She wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him, still nursing a vague irritation from their last encounter. But that irritation wasn’t the sharp, cutting kind. It was softer, like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. She wasn’t even sure why she was mad, if she was honest.

With a resigned sigh, she yanked the car door open and slid into the seat. The door thudded shut behind her as she buckled her seatbelt.

“Such enthusiasm,” Travis said, smirking as he shifted into gear.

“Just drive,” Tara muttered, slouching against the seat.

For a while, they drove in near silence, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Travis drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music, some old rock band she didn’t recognize.

Eventually, Travis reached over and turned the volume down just a bit. “Let’s get food,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Just take me home,” Tara muttered.

He gave her a sidelong grin, one eyebrow raised. “Come on. Have you even eaten today?”

“Yes,” Tara lied without hesitation.

Travis snorted. “Liar.” Then he grinned, amused at himself. “No worries. Maybe I’ll get to see Camille instead.”

Tara’s head whipped around so fast her neck twinged. “What?”

He gave her a slow, deliberate look, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Tara hated how easily he got under her skin.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tara asked, glaring at him. “Why are you so obsessed with her?”

He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “I like her.”

“No, you don’t,” Tara shot back, her arms crossed tighter over her chest. “You’re just using her.”

Travis snorted. “Using her? What are you even talking about? I texted her like, two days ago.”

“Oh, wow,” Tara said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Texting someone once? That’s real love right there.”

He laughed, genuinely amused, and it made her grind her teeth. “You don’t even like her,” he said, casting a sly glance her way. “And you barely like me. So, why do you care?”

Tara opened her mouth to answer but stopped herself. There was no good way to respond to that, nothing that wouldn’t make her sound jealous or like she was too invested in Camille. She huffed, turning back to face the window.

They pulled up to a red light, and Travis used the pause to study her. His gaze was too direct, too knowing, like he could see right through her.

“I think you like her,” he said, voice soft but loaded with implication.

Tara scoffed. “As if. We’re not friends.”

“Not in a friendly way,” Travis murmured, smirking as if he was enjoying some private joke. “Something else.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Tara snapped, her pulse quickening despite herself.

He shrugged again, turning back toward the windshield as the light turned green. The car lurched forward, and for a moment, they fell into another uneasy silence.

Then, out of nowhere, Travis said, “You’re right, though. I am using her.”

Tara gave him a sideways glance, skeptical. “Okay… for what?”

He shot her a quick glance, his expression casual but his words anything but. “I’m gonna make her fat.”

Tara stared at him, thinking she might have misunderstood. “You’re going to—what?”

He grinned, his voice light, as if they were discussing weekend plans. “Well, fatter.”

Tara’s mouth hung open. She knew Travis could be weird, but this? Even with the absurdity of it, she felt her cheeks grow warm. “That’s… Why would you even want to do that?”

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug, as if the answer didn’t really matter. “I just think it’s hot. When do you ever get a pledge like her? You’re all so skinny and boring.” He shot her a playful glance. “No offense.”

Tara ignored the jab, her mind spinning. The thought of Camille getting bigger was bizarre. Not the act itself, but the strange pleasure Tara felt at the idea. It seemed kind of exciting. But it was also wrong. Cruel, even, to influence it in the way Travis was suggesting. Tara was no saint, but even she had to admit that it was a bit much.

Travis interrupted her thoughts with a smirk. “Wanna help?”

The nonchalance in his voice upset Tara some. His confidence irritated her, but the casual ease of it also soothed her guilt from considering the idea. He was so casual about it, as if it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe it wasn’t. If he didn’t think it was, why should she? Camille was already fat, already struggling to fit in. A little more weight wouldn’t change much. The more she thought about it, the more the edges of her resistance blurred.

It’s not like I’d be hurting her, Tara told herself. If anything, Camille might even enjoy it. She’d be happy to get so much attention from her and Travis, making her feel special. She’d finally make some friends. Wasn’t that what everyone wanted?

Finally, she turned toward him, her voice quiet but steady.

“What do I have to do?”

Chapter 8

Days later, Tara found herself sitting across from Travis at a small Mexican restaurant just off campus, her fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table. The place was dimly lit, with colorful string lights draped across the ceiling and paper banners hanging overhead. The air smelled of sizzling fajitas, grilled peppers, and fresh tortillas, making Tara’s stomach grumble even though she wasn’t hungry. Her eyes flicked toward the door, waiting for Camille to arrive. She tugged at the sleeve of her sweater nervously, brushing off imaginary lint.

