by Vera Hollins
I was overcome by a fit of chuckles. I knew very well what my mom was dealing with in her PR firm. The dirty things she knew about some of her clients were enough to fill tabloids for the whole year.
“Right. Before I go, I want to ask you—have you received any admission decisions?”
A piece of bread stuck in my throat, and I started coughing. This was not the topic I wanted to discuss early in the morning.
I’d received a few responses, but how could I tell her I didn’t care about any of those colleges she and Dad had made me apply to? There were only two responses that truly mattered to me, and those would come from music colleges in Hartford and New York. I still didn’t know how to break the news to my parents.
“Yes…”
“You did? Why didn’t you tell us anything? What did they say?”
I shrugged, my eyes downcast. “I wanted to surprise you?” I gave another shrug. “I’m still waiting for some responses, but so far, I’ve been admitted to three of them.”
“You have?” She clasped her hands together, her face a picture of joy. “Oh, dear!” In a second, her arms enclosed me in a tight embrace. “I knew it! I’m so proud of you, Jess. I knew my sweetie would get in.” She kissed the top of my head and looked at me with pride in her eyes. This only made my chest ache.
I forced a smile on my face. I couldn’t tell her now. I didn’t want to see her face fall with disappointment. “Yeah.”
“We have to celebrate! I’m going to call Owen and tell him the great news. He’s going to be thrilled! And wait until I tell your grandparents!”
I smiled more widely, feeling like I was getting deeper into a mud trap with no way out. My stomach churned when I got into my car. There was no way they would ever accept me going to a music college.
They’d never thought much of my passion for singing. They were full of praise for my voice and liked to boast about it to our relatives, but they never regarded it as something serious. Dad had once told me singing couldn’t pay bills and I should be realistic, claiming becoming a lawyer would be the smartest and most responsible thing to do. I never mentioned wanting a singing career again.
I parked in the school’s parking lot as I sang along with “What the Water Gave Me” by Florence and the Machine playing on the radio. I was instantly calmed by the notes coming out of my mouth and could breathe more easily. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the headrest, buzzing with energy as I hit the highest notes. At this moment, I was invincible, and the best years of my life were about to come.
I got out of my car with a smile and headed into school, trudging through the snow that had accumulated overnight. It was the first day of March, but the weather was unforgiving and promising more cold days to come. I rubbed my gloved hands together and picked up my pace until I reached the foyer.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I drew it out. It was Dad.
Mom just told me the news. Congratulations, Jess! We’re going to have a big celebration.
I grimaced at the message. They would most likely have a barbecue in our back yard and call all our relatives. I was under more and more pressure.
Thanks, Dad. Maybe just us three can celebrate for starters. I’m still undecided on which college I’ll attend.
That’s just a minor detail. We’ll help you decide which option is the best for you.
I stopped at my locker with heaviness in my chest. My thumb hovered over the keyboard before I gave up on answering and shoved my phone back into my pocket. I had to tell them before this became a bigger mess.
I opened my locker, but someone slammed it shut and caged me in with his body, flattening his palms against the lockers on both sides of my shoulders.
“Don’t move,” Blake growled into my ear before I could make a sound, creating flutters deep down in my stomach. My body stirred at his nearness.
“What do you want?”
“I want to make sure you won’t open your fat, ugly mouth and say anything about yesterday.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled a long, raspy breath. I may have been pushing my luck, but I wasn’t going to keep quiet anymore. I suffered whether I stayed silent or not.
“Which part? You being a jerk all the time or you running away like the coward you accuse me of being?”
He slammed his fist against the locker and got in my face. “Shut the fuck up.”
“What? The truth hurts again?”
He grabbed my chin and made me look at him. “I think you forgot you shouldn’t talk back to me because if you do, I’ll get back at you and it will be real ugly.”
“More than it already is?” His fingers pressed into my skin, and I winced. “It…hurts,” I said through my gritted teeth, frustrated that he was using aggression to subdue me.
He lessened the pressure, but he didn’t remove his fingers from my chin. “That’s what you get when—”
“That’s what I get?!” I chuckled, but it didn’t contain even an ounce of joy. It was an expression of utter pain that resided in my heart because he was so cruel and merciless. “Do you even hear yourself? So when you can’t win using words, you use aggression? What’s next? Are you going to raise your hand against me? Beat me?”
He released me and stepped away, and I spun around to face him. I pressed my back against the lockers as I took in his frown and lips pressed together in an unforgiving, thin line.
“Is that what you think of me? You think I would beat you?”
My heart fluttered at the brief display of hurt that shadowed his face, but I didn’t allow that to stop me from saying what I’d kept inside for so long.
“Are you seriously asking me that? You’re a bully! I expect the worst from you! And how could I not? How many times have you pushed me around? How many times have you grabbed my arms or shoulders so hard it left me with bruises?”
He staggered back with widening eyes, but instead of feeling satisfaction at seeing him like this, I only felt more pain.
“You keep threatening me whenever I piss you off, which is always, so I’d be a fool not to expect you to hit me or worse.” I clenched my fingers around the hem of my shirt, holding back the tears that came so suddenly. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. It doesn’t matter.”
