Fat // Harry Styles

chapter ten

chapter ten

MOM MADE BROWNIES. We used to bake them together all the time when I was a kid, but now I could hardly look at them. Dad ate the slice of cake, and I used that as an excuse to not eat any brownies. I was cutting back on junk. I had some cake earlier. I might eat a brownie later or tomorrow. I'd for sure take one with me tomorrow.

Lies were becoming more apparent to me. I could sense them on the tip of my tongue before they even fully formed. It made me feel awful. My mom was a sweet woman, my dad was a hard worker; neither of whom desired to be deceived. They raised me right, but somewhere down the road I strayed away from the path. Why had I done that? I shouldn't be so confused in my head. They raised me right.

I wasn't the only one lying, though. That's not how it worked. Mom lied, too, when she told me I looked good. Dad lied when he said I got prettier every day. But parents had to lie, didn't they? Support their children and boost their confidence. However, I'd seen through their lies on many occasions. They didn't fool me anymore.

I was feeling weird. There was a churning in my stomach and my head hurt. I couldn't look at the television because it intensified the throbbing. I think the room was spinning. I closed my eyes, kept them that way for a few minutes, then opened them. Everything was straight. Everything was right.

Except me.

The eerie feeling kept coursing through me over and over again, persistent in making me as uncomfortable as possible.

We had dinner a short while later. Mom asked what I'd been up to, careful to tread lightly on the breakup situation. I told her I got a personal trainer. Dad looked suspicious. He asked if I had a male, and when I said I did, he asked if I thought he were handsome. Mom elbowed him. I shrugged my shoulders. Harry was no doubt handsome, but I felt wrong for admitting it. Justin just left me. I should still be weeping, not thinking about another boy's dimples or his bright eyes.

Shoot, I was just doing it again.

"So is this trainer guy... decent?" asked Dad.

I nodded. "Oh, yeah. Harry is a really nice guy."

"Too nice?"

"Too generous, would be better wording."

Mom smiled. "I'll have to meet him some time to thank him for taking care of you."

"It's his job," I reminded her. "Kind of the point."

"Oh, just eat your spaghetti."

I twisted my hands in my lap. Mom knew spaghetti was my absolute favorite, so of course she'd made it. It smelled delicious, too, but every time I looked down at it, I could see my stomach getting closer and closer to the table. This spaghetti would blow me up like a blimp. I couldn't risk that. Not after achieving the little success I did.

What had Harry said? Forty pounds?

That simply wasn't enough. I could still see the fat stretching the fabric of my shirt. I could still feel it weighing me down wherever I went. I needed to get rid of all of it. I couldn't take it anymore. Was there any way to speed up the process? I'd really like to eat some spaghetti. I'd really like to throw the bowl against the wall. I was indecisive. A constant battle. I never could tell whether I was winning or losing. And which was which? Was starving winning since I lost pounds? Was starving losing because I wanted food even more? I think it'd be a win. A minor victory, if anything. The more pounds shed, the better.

"Are you feeling okay, sweetie?" inquired Mom, who was giving me that knowing motherly look. The look that let you know you wouldn't get away with being secretive. Not for long.