Fiction logo

How to Lose Weight Fast

200lbs in Two Days? Done.

By S. A. CrawfordPublished 2 months ago Updated 2 months ago 12 min read
1
Image: Max Goodrich via Pexels

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. Cody told me that this getaway would change everything: a weekend away to heal our ailing marriage and gloss over his vast indiscretions. It would be a boot camp, he had said, we could work on our flaws.

I would lose weight, and he would do his best to be supportive.

Deal of the century, right? The isolation was part of the appeal; his boss had offered the cabin as a part of his bonus, a thank you for all his "hard work". I wondered if he knew that Cody's hard work included screwing the HR manager after hours, but I doubted he'd care if he did. Cody said this weekend away would change our lives, and I had to admit that for the first time in many years I agreed completely. I would lose weight fast, faster than he could dream of. In fact, I intended to lose about 200 lbs in three days. I'd done a lot of research to make sure it was possible, and a lot of planning to make sure it was safe.

The car ground to a halt at the top of a gentle slope, and though it was in darkness the cabin was lovely. It looked inviting and warm, the forests around its golden walls were crisp, dark, and silent as the grave. Only the call of birds indicated there was any life out here. I smiled broadly at Cody as we got out of the car,

"Here," he said, double chin becoming more prominent as he grinned, "you can carry the cases. Get started on that fat burn."

"Great idea darling," I chirped as I took the red case first,

"Heavy that one, do you have a body in there or just your underwear?" He teased, and I laughed dutifully. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I had to admit that he was right about one thing; I wasn't as fit as I needed to be.

It was a nice dinner, even though it consisted of a single, grilled chicken breast and half a broccoli. Cody actually made conversation and managed to find a kind word or two,

"I'm proud of you, Elise," he said, shoving another piece of fried chicken steak into his mouth, hot sauced dripping from his pale chin to stain his white T-shirt, "you know? When we had that argument I was sure you were going to leave, but you're trying and I want you to know I appreciate that." He refilled my water glass before he cracked open another beer. "And I'm going to try too, you know, I know I can be hard on you, but I'm going to support you every step of the way."

"I know, darling," I murmured, "I appreciate you trying, too. It's nice to have a good conversation and some time alone." That much was true; if I had to watch him ogle another poor young waitress's tits while she looked like she wanted to run away again, I'd have committed a felony. The money I had spent on apologizing to the girls at Hooters could have bought a new car. He smiled, a bit of bacon caught between his teeth, and then reached out to pat my arm, fingers leaving a greasy stain behind. Some light yoga, which to his credit he participated in because he didn't trust me to do it alone, and went to bed. Only Cody slept, however; I had work to do. He stirred when I got up, but nodded and snored almost before I had explained I was going to take a walk to get the day started.

Apparently walking in sub-zero temperatures at three am was reasonable.

According to the state safety advisories, there were wolves in this area... and bears, though they should be in hibernation. More's the pity. I tore open a packet of raw liver and hiked out until the cabin was nothing but a warm glow, scattering it about, letting the blood spray, and then returned to the warmth of the living room to perform some stretches and bodyweight exercises. Unbeknownst to my darling husband, this particular routine had started the day he told me we would be embarking on this trip. Unnoticed by him, I had already lost 10 lbs. Though I hated to admit it, I was already feeling more energetic. More lively. There was colour in my cheeks.

It wasn't so much that he said I was fat, out of shape, and lazy; I knew he was right. It was the fact that his own gut blocked him from seeing his own failings, and the way he expected to be as sexy to young girls as he had been when he was twenty and slim. He couldn't see his own failing for the sweat and grease on his brow, and somehow that had broken something in me more than the thought of that poor girl suffering his groping to get ahead.

No, I didn't want to punish the other woman, I thought as I wheezed through the high knees jog I had been undertaking every day for a month, a minute at a time until I could do it for fifteen minutes without puking; I was going to save her.

When Cody lumbered downstairs in last night's stained shirt to find me doing yoga with a large bottle of water, he grinned like a cat that had caught a mouse. No doubt believing he was powerful enough to turn a fat cow into a sleek gazelle. He watched appreciatively and then patted my rear with a condescending laugh,

"Looking good, girl." He grunted and made his way to the kitchen, scratching his behind as if digging for gold,

"Thanks, baby," I barked like a trained seal, then pressed into a downward dog to hide my bared teeth. All good things to those who wait, that had been my motto and I intended to stick to it. The long, gasping hike to the top of the hill took us by the remnants of last night's liver; Cody stopped and frowned,

"Blood here," he said, piggy eyes flicking around the forest, "are there wild animals here?"

"I don't know," I simpered, "are we safe? Are there wolves?" He stared at me, and then puffed his chest,

"No, it'll just be a fox, darling, you keep moving, I'll make sure you're safe." He used that as an opportunity to perch on a fallen log, making a show of being a lookout. I made sure to thank him, saccharine, and when we returned to the cabin, I ate my chicken slowly. Pretending to lose appetite halfway through so that he had to cajole me to eat, extolling the virtues of clean protein as he stuffed macaroni cheese into a bread roll and took a squelching bite.

This time I picked the big ticket item; a side of bloody beef, bought in secret and packed in my suitcase as a frozen block to keep it fresh. Now it was cold and wet, soaked in blood. At three am, I sat it in a warm basin of water, still wrapped in plastic, and let it heat slowly. The trick was to let it warm without cooking it; the blood needed to run so the smell could spread. Experimentally, I cut a chunk and pushed it into my mouth. Warm, wet, soft; my stomach heaved as the coppery taste of blood spread, but I swallowed nonetheless. Clean protein was the food of winners, after all.