Ignoring how weak my limbs felt, I turned my back to him and opened my locker. The hair on my neck bristled as I waited for his reaction. I expected him to do or say something that would hammer more pain into me, but he didn’t do anything. I pulled out my French textbook and Le Père Goriot by Honoré de Balzac, which we were going to read in class.
I closed my locker and turned to him, expecting to see his eyes drilling into me, but he was already gone.
What gives?
I smiled.
I didn’t know if this was a small victory or not, but it was definitely progress.
I stood in the middle of the dank room, singing quietly as I filled boxes with wall maps, old lab tubes and bottles, VHS tapes, and other stuff. Dust was everywhere, and I sneezed at least ten times. I was glad I’d brought an old shirt I only wore at home because I was totally covered in it.
Blake wasn’t here, which came as no surprise, although I wondered if he would be suspended for skipping, or if he would manage to turn this around in his favor. I was betting on the latter.
My muscles hurt from all the work, and I hoped I could shed a few pounds. The jeans I wore were already too tight, and I’d bought them only three months prior. I stopped and looked at my thighs, which rubbed together when I walked, and pulled a face. They did seem thicker than three months earlier…
I knew I had to cut down on my sweets and snacks, but it was an impossible mission. It wasn’t fair. These days it seemed I could gain weight just by drinking water, and I wished I were like Sarah. She was so skinny with her thin arms and remarkably slim, long legs, and she wasn’t even trying. I wanted her thigh gap. I wanted her weight. And most of all—I wanted to eat pizza without worrying about those horrific ca
lories.
Think positive, Jess. You’re beautiful the way you are. You’re beautiful the way you are…
I heard quick footsteps in the distance, and I tensed. I hoped it was Mr. Maynard and not Blake. I reached for the flasks on the shelf next to me, my pulse quickening with each footstep. I put the flasks in the box and raised my gaze. Blake entered the room with a big box in his hands and a scowl on his pale face, and my heart dropped to my stomach.
Uh-oh.
“I’m not a coward,” he told me, referring to what I’d said to him this morning, and went to the other side of the room. I didn’t say anything in response as I watched him put one of the VCRs into the box roughly, surprised he felt the need to defend himself to me.
We worked in silence for several minutes. I threw occasional furtive glances at him, noticing that he’d never looked more on edge than he did now, with his face taut and eyes guarded.
Standing on my tiptoes, I took the desk globe from the top shelf, but the sphere separated from its mounting and dropped all the way down to the floor with a loud clunk.
“Fuck!” Blake jumped back and placed his arms in front of him as a shield. He met my eyes, his fear ebbing into rage. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and picked up the sphere from the floor. “The globe wasn’t connected to the mounting well. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He tightened his jaw. “What are you talking about?” He picked up a couple of tubes, avoiding my gaze. “You didn’t scare me. I just hate clumsy people.”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t my fault the sphere had fallen off, but I swallowed the remark. I thought about what he’d said to me on Monday.
“What did you mean when you said I was your trigger?” I asked, ignoring my inner voice that told me to keep quiet.
He grew still and snapped his eyes up to look at me. “Forget about that.”
His tone left no room for argument, but I didn’t heed the warning that suggested I would regret this. “Why?”
“Because.”
Vexed, I put the sphere in the box none too gently and placed my hands on my hips. “Why do you bully me?” He flexed his hands at his sides. “Why do you hate me?”
He returned to packing, refusing to give me an answer. My heartbeat took off at a gallop. Something deep in me pushed me to get closer to the truth amid the rising anger and warnings in my head.
“Blake, stop ignoring me and, for once, tell me the truth!”
He dropped the projector into the box and pinned me with a glare. “You want the truth?”
“Yes!”
“Okay. Here’s your truth.” He approached me with a sneer, his steps slow. “I hate everything about you.”
I recoiled and grabbed the edge of the table behind me for support.
“You’re a whiny bitch. You always hide behind your friends and live like a coward.” Something splintered inside of me, and it was painful. “I hate girls like you the most.”
My nails dug into the unyielding surface of the table, but even that hurt less than the growing wound in my chest.
“You’re always crying and crying and crying, and I’m really curious how you have any more tears left to cry.”
I was cold. So cold. “Okay. Enough.”
“No, sweetheart. You wanted the truth—now handle it.”
He stopped with less than two feet separating us, and I pressed myself against the table as much as I could.
“You’re fat—like do you even have limits?” He pinched my belly, and I yelped, astounded by it. “Look at this. Tell me, do you really think there would be a guy who could like this? Or this.” He gave my cheek a squeeze and tugged at it. “Or this.” He pinched my inner thigh, and I scrambled away from him with a cry.
“Don’t touch me!”
I backed away until I hit the cabinet next to the table. All my insecurities rushed back to me, my self-loathing topping everything, and tears sprang to my eyes. Never had I felt uglier or fatter than under his hateful eyes in this moment.
“You’re hideous from the inside out.”
I whimpered and lowered my gaze to the floor. My hair wasn’t enough to hide me from him—nothing was ever enough to hide me from him—and shame pushed away all the self-esteem I’d managed to gain these last few months with the help of my therapist.