“You good?” Travis asked, leaning back in his chair, completely at ease. He stretched out his legs beneath the table, one arm slung lazily over the backrest like they were just here to grab a quick meal, not to play the first hand in whatever weird game they were starting with Camille.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Tara lied. But she wasn’t. Her nerves felt sharp, buzzing. She kept second-guessing everything, whether inviting Camille here was the right move, whether Travis would push things too far, or whether she herself would be able to keep it together.

Travis didn’t seem fazed by any of it. “Relax,” he said, shooting her a grin. “It’s dinner, not a covert op.”

Tara rolled her eyes, but his nonchalance was irritatingly reassuring. He acted like this was all just another game, something to enjoy, like everything with Travis.

The door jingled as it swung open, and Tara straightened in her seat. Camille walked in, looking around the restaurant nervously before spotting them. She gave a small, tentative wave, her face brightening. Tara couldn’t help but notice how the tight jeans and cropped hoodie she wore hugged her soft midsection, a little belly peeking over the waistband. She looked uncomfortable in the clothes, tugging down her top as if it might magically stretch to cover more.

“Hey!” Tara called, waving her over, plastering on a smile. “We got a table!”

Camille’s face lit up at the warm reception, and she hurried over, sliding into the booth beside Tara. “Thanks for inviting me,” she said, her voice shy but genuinely appreciative.

“Of course,” Travis chimed in, his easy grin never faltering. “We figured it’s time we hang out properly.”

Tara nodded. “Yeah, you’re, like, unofficially one of us now. No more hazing or initiation. Just friends.”

Camille’s smile widened, and some of her tension seemed to melt away at those words. Tara felt a small flicker of guilt ignite in her chest.

“You look cute, by the way,” Tara added, gesturing vaguely at Camille’s outfit. “That hoodie’s nice.”

“Yeah,” Travis agreed, his gaze lingering on Camille’s belly just long enough to be noticeable. “Real cute.”

Camille flushed at the compliment, fidgeting in her seat. Tara threw Travis a warning glance that said he was laying it on too thick, but he ignored it.

A server appeared, dropping off menus, but Travis didn’t even glance at his. “We’ll start with a chicken quesadilla and taquito dippers. Oh, and the big nacho platter,” he told the server smoothly. “Then we’ll figure out the rest.”

Tara raised her eyebrows. “All that to start?”

Travis shot her a playful grin. “Gotta make sure we eat well, right?”

Camille laughed nervously, her gaze bouncing between them. “I mean… yeah, I could eat.”

Travis leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin in his palm as he gave her a slow, easy smile. “Perfect.”

Tara felt her stomach flip, though she wasn’t entirely sure if it was from nerves or something else. The first part of their plan was simple: get closer to Camille, figure out where her boundaries were, if she had any at all. They needed to see how much she’d bend when it wasn’t about the sorority anymore.

“So, what’s your major again?” Tara asked, trying to fill the silence as they waited for the food. She realized, embarrassingly, that she didn’t even know.

“Biology,” Camille said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Tara blinked. “Huh. I didn’t know that.” She felt a little guilty. She’d known the girl for months and she never learned that. “That’s cool.”

Camille shrugged, looking modest. “It’s a lot of work, but I like it.”

The conversation drifted comfortably as the server returned with their appetizers. Tara watched, fascinated, as Travis immediately began loading a plate with nachos, choosing the chips piled the highest with cheese, beef, guacamole, and sour cream.

“Here,” he said, passing the plate to Camille. “You gotta try these.”

Camille hesitated for only a second before digging in. She nibbled at first, like she wasn’t completely comfortable eating in front of others. But Travis was quick to lean in, talking to her with a closeness that would hopefully disarm her.

"Aren’t they so good?" he said casually, already piling food onto his own plate.

“Yeah, they are!” Camille said with a small, nervous smile. She took another bite, then another. Soon enough, the first chip turned into two, and two into ten. Tara noticed how easily Camille’s restraint slipped, the anxiety she carried starting to dissolve with every mouthful.

