Something snaps inside you. The humiliation, the powerlessness, the smug satisfaction on his face—it's too much. You lean forward across the desk, your voice dropping to the low, dangerous register that once made supervillains reconsider their life choices.
"Listen to me very carefully, Eugene. I don't care what magic you're using, what curse you think protects you. I will find a way out of this, and when I do—"
His eyes light up with delight. "Oh, this is precious. Are you threatening me, Carla?"
"I'm promising you that—"
The pain hits like a freight train. Your entire body convulses, and you stumble backward, crashing against the wall. It feels like your cells are expanding, multiplying, filling with concrete. Your tank top rides up further as your belly surges outward, the fabric stretching obscenely. Your thighs press together with crushing pressure. Your face grows rounder, your chin multiplying. The sweatpants' elastic waistband cuts into flesh that wasn't there seconds ago.
You gasp for air, your lungs working harder to oxygenate the suddenly increased mass. When you look down, your body has ballooned grotesquely. You're easily fifty pounds heavier than you were moments ago. The tank top now barely covers your breasts, exposing rolls of pale flesh.
Eugene stands up, walking around the desk to examine you like a specimen. "Clause seventeen, subsection B: 'Threats against the landlord constitute aggressive non-compliance and trigger immediate physical penalties.' You really should read the fine print, sweetheart."
You try to speak, but you're still catching your breath. Your body feels alien, wrong in entirely new ways. The weight distribution is grotesque—your movements will be even more labored now.
"The beautiful thing about the curse?" Eugene continues, circling you slowly. "It doesn't just add weight. It makes you hungry. Really, really hungry. You're going to want to eat constantly now. And guess what? Food costs money. Money you don't have." He returns to his desk, sitting down with exaggerated casualness. "Still want to threaten me, Carla? Because I can make you bigger. So much bigger. Until you can't even waddle out that door."
He picks up a pen, going back to his paperwork. "Now, unless you have actual business to conduct, I suggest you take your job board and figure out how you're going to make rent. Clock's ticking."