Eight for Eight - Part 1

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Levi moved through the gym like a man in a parade he had personally organized. Every lift and every set seemed rehearsed to show off in front of an audience. At 5’11” tall, his frame was athletic—broad shoulders tapered into a defined chest, a waist listed on his modeling sheet at 31 inches, and legs with such power and grace that people had to stop and stare whenever he walked by them. His brown hair fell in disarray across his forehead, and his brown eyes had a particular cocky spark as he flexed in the mirrored wall between sets.

He took his time, accustomed to attention. He started with a slow set of barbell curls, pausing to watch the peak of his biceps and grin at it. He had worked hard to get such a hot body, so he proudly wanted to show it off. His outfit was part of that same goal: tight gym briefs and a tank top that clung in all the right places, with sneakers that still looked clean despite the day’s sweat. Modeling agencies liked his lines, and brands liked his energy. He had such immense confidence, cocky to anyone who didn’t know the hours it took to build that frame.

His phone suddenly buzzed when he stopped after a set. He didn’t like interruptions, but part of him wondered if maybe it was someone he could have fun with. He glanced at the screen and immediately frowned when he recognized the caller ID. It was a recent hookup, only a one-night stand. He swiped to answer, balancing the phone against his ear with the nonchalance of someone who could handle anything.

“Hey,” he said, still looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Hello,” the woman’s voice sounded shaky. “Do you have some minutes to talk? It’s something important.

“I’m busy right now, but go ahead,” he said, not paying real attention to the conversation.

“So… I know we only met once, and it wasn’t a big deal,” the woman started, but then suddenly stopped. “The thing is, Levi... I think I might be pregnant.”

He laughed softly, a reflex masking discomfort. “Okay. Congratulations. But that’s not really my problem. You can get an abortion if you like.”

There was a pause, then a sharp intake as the woman’s tone changed to something more serious. “I was hoping you’d give me a different answer. I was hoping that I had gotten the wrong vibe from you and that you would like to step up like a man.”

Levi laughed hard this time, then his voice turned darker. “Listen, I’m not interested in taking care of a kid. You can figure it out. You’re not the first woman I have gotten pregnant before, and you probably won’t be the last. And the only solution here is for you to get an abortion, and we’ll never see each other again.”

The woman didn’t immediately respond, and Levi felt the air around him getting colder before he heard her voice again. “You always thought it was easy to walk away, didn’t you?! she said, but there was something else under those words now. He could hear deep breathing and another voice murmuring behind her.

“It has always worked,” he said, keeping his calm but slowly infuriated.

“No more. From this moment, you will know what it is to carry what you discarded. For every soul you have pressed into silence, your own body will bear one. Not as a metaphor, not as punishment in a story, but in flesh. Your body will become something you’ve never imagined.”

Levi blinked, caught off guard. “What? What does that even mean?”

“Eight lives weigh on your soul. Eight children you denied a chance, and now you will have to deal with them. And there won’t be a way for you to run away. They will grow inside you, and no mirror, no gym, no agent, and no smile will save you from it. You will feel what you mocked. You will carry what you cast aside.”

Levi burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. That’s the wildest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re insane.” He cut the call and tossed his phone onto the bench, flexing his arms at the mirror, widening his grin. “Crazy chick. Like anyone could actually curse me,” he said, but even as he admired the same chest, the same waist, and the same grin, the chill in his core lingered, like an echo of her voice.

He shrugged the strangeness away. Maybe it had been a weird, emotional reaction, or drama. He told himself he had more pressing things to do: a photoshoot later, a promo call, and a bulk meal to plan. He tried to keep his routine going, but the woman’s voice kept coming over and over throughout the day, leaving him unable to focus on anything.

Later that night in his apartment, he lay back on the bed, sated from a protein shake and a long shower. He grinned at his reflection in the dark window and felt a deep, unfamiliar churn in his belly. He attributed it to the workout, to a meal he hadn’t quite processed. He rubbed at his abdomen with idle fingers and went to bed, trying to leave the odd phone call in the past.

****

Over the next few days, Levi’s rhythms continued, but the edges began to fray. He kept his routine: 6 AM alarms, a protein smoothie, the commute to shoots and meetings, and a rigid food log where each calorie meant something close to control. He did interviews and fittings, and they praised his angles. He posted the kinds of pictures that kept his follower count climbing. However, among his daily activities, some odd sensations started to come.

It began as a nausea that came in waves. It wasn’t the sort of sickness Levi could shrug off with peppermint candy. This nausea arrived in the middle of a voice call, in the dressing room between costume changes, and in meetings where he would excuse himself abruptly to lean against a wall and breathe. Food that had always been pleasurable turned traitorous. Coffee left a metallic afternote in his mouth; the breakfast shake that used to fuel him settled like a brick in his stomach.