It wasn’t long before Travis began offering more, sliding pieces of quesadilla onto her plate without even asking. “Try these too,” he insisted, tossing in a few taquitos for good measure. Camille gave him an uncertain glance but didn’t protest, and before long, her small bites grew bolder, turning into full, satisfying mouthfuls.

Tara added a few chips to her own plate but found herself mostly watching, watching Camille eat, watching the way her expression flickered between contentment and confusion as the food piled up in front of her. It was mesmerizing. Tara herself was too nervous to participate much, and just watched Travis work.

More food kept landing on Camille’s plate. Whenever she paused, Travis filled the space by cheerfully passing her another helping, ensuring that there was no chance to linger too long without a bite. It was subtle but effective, the way he kept the flow of food constant. Camille was swept up in the rhythm of it, her nerves seemingly quieted by the familiar comfort of eating.

Soon enough, the main dishes arrived—enchiladas swimming in sauce, sizzling platters of fajitas, tacos overflowing with carnitas, and a large dish of Spanish rice. Tara could see the moment Camille's enthusiasm faltered. Her eyes widened as she took in the family-sized portions spread across the table.

“There’s so much,” Camille said, half-laughing but clearly overwhelmed. Her voice wavered under the weight of uncertainty.

“Gotta try everything,” Travis said easily, scooping some rice onto her plate. “Don’t worry, we won’t judge if you can’t finish.” His grin was friendly, but there was a glint of mischief behind it, just enough to get Camille teetering back towards acceptance.

She hesitated for only a moment before picking up her fork again. Bite by bite, she worked through the food, tasting everything Travis suggested. A taco here, a spoonful of fajitas there, another helping of rice. But as the meal dragged on, Camille’s pace began to slow. She shifted in her seat, her hand resting protectively over her stomach as she chewed more slowly.

"I think I’m good," she said with a sheepish laugh, leaning back slightly. She rubbed her belly in small circles, trying to ease the growing tightness. “I might explode if I eat anything else.”

Travis leaned in, his tone light but insistent. “You can’t be done yet, can you? Maybe just a little more.”

Camille laughed nervously, her cheeks flushing as she avoided his gaze. “I don’t know... I’m seriously full.”

“Yeah, me too. But… there’s still so much left. You’ve gotta help us finish,” Travis encouraged, his voice smooth and warm, the kind of charm that made it easy for people to do whatever he wanted. "One more plate, and then you're good."

Tara could see the subtle conflict flicker across Camille’s face, her discomfort at odds with her desire to fit in. For a moment, it seemed like she might refuse. But then Travis smiled, easy and reassuring, and Camille’s cheeks flushed. She gave in, reaching for another taco.

Her bites were smaller now, more labored, but she pushed through, chewing carefully and swallowing with visible effort. Each mouthful made her shift slightly in her seat, her restricting jeans digging deeper into her soft middle. Tara noticed how the fabric strained against her belly, her cropped shirt doing nothing to hide her bloated waist as the food settled heavily in her stomach.

Tara squirmed in her seat, warmth spreading through her body. There was something intoxicating about the whole scene—watching Camille eat and eat, Travis’s easy confidence as he kept nudging her further. The way Camille, already stuffed, let herself be pushed just a little more. It made Tara’s pulse race, a mix of guilt and excitement twisting together inside her.

Tara bit her lip, watching as Camille picked at the food, slowing down but not quite stopping. Each time she hesitated, Travis said something—soft, coaxing—until she took another bite. She exchanged glances with him, and each time his knowing look sent a shiver down her spine.

By the end of the meal, Camille looked like she was barely holding it together. She leaned back in her seat, her face flushed and her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. She tried to act like she was fine, but it was obvious she was uncomfortable, her breath shallow, her movements sluggish.

Travis leaned back, satisfied. “See? Told you it wasn’t that much.”

Camille gave a weak laugh, but her eyes darted to Tara, almost as if asking for approval. Tara just smiled, pretending everything was perfectly normal. Inside, though, her heart raced.

Travis glanced at Tara, catching her eye. His expression was smug, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

—- —- —- —- —-

Back at the fraternity house, Tara straddled Travis on his bed, her hands planted firmly on his bare chest as she rode him, her thighs flexing with every movement. The dim room was filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing, the rhythmic creak of the mattress, and the occasional slap of skin on skin. Travis lay beneath her, hands lazily roaming her body as if he had all the time in the world. Tara’s mind, however, wasn’t just on the pleasure thrumming through her, it was on Camille.