He snorted. “Just like I said—you’re all tears and nothing else.”
I couldn’t take this anymore. I darted for the exit, blind with tears. To hell with detention and everything. I was about to reach the door, but I remembered too late I’d left a packed box near the doorway to dump it later. I tripped over it and crashed down on the floor, my knees taking the biggest hit.
For a moment—just for a moment—I allowed myself to close my eyes and wallow in utter humiliation. My knees hurt badly, but I didn’t stop to inspect them. I picked myself right up without even turning to look at him. I was just giving him more reasons to hate me. I was giving myself more reasons to hate myself.
I took two steps toward the door, limping.
“Jessie, wait…,” he said in an unbelievably soft voice that was laced with regret, and I halted, unsure if I’d just imagined it. Warmth spread through my chest, spurring me to stay.
Of course I didn’t acknowledge it or him.
I just got out and never looked back.
I spent hours in my car parked in front of my empty house, the dark sky gradually enveloping me in shadows. I wished my tears had dried a long time ago, but they kept coming, and my chest ached under the onslaught of self-denigrating thoughts.
I shouldn’t have been complaining about his cruelty. I’d asked for the truth, and I’d gotten it. I couldn’t expect anything else from him, because who could love me like this?
My mind raced back to the two-year relationship with my ex-boyfriend, which had ended a year ago. Rory was the son of my mom’s best friend, so we’d known each other since we were in diapers, but we’d never been particularly close. Not until I went to his birthday party in ninth grade.
That night we danced, talked, and then talked some more, and something changed between us. We ended up kissing on his porch, and he asked me out on a date. Rory was pretty, but he wasn’t quite my type. He was short and had a few too many pimples on his face, but he was sweet and good-natured. As someone who had been invisible to boys, I was hungry to be seen, and I basked in his attention, so I wanted to give us a shot.
If I could explain our relationship in one word, it would be plain. He was a nice guy, but there was no spark. Despite that, I gave him my virginity because I felt comfortable enough around him and believed he wasn’t going to mention anything about my weight or criticize me.
He never said a bad word about my body, but he rarely complimented it, and he generally avoided any conversation that touched on the topic of my weight. He would say I was cute, but I had eyes and I noticed the way he looked at slim girls. It wasn’t the same expression he had when he looked at me.
I’d acted like I was okay with it—like that was something I had to accept—but month after month, it just created a bigger dent in my self-confidence until the harsh truth was drilled into my mind. No one could like me like this.
I gripped my steering wheel and leaned my forehead against it, closing my eyes.
How I envied them. How I envied the girls who didn’t have to worry about the next calorie or those who could easily slip into their bikinis without worrying about their fat or cellulite. How I wanted to be thinner. To actually be noticed, and not for the bad reasons. I wanted a day when I would be completely satisfied with myself and didn’t have to suppress this inner dissatisfaction that hounded me each day.
Now, all those words about self-love and self-acceptance my therapist had fed me felt fake. They seemed like a wrapper that was supposed to hide the real thing inside, which was my ugliness. This wasn’t only about my looks. This was about my cowardice and weakness. There wasn’t actually anything good about me
, was there?
I closed my eyes and wished that when I opened them, I would magically be skinnier. I wouldn’t have this overlapping stomach fat. I wouldn’t have cellulite. I wouldn’t be this unhappy.
All those years, I went on diets, tried eating only healthy food and limiting my food intake, and a few times, I even exercised, but I was miserable because I wasn’t cut out for it. It just wasn’t my thing. I wasn’t Sarah. I didn’t think much about healthy living or being in good shape, and I found it unfair that I had to submit myself to something I hated in order to change myself. Why did I have to change myself? Why couldn’t the world accept me the way I was?
The whole world was built upon the standards of beauty that movies and TV shows forced on us constantly. All those pretty, slim actors parading across our screens. Then, all those fat jokes and harassment. I couldn’t even count the number of times people had stared at me in disapproval, their faces telling me I wasn’t fitting into the labels our society put on us.
So I was stuck between loving myself the way I was and wanting to be someone I was not. I was stuck between losing myself in that rich, amazing taste of food and being ashamed of eating it.
And I was stuck between reason and liking the monster who only hated me.
“Why am I here?” I sang the lyrics I’d come up with just now as the sad piano melody played out in my head, my voice shaking with tears. “Why am I here when I’m like this?” I sniffed. “Why am I here when you hurt me? You hurt me.” My voice was shaky, going deeper and deeper. “Why do I like you? You’ll never like me—”
I started sobbing. Why did I have to fall for him?
I was stupid. So stupid.
“Jess? Honey?” My dad knocked on my window, making me flinch.
Just great. I wiped my tears quickly before I raised my head to look at him.
“What are you doing in your car? Why don’t you come into the house?”
I took my backpack from the seat and got out, avoiding his gaze. “I was about to go inside.”
“Honey, are you okay?” He made me look at him and frowned when he noticed my face, which was probably all puffy. “Jess. Why are you crying? Did something happen to you?” He looked at me as if he was checking me for any injuries.