He slept often and poorly, waking up with a sheen of sweat all over his body that didn’t make sense. The changes were small at first: fatigue that wasn’t proportional to his workouts and a stubborn weight at the base of his ribs that suggested bloating more than muscle. And then, an abdominal curve started to subtly appear, like a tiny rounding swell that might be a bad meal or a tightness in his favorite jeans when he pulled them on.

He told himself it was a virus, a “stomach bug,” or a side effect of an over-scheduled life. But as the days passed, his friends started making steady and alarming comments about his sickness and the rounded abdomen that his tight shirts only helped to accentuate. His trainer noticed him losing precision on lifts, also remarking how the tank top draped differently. Even his shorts felt tighter around his hips, no matter how much he tugged at the fabric.

He smiled when he was in public, acting like nothing was happening. But in private, he panicked. He tried to keep to himself as long as he could. Days of exhaustion turned into weeks, and the nausea only intensified. He’d be in the makeup chair when the world tilted and the scent of alcohol lacquered the air, forcing him to close his eyes and breathe in slow counts. He would constantly look for tips to deal with that, but it was useless.

Every passing day was worse, physically and emotionally. It wasn’t only the discomfort taking over his body over and over throughout the days, but also the concerns and anxiety that it brought to his mind whenever he felt like his body was falling apart. He couldn’t deny something was wrong, but he still wanted to act like he was the man in control, even though the situation was clearly getting out of his hands. The issue was so insistent that he couldn’t get any hookups as before.

About a month and a half after the call that marked the beginning of his sickness, there was no escaping the truth. His body was changing in ways he couldn’t explain. His abdomen had a subtle curve that was impossible to ignore, even though his abs were still slightly visible. Levi could feel his body getting thicker in some areas, and the worst part was that no matter how hard he tried to ignore all this, his mind betrayed him every second of the day.

Things got even more confusing one night after he woke from a nightmare so vivid that he felt something shifting in his body. In the dream, he saw the woman who had cursed him on the phone, but it wasn’t the nervous woman he knew. She stood like a dark figure in the shadows, with red eyes flaming like fire. Beside her, Levi saw faces he recognized, seven women he’d seen, women he’d known in the blur between late nights and confusing mornings.

In the dream, Levi was tied to a bed he couldn’t slide from. He struggled to move, but something didn’t allow him to escape. For the first time in ages, he was scared, and it worsened when the women closed in, chanting in an unfamiliar language that wound through his head like a rope. He found himself surrounded by the eight women who stared at him with devilish grins. Levi still tried to escape, but it was useless.

Then, one by one, they pressed and reached to place their hands on his abdomen, making his whole body shiver in fear. The pressure was not gentle, and Levi couldn’t help but groan in pain. The hands went deeper, as if trying to break into his abdomen or tear him in half. The pressure made Levi scream as he heard the women’s voices getting louder. It was an insistence that left him gasping when he woke up covered in sweat and still feeling the pain.

He could still hear the voices, and his abdomen was sore, so he instinctively moved his right hand over his distended abs, struggling to catch his breath. “What the fuck was that?” he said, and then he heard an audible voice responding: “For every soul you have pressed into silence, your own body will bear one.” Levi looked around, turning pale because he was alone. “Fuck, I’m losing my mind,” he said, absentmindedly rubbing his abdomen.

*

The physical changes accelerated after that night. What had been a subtle curve became undeniable. Levi’s abdomen rounded outward in a way that defied his training; the line of his formerly taut stomach softened into a new shape. Clothes that once clung in the right places now stretched beyond his wildest fears. He found himself buying a size up in pants and having to be measured differently for shoots. Even his chest started showing a new tenderness, a weight he had not invited.

The worst part was that the world noticed all these changes, no matter how subtle Levi thought they were. Friends who had long forgiven his brusque edges asked if he was okay. At a commercial shoot, the director—a sharp-eyed man used to making decisions on the fly—paused and touched the curve of his abdomen.

“Are you sick?” he unkindly asked. “I can ignore the soft spots here and there, but that belly isn’t soft anymore.”

“Just off my game,” Levi lied. He repeated it as if trying to make it his truth.

“You’d better go back to that game if you wanna keep modeling in this city,” the director responded, looking at Levi’s body up and down.

At meetings, his calendar shifted: fewer late nights, more midday rest, and a nutritionist recommended by an uncertain colleague. He tried home remedies. First, it was ginger teas, low-calorie meals, and deep breathing with his trainer. Those things softened the symptoms but did not stop the curious and persistent growth.

Photos from shoots, meant to show chiseled abs and sculpted lines, suddenly included angles that betrayed his rounded midsection. Fans speculated about the issue, coming up with ridiculous scenarios that made Levi laugh and be more self-conscious about his looks. A few comments on his posts expressed honest concern, and others were cruel. By the time his belly was undeniable, the modeling agencies he worked for requested a medical assessment. He smiled through the logistics and complied, half-expecting a simple explanation and a clean dismissal.