She could still see her: flushed and stuffed at the restaurant, the way her belly pushed against the tight waistband of her jeans, how easily she’d caved to every nudge from Travis. Tara bit her lip at the memory, a jolt of arousal spiking through her body. “Did you see her?” Tara gasped between moans, her voice breathless. “How much she ate? She just… kept going.”

Travis grinned beneath her, his hands trailing down her waist, fingers teasing along the curve of her hips. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t even have to try that hard.”

Tara moaned again, her hips moving faster, chasing the sensation building between her legs. “She didn’t stop… not until—” She paused to gasp, her nails digging into Travis’s skin. “Not until she was so fucking full.”

“She liked it,” Travis murmured, his thumb brushing over the peak of her breast before squeezing it, rough enough to make Tara shudder. “She’ll like it more next time.”

Tara’s heart pounded as the images flickered through her mind. Camille squirming in her seat, struggling to hide how full she was. It was like unwrapping a gift and realizing there was even more inside than she’d expected.

“How fat do you think we can make her?” Travis asked suddenly, his voice dark and teasing, like the question was just a challenge he knew they could meet. His hands slid down her back, gripping her thighs possessively.

Tara groaned, her whole body trembling. “Huge,” she breathed, her voice trembling with excitement and desire. “So fucking huge.”

Travis’s eyes darkened with lust, his grin falling away to concentration. “Yeah,” he growled, lifting his hips to meet hers. “So fucking huge.”

The thought alone was enough to tip Tara over the edge, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her orgasm rolled through her, leaving her breathless and trembling. Travis followed a moment later, his grip tightening on her hips as he cursed softly, his body tensing beneath hers. They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, both of them catching their breath.

Tara slid off him slowly, rolling onto her side. The afterglow was warm and heady, making her feel loose and a little dazed. She propped herself up on one elbow, her hand trailing over Travis’s chest. His skin was hot beneath her fingers, his heartbeat still thudding under her touch.

“We have to weigh her,” Tara murmured, half to herself, half to him. The idea was a thrill she couldn’t shake. She needed to know. Needed to see the number on the scale, to understand just how far they could take this.

Travis thought for a moment, his hand running lazily over her thigh. “There’s no way she’d let me weigh her. She’s insecure as hell.” He gave her a knowing look. “Not even my charm’s gonna make that happen. You’ll have to do it.”

Tara nodded thoughtfully, brushing her hair away from her face. “Yeah… I’ll figure out a way.”

Travis smirked. “I bet you will.”

Chapter 9

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of Tara’s room, casting soft amber light across the plush white duvet and warm wooden floors. A slight breeze drifted in, ruffling the edge of the sheer curtains as Camille sat cross-legged on the bed, happily chewing on her second apple turnover from the plate Tara had offered her. Her body relaxed against the pillows as she licked flakes of pastry from her buttery fingers. Tara’s lips curled into a small smile as she watched Camille out of the corner of her eye while pretending to sift through her closet. Camille looked comfortable.

Tara rummaged through hangers and pulled out a tight green dress, glancing at herself in the mirror as she held it up against her body. She had invited Camille over under the pretense of needing help picking an outfit for a fake event, a lie she had made up. But Camille didn’t need to know that. Tara had spent the last few days laying the groundwork for their “friendship,” slipping compliments into casual conversation, offering little gestures of kindness, pretending to care. She would text her often and offer her food every chance she got. It was easy to keep her close when you fed her and made her feel seen.

It was paying off. Camille trusted her. Tara could feel it in the way Camille leaned back on her elbows, legs tucked beneath her, absentmindedly munching on the pastry without a second thought.

Still, Tara needed to play her cards carefully. She knew how insecure people could be about their weight, and that’s what she aimed to discover about Camille today.

She pulled the dress over her head, tugging it down her slim frame, and turned to face the mirror with a theatrical groan. "God, nothing looks right. I’ve been so bloated lately." She twisted at the waist, inspecting her reflection as if the snug fit of the dress offended her. “I swear I’ve gained five pounds this week.”

Camille glanced up from the bed, chewing slower, her brows furrowed. "You look great, though. You’re, like… super thin," she mumbled, her tone light but laced with her usual self-deprecation.

