Fat Girl

“Everything’s fair, and if it isn’t, make it fair.”

That’s what her dad used to always tell her when she was younger, as if he thought the words were inspirational or right in even the slightest context. As if she should tighten her grubby fingers around that string of syllables and keep it near her heart, running them over when doubt had devoured her mind. As if it would help.

At eight years old, tears dripping down her chubby red cheeks and the voices of her classmates still burning into her thoughts, it didn’t help. Now, years later with those same cherry cheeks and those same tears racing down, it still held no reassurance, nothing.

Her eyes begin to water, collecting and causing her gaze to blur. The sharp contours of her living room smudge as she grips onto her silver spoon. The melted chocolate chips are exploring her mouth as she swallows it down, ready for more. More. More. More.

Always ready for more. But was more fair?

It isn’t fair, not to her. It isn’t fair that she’s been taught these coping mechanisms, it isn’t fair that people are just so damn fascinated with the Fat Girl. It isn’t fair that she feels this alone, that she feels so damn useless.

“Monica, I’m saying this as your friend, because we’re friends. Stella’s not your friend. She’s just using you. Did you even know that her and Bianca are pretty tight?”

That’s what Hilary had told her that day, something like sympathy in her eyes. At the time, Monica acted as if didn’t matter, pretended that she didn’t care. Stella, why, who was she? Just another one of them, no different, it means all the same to her.

C’mon Fat Girl, it’s okay, aren’t you used to this? Just do what you always do, eat your feelings. Up and away like the Kitkat bars and the Carmilks.

You’re good at that.

And that’s what she does, hunching on her leather sofa with the television screen playing scenes that hold no importance to her. All that registers in her mind is the smouldering in her stomach. Underneath all the layers of fat, they’re screaming.

The demons always return, no matter how much she tries, no matter how she feels once the sun is drifting among the clouds, they always come back. Clawing and screeching and crying. You’ll never change, you’ll always have us. You’ll never be alone.

Their nails dig into her ribs, tearing apart her insides. Surrender. Their moans mingle in the air, pounding against her flesh.

Eat. Temptation. Surrender.
Eat. Eat. Eat.
You know you want to.

They love it. Stella, Bianca, Chase, James. They love it when you eat.

Because that’s all you’ll ever be, Fat Girl. And that's fair.