I poured the chunks into a bucket with mixed offal from the local butchers and added some warm water, letting it mix as I carried it up the hill with the hairs on my neck prickling and my breath misting in the air. Even I could smell the blood. As the lights around the cabin faded, I sunk my hand into the rapidly cooling mix and threw bloody handfuls all around, creating a wide arc of bloody viscera until I poured the remaining contents in a pile on the snow and pulled the small Bluetooth speaker from its pocket. Backing away from the bloody pile as the speaker crackled to life, I deployed my secret weapon; wolf howls. At full volume, the howl sounded unearthly, and when it echoed back, bouncing from the trees and rocks, I shivered. Silence fell and remained. Again the recorded howl broke it, echoed, and fell silent. By the fourth try, I felt a sinking sense of defeat. Then they called back, the inhabitants of the hills.

The song seemed to come from everywhere, and for the first time in ten years, I ran like the wind, legs moving so fast that I almost fell. Pressed to the thick door with the bucket still in hand, I wheezed and gasped like a landed carp until the stench of the bucket brought the plan back into sharp focus. The white rag turned pink, soaked in the rest of the juices. I stuffed it in a freezer bag and tucked it in the waistband of my leggings as I started to stretch. A cold square of flesh persisted where it lay, even as I moved into high knees, body weight exercises, and, finally, yoga.

This time, when he woke, Cody found me huddled on the couch, biting my nails. As predicted, he wasn't happy,

"Given up already?" He asked, a thin veneer of cheer failing to disguise the hard look in his eyes,

"I heard howling," I say, and my voice is suitably choked up because I dabbed his hot sauce in my eyes and nose when I heard the bathroom door close, "Cody I think there are wolves out there, really." I made a show of being pathetic, I had practice after all. Voice shrill and high, lip wobbling, slouched to make my belly protrude, and surprisingly there was no empathy on his face,

"There are no fucking wolves, get that through your thick skull then get your shoes on." He slammed the kitchen door on his way in, clattering around until he returned to thrust a green juice under my nose. Snivelling, whimpering, wobbling, I drank it and followed him into the snow, swiping his spare pocket knife from the dirty jeans left on the floor by the door. Waiting until Cody turned his back to pull the warm, bloody rag from its plastic casing. The smell was sharp and coppery, but when I hurried to catch up to him and hooked it under a decorative strap on his jacket he didn't seem to notice,

"Sorry," I whispered, "I just got scared."

"It's fine," he sighed and gave my hand a half-hearted squeeze. This time, I urged him to walk further, all the way to the top of a nearby hillock that had a fallen tree at the top. Though my back and legs were aching and the sun had started to descend by the time we reached it, he seemed pleased with my desire to pacify him. Though the handle of the knife was warm in my grip by now, finding the time and courage to do anything with it was harder than expected. I pressed my thumb to the blade and held the hiss inside as it cut deep. Perhaps a little too deep. The blood ran fast and thick onto the snow as we reached the peak of the hillock. The A-frame cabin looked like a toy in the distance.

Cody pressed his hands to his hips and looked around as if surveying his very own kingdom,

"This was a good idea, Elise," he said, "smell that fresh air."

"Yes," I said, "it's so pretty here..." silence - the suggestion of twigs cracking in the near distance, "you know, you really hurt my feelings," I said as I stooped to pick up a rock in my left hand. The knife felt too real. Too much like a crime, maybe. Cody turned with a twist to his thin lips, then looked down at the rock. Maybe, just maybe, he would apologise. Maybe...

"What the fuck are you going to do?" He asked with a laugh, "hit me?"

"Maybe," I whispered and he laughed. He actually laughed. One podgy hand shot out to hit me in the chest, sending me sprawling onto the ground. My phone clattered away, the audio recording started to play. Wolves, howling.

"You fat fuck," he laughed, "you played those last night. To get out of walking. Jesus fucking christ, you are so lazy. Do you know that? You'd rather sit on your arse all day and do nothing than walk. If you put the effort into yourself-" the recording ended, "that you put into avoiding work maybe I wouldn't be disgusted by the sight of you." Answering calls came, but he seemed beyond hearing them. "I mean did you ever think about that?" More howls joined the chorus, and for a second his face paled. He looked at me with horror and I thought yes, finally he understood. "You stupid bitch. Look at what you've done, get up." He tried to help me, drag me to my feet, and it dawned on me that no, he didn't understand. He really thought I had been trying to avoid hiking. He really believed it.

The knife bit deep into his belly, and when he pushed me away with a sharp cry, it drew a long line across his gut. Maybe I should have stopped to check if he was following, but I didn't; I crawled. I crawled and then got to my feet and ran, trees whipping past as his curses became pleas and then, finally, screams. The snarling growls and yips that followed were savage, but the thunder of my heart almost drowned them out. With each step I felt the nip of phantom teeth at my heels; even when the thick door to the cabin was shut and locked, even as I dialed the emergency number, the sobs that made the line crackle real and fearful, I waited for his hand to land on the door. It never came, but the police did.

When they found his remains, they were scattered around the clearing, and my phone was locked in his hand, cracked, battered, utterly irreparable. Whether he had been trying to call for help or use it as a weapon was irrelevant; he had failed. I was free.

Horror
1

About the Creator

S. A. Crawford

Writer, reader, life-long student - being brave and finally taking the plunge by publishing some articles and fiction pieces.

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insights

  1. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  2. Eye opening

    Niche topic & fresh perspectives

  3. On-point and relevant

    Writing reflected the title & theme

Add your insights

Comments (2)

Sign in to comment
  • Kendra Marya2 months ago

    Fun read!

  • Zack Graham2 months ago

    I liked this read - definitely a unique approach to the prompt. When I read the byline I was certain this story was moving toward a simple breakup, but then the meat started coming out... Great job! I'd suggest going back and giving this a polish edit just because of simple grammar errors.

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2023 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.