Tara gave her a disbelieving snort and ran her hands over her flat stomach. “I look huge. I seriously need to lose weight before I embarrass myself.” She pouted dramatically at her reflection, feigning insecurity just enough to plant the idea in Camille’s mind without making it obvious.

Camille’s expression softened as she tucked her feet under her. “You’re crazy, Tara. You look perfect. I wish I looked half as good as you do.”

Tara gave a playful sigh. "You’re sweet, but I just don’t feel good. And honestly..." She let her voice drop into a conspiratorial tone. "I’ve been thinking that maybe I should get a trainer. Like, someone to motivate me, you know?" She turned toward Camille, watching her carefully. “Do you think you could do that for me?”

Camille’s expression faltered, the faintest flicker of embarrassment flashing across her features. She shifted awkwardly on the bed, pulling her knees up as if to hide herself. "Oh... uh, I don’t know," she mumbled, glancing away. "I’m not really good at... that kind of stuff."

"Come on." Tara walked over and sat down beside her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "It’d just be fun! Like, you could keep me accountable. No pressure or anything. Just you and me."

Camille bit her lip, looking down at the apple turnover she’d abandoned. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she seemed conflicted. They both knew she wasn’t the one for the job, that much was clear. The idea of it bordered on laughable. Tara could tell she wanted to fit in, wanted to be liked, but the mention of weight made her visibly uncomfortable.

Tara gave her a warm, encouraging smile. "Hey," she said softly. "Come with me. I want to see if this dress actually fits or if I need to starve myself for the next week." She rolled her eyes at her own joke and stood, tugging Camille by the hand.

Camille hesitated for a moment but let Tara pull her off the bed, following her toward the small bathroom attached to Tara’s room.

Inside, the bathroom was small and neat, with white tiles that gleamed under the soft yellow light. Tara stepped onto the glass scale in front of the sink, her bare toes curling slightly. A soft beep sounded, and the numbers blinked before settling at 131 pounds. Tara made a show of groaning again, even though she was perfectly content with the result.

"See? Told you I’m bloated," she said, shaking her head with a self-deprecating laugh. She stepped off the scale, looking at Camille expectantly. “Wanna go next?”

Camille stood frozen by the doorway, visibly hesitant. She crossed her arms over her stomach, and her brows knit in uncertainty. "I... I don’t know," she whispered, her voice shrinking. "I haven’t weighed myself in a while."

Tara stepped closer, her expression softening with what looked like genuine care. "It’s just us," she whispered, brushing a stray blond curl from Camille’s face, her fingers light as a feather. "No one will know. I promise."

Camille swallowed, glancing at the scale nervously. Tara could see the war going on behind her eyes, wanting to say no, but also not wanting to disappoint. Just a little push, and she’ll do it, Tara thought.

Before Camille could back out, Tara slipped behind her, wrapping her arms gently around Camille’s soft waist. She rested her chin on Camille’s shoulder, meeting her gaze through the bathroom mirror. "It’s just a number," she murmured, her voice low and reassuring. "No big deal."

The warmth of Tara’s breath on her neck made Camille’s face flush deeper, and she shifted nervously on her feet. After a long pause, Camille exhaled shakily and gave a small, reluctant nod.

"Okay," she whispered.

Tara stepped back, giving her space. Camille hesitated one last time before finally stepping onto the scale. The glass platform beeped, and the numbers blinked as they calculated her weight. 237 pounds.

Camille’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened as she stared down at the number, her face a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

Tara leaned closer, her eyes flicking to the display. She smiled, but only inwardly, keeping her expression soft and understanding. A hundred pounds heavier than me, Tara thought, a flutter of arousal rushing through her.

"That’s not bad at all," Tara said gently, her voice kind and soothing.

Camille wrapped her arms around herself, her body stiff with shame. "It’s... a lot," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Tara moved closer, tucking a loose curl behind Camille’s ear. "Hey," she said softly, her hand lingering on Camille’s shoulder. "You’re beautiful. No matter what." She smiled at her, making sure her gaze was full of warmth and acceptance.

Camille looked at Tara, her eyes uncertain but grateful. For a brief moment, she seemed to relax, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

But in Tara’s mind, she was already planning her next move. Travis is going to love this, she thought.

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