Tests were inconclusive in the ways he wanted them to be conclusive; the notes from doctors used clinical language about hormones and unusual endocrine responses, and the nurses took measurements with a professional calm. It only worsened his anxiety over the issue because at night, his mind kept wandering if maybe he was dying.

But then, one night, two months after the call, he was in bed, caressing his bare abdomen, feeling the firmness of it, and wondering how to get rid of the mound. Something suddenly clicked in his mind. “She cursed me,” he reminded himself, repeating the words like splinters. “Eight for eight,” he said into the dark until his throat was sore.

Levi turned pale, looking down at his abdomen with the realization that every symptom and every struggle lined up with those of pregnancy. It was impossible. He was a man. But the words kept coming: “eight for eight.” His breathing shortened, and his hands moved over his hairy abdomen, unable to process the realization.

The next morning, he couldn’t stand the doubt anymore and scheduled a doctor’s appointment at a clinic in the next town. He knew the idea was insane; it was impossible that his theory was correct, but something deep inside kept telling him to go and find out. He arrived at the clinic on time, and the nurse led him to an office right away. He went through routine procedures, trying to remain calm, but every step got him more anxious.

“We’ll start with some vitals,” the nurse said. She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm, and the numbers blinked higher than they should. “A little elevated.”

Levi shrugged, fearing more about the possible cause for his sickness than just an elevated blood pressure. “Long drive. Lots of caffeine. Some stress,” he said, and the nurse nodded, still taking note of the numbers.

Next, Levi stepped onto the scale. He looked down at the numbers, aware that he had gained some pounds in recent weeks, but not realizing how much it really was. “191 pounds? No way! This scale is broken or something.”

The nurse frowned, writing the numbers on Levi’s file. “It seems like you’ve gained twelve pounds, according to the weight you listed on the information you provided.”

“Maybe… Well, I guess bulking season’s working,” Levi joked, but he knew it was a lie.

After that, she noted Levi’s pulse was a little fast, and his abdomen was distended in a way that didn’t line up with muscle development. She scribbled on the chart, then guided him to the doctor’s office, and a few minutes later, the doctor walked in, reading Levi’s chart.

“So, Mr. Conely… Tell me what’s going on,” the doctor said.

Levi took a deep breath. “I’ve been sick. I’ve experienced constant nausea. I’m tired all the time. I’ve been gaining weight in my stomach. My chest is sore. And—” He hesitated. “—I don’t know how else to say this, but… I think I might be pregnant.”

The doctor blinked, then let out a baffled laugh. “That’s impossible. You’re a man. At least that’s what’s written on your chart.”

“I know what I am,” Levi snapped, then softened his tone. “I can’t explain it. But I need you to run an ultrasound. Please. That’s all I’m asking. If I’m wrong, I’ll leave.”

The doctor hesitated, then sighed. “Alright. If only to reassure you.”

Levi lay back as the doctor spread the cooled gel across his hairy abdomen. The doctor moved the wand in slow movements, not knowing what to look for at first. His expression was calm at first, but as he went lower over Levi’s abdomen, it tightened. His brow furrowed, and he leaned closer to the monitor.

“What is it?” Levi asked, dreading the reply.

The doctor didn’t answer immediately. His eyes widened, and his face paled. On the screen, he could see the clear and undeniable shape of a space no man should have: a womb. Inside it, the doctor found eight distinct forms, each with a strong heartbeat.

“No way,” the doctor whispered. “This isn’t possible.”

Levi pushed up on his elbows, staring at the monitor. “You see it, don’t you?” His voice cracked as his cockiness stripped away.

The doctor pulled his glasses off, rubbing his eyes as if the image might vanish. “You have a uterus. Functioning. And eight fetuses are developing inside it.”

Levi swore, loud and raw. He covered his face with both hands. The curse replayed in his mind with cruel clarity. Eight for eight. “Fuck!”

The doctor sat back, stunned. “I don’t even know how to begin explaining this medically.”

Levi dropped his hands, staring at the ceiling. “You don’t have to. I know exactly what this is.” His gut twisted under the cold gel. “Fuck!”

“This is unprecedented. We need to study your case. How did this even happen? Did you conceive them naturally?” the doctor said as his concern turned into scientific curiosity.

“No! You can’t share this with anyone. I promise you, there’s nothing to study here,” he said, looking at his slightly rounded abdomen again. “Fuck! I’m so screwed! Eight babies? What am I gonna do with eight babies?”

The doctor was silent for a while, staring at the screen. “It’s impressive to say the least, but if it somehow helps, the babies look. Congratulations.”

“Of course they’re healthy! Fuck!” Levi said, still processing the news.

...

********

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PS: This story is based on woodywood101's post on tumblr, featuring Levi Conely. It's a great concept and I couldn't help it. ENJOY!