You try to stop her! Sort of.

You sit on the kitchen floor and stare blankly as Zoe sashays out the door. Her steps are swift and spritely, clearly betraying her delight at reclaiming the gun, and perhaps torturing you. She casts a glance out of the corner of her eyes, and gives you a crooked grin as she leaves. The door slams behind her, and you begin to come to your senses.

If she leaves... You turn a vacuous gaze down to the pot belly stretching the fabric of your shirt.
If she leaves, she takes the gun with her. You blink as your brain starts to catch up.
If she takes the gun you're stuck!

Your eyes go wide, you gasp, and your body trembles with adrenaline. You have to stop her! You try to sit straight up from the floor, only to get a quarter of the way up, and fall back on your cushy ass. You can't manage it again, and instead awkwardly roll to your side, then hands and knees, then heft yourself to your feet. Everything about your center of gravity feels off. It's so far in front of you. Your every move has you orbiting around your gravid belly, instead of just moving directly where you intend to go. It doesn't help that your wretched body is noticeably weak.

You're still bent over when you try to make for the door, but as soon as you bring yourself upright, you're met with a new surprise. You feel the weight of your belly shift back, like someone just plopped a bowling ball into your wide round hips, but that's not what surprises you. The sudden leak of hot liquid into your boxers is what startles you and locks you in place. You squeeze your legs together trying to keep from leaking anymore, suddenly regretting not peeing when you woke up. You feel like you're going to pop in more ways than one! After an embarrassingly squeaky moan, you manage to get things under control, just in time to hear the engine of your car turning over.

You waddle as fast as you can manage without an accident, bare feet tapping, and jean legs flapping.
With one hand holding your comically oversized jeans up by the waist band, you finally reach the door, far later than you'd hoped. You fling it open with your free hand just in time to see Zoe pulling out of the driveway with YOUR car.

You shout something wordless and angry at her, then stagger a bit further out onto the porch and walkway. You watch the car dart around the bend of your neighborhood, and disappear from view. You stare. You'd been too slow. It wasn't supposed to go like this, was it? This was all some weird joke. She'd come swerving back around any second. This COULDN'T happen, could it? You looked up, to see the elderly neighbor lady staring at you from across the street. You glance down suddenly self conscious of your absurd appearance, and reminded of your **** need to pee.

Staggering back inside, huffing angrily the entire time, you stumble into the bathroom, kick off your jeans, slide down your still-wet boxers, sit down and piss. There you sit for the next half hour, feet pigeon toed, and face blank. You hug your belly and lose yourself in thought.

What will you do now?